It is clear to me, again, why dance is achingly beautiful. It is a language. Each and everyone holding their own universe, trying to belong. At least to ourselves. To own yourself.. All of you. Sometimes it's a conversation within. Other times it's more of a statement: a punch, a warm embrace, a slow kiss goodbye, or hello, a whisper of pain that covers you in fear, or filled with comfort and hope. I believe it is spoken, this language, by anyone who wants to use it. We all have that power, to speak or listen. Simultaneously if you like. It's packed with contradictions, all of it allowed and accepted in the same phrase. It's not a competition. There really are no rules. It is free, it is yours. Your body, your tool. Your mind, your intention. It doesn't have to make sense: how beautiful is that... It doesn't even have to make sense.. be understood, clear and available for translation. It just.. Floats. Or flies. Or sparkles. The energy I mean, created by some kind of movement. Or none movement. The language actually works even if you don't move at all. Maybe it's called mindfulness, being connected, or disconnected if you'd rather say that, meditation.. I don't know. It probably has many names, that process where you speak from your innermost you. For myself, I like the word dance. It's so close to trance [transcend]. And chance. Advance. Prance. Stance. Glance. Enhance. And romance.