abandon: the trait of lacking restraint or control; reckless freedom from inhibition or worry.
That. That is what is overriding every other sensibility right now. It has surpassed the arena in which it was supposed to function and it has applied itself to my outlook on life. I don't want to do homework. I don't want to take a shower and wash the grime and the sweat off of me. I don't even want to sleep.
I just want to be. I want to watch the clouds for days and days and days, and I want to count the stars. Conversely, I want to run around the world. I want to hurtle towards somebody a continent away and launch myself into him, and not care about the way I may fall or the way I am placed. It doesn't matter anyway; he would catch me no matter what -- I know that now. Within my sphere of existence, I can let go of myself and open both arms wide to receive, and yet hold out both hands to give. Sweet, sweet abandon. True and utter trust. How can something so terrifying, so counter-intuitive, make me feel so good? Because it does. I feel good. I feel like I just want to relax into someone's arms and let him hold me still, or let him manipulate my limbs and use me -- make me into a living marionette and move me about for his amusement.
This new concept that is whirling so slowly, so softly, in the base of my brain -- tickling the nerves there, pressing itself into previously hidden sensors, triggering the untried reactors that skirt the edge of more conscious mechanics -- it is fascinating and beautiful and totally overwhelming. It seems that I've forgotten how to breathe, but I don't need to; my everything is absorbed in trying to imbibe an idea that is mentally comprehensible, but that is nearly impossible to physically apply.
Let go.
Let it go. All of it.
Impressive, yes? Such a simple phrase, but so threatening, so confusing. As intelligent humans with a basic knowledge of vocabulary, we understand what the phrase let go means, but as those same fallen humans with nearly unconquerable impulses to control and to cling, we will not acknowledge the command -- let go.
Dance is something intuitive, is something emotional, is something internal. It is technical, structured, and controlled. It is then, paradoxical -- how can something be predestined yet free-form? How can you say to me, 'Look, I want you to move your left arm here and put your right arm there and hold your left leg behind your right ear which is also moving within this prescribed sphere,' and expect to feel anything in that? And yet you do. And it works. Somehow it all makes sense, and a movement you are given becomes your own and you embody it and you let it be seen, instead of you; you are the conductor of the medium.
Today was enlightening. It is a cliché to use that word, but it fits. For maybe the second time in my life, something that has always been concrete to me -- no mistake, it has always moved my soul and my heart -- what was defined within a real space and operated within a set of rules, has been rejuvenated, revealed to me as something new.
Through the exercises we did today, and because of what Meredyth said, the emotive aspects of the art were suddenly opened up to the cerebral. I allowed myself to think about what I was feeling. Yes, the idea of 'just go for it, just do what comes naturally,' was certainly employed; what made it wonderful and exciting was that we were thinking through it. Why did we do that? Why did you guide her there? Why did he choose this motion? All our movement and the way we were interpreting and hearing the music was stemming from something else -- whether something we saw a fellow dancer doing, or something on the brain from this morning, or something we've been thinking about, mulling over for a while. Even our levels of sleep were affecting choices we made in this arena. It was fascinating to think about; I loved it. I loved being probed, explored, and I loved having the ability to do that for my friends.
I fell once. It was great. In what felt like suspended animation -- slow motion, I guess -- I felt my shoulders slip between Kaitlin's and Meredith's. I felt (my eyes were closed. I didn't see this happening.) their bodies seize, and quick, able hands moving to hold me -- not quickly enough, though. I had too much momentum, and their protecting arms merely slowed me down, preventing me from smacking the floor at all. I landed gently, with a muffled fwump, and I opened my eyes and giggled. They looked so alarmed! I was excited: this was the point. We were trusting one another, learning to anticipate, to expect, to sense, to feel; to attune ourselves to one another without words -- fantastic! They hadn't dropped me or failed in any way; they had done exactly what they were supposed to. I have never been more proud to fall on my butt in the middle of dance class. After that, the exercise was even more fun, and easier. The worst had happened -- I'd fallen. The rest was just being tossed from person to person with no idea whose hands were on me or whose body was supporting mine.
This sense of release, of relaxation into the wills and whims of my classmates, was delightful. Relieving, even. I didn't have to think about anything; things just happened. I was open to new ideas, open to being guided and led, open to others.
Shouldn't I do that with my God?
Shouldn't I let go? Release everything I'm holding onto? Release my fears and anxieties, my hopes and dreams and schemes and plans and desires? It sounds so simple, but it is so difficult to do. I know I've quoted this verse before, but it's nudging me again:
But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
...
That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
This idea of giving up, of being helpless and turning everything over to God, is not a new one for me; it is a very old struggle, one that continuously turns up. Lately, everything reminds me of how very much I need Him to hold me; try as I might, I can't let go though. It's so stupid. If I could just...
but I can't. That is part of my nature as a fallen woman. This control, this fierce protection of my own wants, is something that I must always fight against.
Total release is not something that will happen overnight, and never on this earth; we are too broken. It is, however, something for which we can continually strive; it is a beautiful idea, an awesome goal. It is the sweetest surrender, letting go.
