A Dancing Line

Dancing apsaras carved in a wall of the Bayon temple, Angkor Wat complex, Cambodia

I know, I sometimes forget to dance;
to shuffle my feet, my memories;
to workout and prevent that disease
of sitting too much and forgetting
to dance. 

"I have to thank you: you taught me
not to be embarrassed of dancing."
Thank you for having told me that
as my soul danced when it heard it.
A propos, "That's music to my ears."

"You didn't notice it? She was eating
you up with her eyes." No, I didn't.
I was dancing as one should dance,
with abandonment, just as we do
unwittingly when we walk enough.

Dancing is walking without leaving.

To choose is to eliminate

“No no no no no no no no no no no no,” a cute toddler sang without a hint of punctuation. “She’s in love with the word ‘no’,” her grandmother explained.

Perhaps there is simply too much of everything around us, and we have to choose. Or the choice is not even solely dependent on our will. And any choice is a process of elimination of everything else. Or are there superwomen and supermen, these Übermenschen, who can take it all in? Human blackholes, what would become of the information compactly stored within them? Would it be reused in dreams, or lost in faulty synapsing? Would it remerge unexpectedly, uncalled for, to help in the creation of a new work of art? 

“No no no no no no no.”

“Thou shalt not pass!”