The Dance

The four year old me stares up innocently at the 24-year-old me; simplicity, innocence and youth fighting up against a somewhere between teenage and adulthood young girl, transcending forms and figures, and slowly becoming the person she will be forever in front of this young child’s eyes.

Suddenly the 24-year-old breaks away, as if pulled upwards by an invisible yo-yo string. Dressed simply in pure white flowing cotton, a stunning dance begins in mid-air as if God’s fingers are calling her this way and then that way. She floats majestically, almost gracefully, something I never thought I could be, above this young girls head.

Without warning, the dance turns vicious, frantic almost; it’s as if the strings pulling her have become tighter, the hands pulling them confused. Her mouth cries out but there is no sound, just a flurry of frantic movement in the air; still the four year old child looks up with the same neutral expression, as if called here to watch this show that has been put on especially for her.

Once again, without a sign, the dance becomes calm again; peaceful even. The 24-year-old shines bright, floating effervescently, effortlessly. No strings bind her anymore; she now dances her own dance. She gently floats down and comes to rest on the ground just near the child’s feet.  Taking the young child’s hand, they smile at each other, and begin a new dance walking hand-in-hand together towards peace.