“Every Man Has his Folly, But the Greatest Folly Of all Is Not to Have One.” Kazantzakis/Zorba

 

If I show you the steps would you watch me dance?

I did not like to watch steps, but just let the dance guide me. And often, the serpentine path I found ahead of me, I did not follow. Perhaps I knew where it ended. Where all paths eventually get out of breath, a place with no foot prints.

 

If I whistle would you hear the summer rain?

Watching the window glass run tears reminds me, still, of August rains. And also of the exhale from asphalt roads, dirt paths, and angry seas. To listen again how quiet those tears once were; and how a lonely walk in narrow streets ended under balconies to shelter from hearing the whistle.

 

 If I give you the steps, would you dance?

Steps make a dance predictable. A dance should be a reflection of the moment, not a prescription. Kazantzakis best described it for all the inner Zorbas in us when Basil asked Zorba “Teach me to dance” – he was actually asking "Teach me how to find myself." “Teach me to live.”

The dance on that Greek island beach had nothing to do with dancing. It was a Sufi moment of exploration.

 

If I watch you dance, would you remember to stay still?

If I dance, I will hear the music. But when I stay still, I only hear myself.  It is like sitting atop a wall to hear the ocean. Eventually, one forgets the waves.

 

And if I change the steps, would you gently get up and dance alone when you hear the summer rain, again? 

All dances are lonely; all dancing is to end up alone. They repeat themselves softly to become one with rain, wind and memories.

All dancing shapes our steps to become a personal search.  And then, we remember a summer rain and we forget the steps. We just improvise.

 

June 6, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023