Why Don’t You Dance
ISSUE #308
Often, one massive sensation gets split into two—or three, or four, or seven—different words over time, for the sake of convenience or the human urge to atomize. One example: “feel” and “hear” mean, in a prelingual sense, the same thing. Set aside the physicality of the sound waves our ear drums register. What we hear, we also feel; what we feel, we hear.
Blood will flow with emotion (we have no say in it). That can bring a blush to the skin or rising rhythm to the breath. A cicada might trigger summer’s free feeling; a rush of loving warmth will make the ears buzz. Music itself is exhibit alpha and omega.
It’s been a tough summer so far. I’m sure it’s just me. But in case I’m not alone, I made a playlist to be listened to—not as a history lesson, not to supplement a diatribe, but as a driving drill to the body’s core. Rhythm is the heart’s shovel, and time is dirt—the way we all decay, the way a long run in the heat can feel so good, the way science named “endorphins” to replace “hear” or “feel.”
This one is my spiritual mining project. The lovers know what that feels like. Pull and twist through inner eons. Dance as long as you possibly can. Get all the joy out of what you have—and remember: play it loud.
Often, one massive sensation gets split into two—or three, or four, or seven—different words over time, for the sake of convenience or the human urge to atomize. One example: “feel” and “hear” mean, in a prelingual sense, the same thing.