Dancing - a way to step through grief

I love imagining dance choreography.  

Daydreaming. Dances that unfold in my mind while moving along to the rhythm of musical tunes. One, two, three, and four. All styles of music. I meditate away from reality through dance.

Sometimes I put those imagined dances to life and I feel the muscles of my body embrace the feeling of freedom. The sense of freedom I feel when I more than half-way succeed with a pirouette, almost like a feeling like a little bird. The joy.  

Freedom? 

It makes me think of the meaning of freedom in life. The importance of freedom. My mind drifts over to the love I feel when my fingers dance over the keyboard. Creating choreography by matching letters together to tell some story. Dances show stories. Stories filled with emotion, without any limitations. Stories told in a dance are pure and can be interpreted in uncounted directions, depending on the audience. My head is filled with dances to beautiful tunes, honest tunes. But the tools to let the stories free have faced boundaries. Boundaries that I can call “a travel through human emotions”. Simply put; grief. Identifying feelings and emotions in that journey is in itself a lesson in freedom - what it is, and the meaning of it. Especially when feelings can be expressed through dancing. I think dancing is my path through my own grief process. 

I stopped blogging for a while, but I did not stop believing there`s a everyday hero in everyone of us. It is about time my fingers grab a hold of the rhythm of the keyboard again. Without limitations. 

"On the Road Again"

"I'm still standing", the song by Elton John, inspires me often. It does not matter how I feel it always makes me get my go-getter attitude back.

Again, I left behind the fjords and Norway, where people wear their full skiing gear and carry their fancy skiis in the capital metro, behind. I boarded a plane back to Asia, and when I landed I felt a rush of happiness rushing through my body. An odd feeling of returning home. Perhaps, part of the reason I longed to come back to crazy traffic and beautiful colours satisfying my senses was that my curiosity of trying to understand the complexities of the Indian society and culture was cut short last summer with my father's passing.

Dramatically I went home for a dark fall and winter. It had been years since I had experienced the gradual process of the Nordic darkness becoming part of daily life. I don't believe in shoveling things under a chair. Even though I must admit it sometimes is a lot easier. Sometimes I wonder if that's what I do with my own grief process - wrap it inside nice wrapping and tie a nice bow on it. That way it becomes less tempting to let it fall into pieces. Admit-tingly though it does fall apart. Then I find strength in knowing that my father would want me to carry on, and I again brush off the bow and try to tie it nicely around the colourful wrapping paper. 

Re-tying the bow happens frequently. Sometimes it becomes a perfectly fine bow, that I'm sure any fashion designer would digg. Other times, I think it rather looks like a failed attempt of a 3 year old learning to tie their shoe. Even if I wrap it inside shiny paper the waves of ups and downs, the laughter, the tears, the difficulty to cry, the constant thinking, and the constant shoveling away any pain, I can't run and hide. Going to Asia does not make it less real. In a way to me, it makes it more real. Human emotions are real everywhere. The depth of them are just so much deeper than I realized before. It certainly is a wild world, so I'm glad my father introduced me to music and encouraged me to use my wings.

One thing I'm learning from finding the strength and encouragement to keep the nice wrapping from breaking into pieces is that I'll rather try doing something, than regretting not doing it. I rather care too much, than regret not caring at all. While I'm at it I dance to Sam Cook's "Good Times" and believe it is a wonderful world.

I'm on the road again.