Tango-Poet

Once  when the world was inhabited by Archetypes, Music , incarnated as a man and woman , were without children. Music  adopt two mortal children who had never heard them sing. Upon hearing   harmony, they spontaneously become the incarnation of  Dance . The children , although not instructed on how to dance, embodied dance. One day the children sing and clap for Music , compelling them to dance. Music is reminded that they once were children, incarnations of  Dance . The children watch in awe.  Tango was born that day:  Music becoming childlike. When Music  becomes  Dance , the two unite in a synchronized, spontaneous embrace. This is the circle of life.  Music to Dance.  Dance to Music.  Music becoming Dance. This is the beginning and end of all things. Note: I was once a musician.  I became a dancer, which only reminded me of my childlike state.  When the music begins, it fills my body and ...

Our Path   Our path is not paved. Our way is not smooth or fast. No future destination awaits us. We arrive with each step. We are but two souls of many, Who have rounded these stones. Traveling together reminds us, We were never apart. And who will lead us on this path? Listen to the Voice of Music. She tells us how to arrive with each step.    Photo credit:  Mark Word. Garden at Ft. Belvoir's hospital. Facebook Tango-Therapist page

At times . . . The thinking animal cannot think, The speaking animal is speechless; The feeling animal, numb; The planning animal, hopeless. Then our emotions pour out into raw dance When the music forces us to tell our stories Of joy or sadness, Sanity or madness, Love or hate, Fortune or fate, Spiritual insight or Eros's delight, Then we dance . . . Because we, the animals who think , At times have no words To tell our stories. So we dance. Photo credit

I cannot compete with the best dancer. He embodies the music better than I, His embrace fits more nicely to my partner. His movements are excitingly new, And hewn from years of experience. But he cannot compete with me: My soul and hers dance to the music of love.

T he torment of a musician is that he strums out his heart so all can hear his soul. The torment of an artist is that no one knows the water colors were from her tears. The torment of a dancer is the horror of the cliff, merely the edge of the stage. Then there is tango--a torment-less duet of music-that-is-dance, an embrace of two. Meet the dancer