There is no abundance without dance.
Dance in itself is abundant—and indeed, one of the body’s most abundant states of being. Even sex, with its rhythm and pattern and musicality, produces literal abundance. So yes, you are fully abundant in dance.
Yet, you know there is no one form of abundance.
You wonder how so much has accumulated around you—all clutter and things towering up like human-sized cities. All things you’ve grasped for, like a drowning victim, to float and fill you with a breath of air.
It is a certain sort of abundance that is filling. Often, it does not look abundant, or even feel abundant. It is the painful, sneaking abundance that is most nourishing. It is letting the sweet, summer cantaloupe melt in your mouth when you’d rather inhale a banana nut muffin. It is the five mile morning jog when you’d rather stay safe and swaddled in your bed, your spaniel warm and curled into your side.
Though, it is a dance, isn’t it? There are days when the nourishment is the muffin, its silk, doughy heat on the roof of your mouth. There are days when your sheets, extra tender to your morning skin, and the loving warmth of your pup are the nourishment.
It is a dance to know how to fill yourself—to know what you need in a moment, or what you do not need. It is a pull and push acrobatic ballet. One where you must know when to hold lightly or hold firm, to trust gravity with your frame, to know your feet and your legs can support you, can give you, can take you back.
You often overshoot and stumble. Sometimes, you indulge and your ballet is artifice, overwrought. Often, you are too exhausted or afraid or broken to lift your head, your arms, your legs.
Though occasionally, you feel the pulse, the rhythm of abundance beating up from the earth, into the soles of your feet, and your bones move and click into this, and you are so full you can fly.