Dancing Memory
Jan. 31st, 2005 02:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
purplerabbitI am often astonished at how much ecstasy can combine the sensations of pain and pleasure, sometimes switching between them so quickly that I almost have the sensation of falling.
So we are listening to "Six Mile Bridge" (celtic-rock) while we pack. I was dancing around the room enjoying the intensely beautiful sound of Maggie's voice, it sound and feeling in my body brings back the memories of the joy her voice and company brought in years past. I am joyous dancing lost in the sound of the music and her voice, memory washing through the sound. Then my arms begin to ache, I can feel what is missing as if a piece of me has been ripped from my body. The memory is the child in my arms, his laughter and his little hands clapping the tune. I can feel the weight of him in my arms and on my hip, his little legs squeezing my waist as he joins me in the dance. My breathe catches and I clutch the wall for support. I miss him at that moment with a desperation strong enough to drop me.
The first two years of Rowan's life, our friends Maggie, Anders and company came to play every few months at the local pub, The Mill. I spent many joyous evenings dancing with my infant and later my toddler in my arms. Anders gave Rowan his first guitar lesson. The times with the band both on stage and off were some of my happiest memories of those days. It was at The Mill, while the band was setting up to play on May 31st, 1998 that our ex attempted to kidnap Rowan and ended up dragging my body with a car across a gravel parking lot. The band and other friends had all run from the pub and watched in horror.
For a very long time, I couldn't listen to their music. The pain was too great, the memories too strong. I have been listening to them a lot lately, yet this is the first time that it sent me into such a spin. I think it was the kinesthetic memory that did it. Dancing the music. Dancing was always so much a part of me and a part of me forever altered on that day. I will find a way to reclaim both the music and the dance. And hopefully the memories.
So we are listening to "Six Mile Bridge" (celtic-rock) while we pack. I was dancing around the room enjoying the intensely beautiful sound of Maggie's voice, it sound and feeling in my body brings back the memories of the joy her voice and company brought in years past. I am joyous dancing lost in the sound of the music and her voice, memory washing through the sound. Then my arms begin to ache, I can feel what is missing as if a piece of me has been ripped from my body. The memory is the child in my arms, his laughter and his little hands clapping the tune. I can feel the weight of him in my arms and on my hip, his little legs squeezing my waist as he joins me in the dance. My breathe catches and I clutch the wall for support. I miss him at that moment with a desperation strong enough to drop me.
The first two years of Rowan's life, our friends Maggie, Anders and company came to play every few months at the local pub, The Mill. I spent many joyous evenings dancing with my infant and later my toddler in my arms. Anders gave Rowan his first guitar lesson. The times with the band both on stage and off were some of my happiest memories of those days. It was at The Mill, while the band was setting up to play on May 31st, 1998 that our ex attempted to kidnap Rowan and ended up dragging my body with a car across a gravel parking lot. The band and other friends had all run from the pub and watched in horror.
For a very long time, I couldn't listen to their music. The pain was too great, the memories too strong. I have been listening to them a lot lately, yet this is the first time that it sent me into such a spin. I think it was the kinesthetic memory that did it. Dancing the music. Dancing was always so much a part of me and a part of me forever altered on that day. I will find a way to reclaim both the music and the dance. And hopefully the memories.
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Date: 2005-01-31 02:59 pm (UTC)