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Fly, and almost flying when the waves curl high to the heavens. Their tails leave arcs of light as
Plankton glow in the waves. A school of minnows rises up, flashing silver in the moonlight like a
New constellation.
"Ah!" the sea says, "Now we're gathering a crowd."
I run along the beach, catching waves with one foot and dodging them with the other. I hear faint
popping sounds -- a hundred panicky sand crabs are ducking into their holes, just in case. But I'm
Racing now, sometimes on my toes, sometimes running flat-out.
I throw my head back and a swirling nebula says, "Fast now, twirl!"
Grinning, ducking my head for balance, I start to spin as wildly as I can. This is my favorite dance,
Because it contains a secret. The faster I twirl, the more I am still inside. My dance is all motion
without, all silence within. As much as I love to make music, it's the unheard music that never
Dies. And silence is my real dance, though it never moves. It stands aside, my choreographer of
Grace, and blesses each finger and toe.
I have forgotten the moon now and the sea and the dolphins, but I am in their joy more than ever.
As far away as a star, as near as a grain of sand, the presence rises, shimmering with light. I could
Be in it forever, it is so loving and warm. But touch it once, and light shoots forth from the
Stillness. It quivers and thrills me, and I know my fate is to show others that this silence, this light,
This blessing is my dance. I take this gift only to give it again.
"Quick, give!" says the light.
As never before, I try to obey, inventing new steps, new gestures of joy. All at once I sense where I
Am, running back up the hill. The light in my bedroom is on. Seeing it brings me back down. I
Begin to feel my pounding heart, the drowsiness in my arms, the warm blood in my legs. My cells
want to dance slower. "Can we walk a little?" they ask. "It's been kind of wild."
"Sure." I laugh, slowing to an easy amble.
I turn the doorknob, panting lightly, glad to be tired. Crawling back into bed, I remember
something that I always wonder at. They say that some of the stars that we see overhead aren't
Really there. Their light takes millions of years to reach us, and all we are doing is looking into the
Past, into a bygone moment when those stars could still shine.
"So what does a star do after it quits shining?" I ask myself. "Maybe it dies."
"Oh, no," a voice in my head says. "A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back
into the cosmic music, the dance of life." I like that thought, the last one I have before my eyes
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