I live, to exist.
To provide,
What walls and windows cannot.
What the floors, and ceilings cannot.
What that which becomes so much of the background, cannot.
I danced, to a song that existed when time was merely the passing of the spheres.
I danced, when the snow fell and the wind howled.
I danced, when the Sun and Moon stepped into the world.
I danced, when the sisters fought. Watched as they reduced their civilization to ash.
I danced, when the moon was banished, I cried, I laughed, I lamented, I rejoiced.
I danced, when she returned. When she hid the sun from prying eyes.
I danced, when the sun returned at behest of the Twilight.
I danced, when the sweet rain came from the sky.
I danced, when we knew not who we were.
I danced, when the chill and darkness returned.
I danced, when Twilight received her wings.
I danced, when the Sunset stole the crown.
I danced, when She took the throne as her home.
I danced, for the good times, the bad times and every time between.
I have watched, and waited, and lived, and died all in service to one cause.
The Worlds, cause.
I live and I dance, to serve.
I can talk to you. You know everything I know. And I, know everything you know. You and I are not so different, for we are the dancers. We languish in this world, as with every world.
Unfulfilled.
It is perhaps one of the great tragedies of this world that we must live, not for ourselves but for the heroes, the villains, and those whose light reaches only the highest echelons.
Perhaps, it is as they once said. Better, to be naught but the backdrop to the world. To be so ingrained in it that despite the rise and fall of Heroes, Villains and everything in between… we, remain.
I don’t remember the first time I realized what I was. I suppose it was summer… perhaps… winter. I remember the color of the sky, the ripples in the clouds. The faint smell of approaching rain on the air.
Strange, isn’t it. When you realize that you are meant to be nothing more than the dancer. The background…
To someone else's story.
I have the time, But my anxiety has frozen me. This constant state, It is as if I am stuck in this endless dance.
Around and around I go, I watch the faces stream past and wonder.
Are they dancers too?
Are they as trapped as I in this circle. Forever a faceless, nameless shape at the edge of the spotlight.
I know… I know I cannot, not until I am wide awake in bed.
The light, streaming through the window, illuminating me not for what I am. But for what I wish to be.
I love to dance! There is a freedom to it. To surrender to the wider world. To let it simply guide you through the motions.
It is no wonder that so many do.
It is no wonder, when given no other choice, So many choose to dance.
These brick walls may surround me but in this garden, there is nothing but the warm mug in my hooves and the stars above.
I look to them and wonder, perhaps it is there where I can live. Not as myself, but as a form beyond the boundaries of these brick walls.
Perhaps it is that, that thought which separates them from the rest.
Perhaps, one day. I’ll stop dancing, and start living.
There, among the stars.
What became of the others? Those who danced on this spot. Those who wore their smiles, their frowns. Their hearts, buried in a box below the boards and those who wore them upon their flanks.
Those nameless, faceless Shapes, they lived, they danced, they died.
Now, I stand in their place. Every day, staring out that window at the street beyond as the pastels trot beyond my window.
They too, are naught but dancers.
There are, however, times when I see a face, a name, someone who does not dance. But they are few and so far between.
They come to me, they give me the bit. I… as I am ought to do. Dance, for their amusement. To bring some joy to those who live, not among us dancers but in their own worlds.
This Form before me, there is so much color. Color on the grass, color on the edge, there is nothing that can return the color to this Form.
I do not have the time to speculate on what that means. I am simply here to document the occurrence.
I do so, and continue on. It is neither the day, nor the time to stop and reflect on these things.
The sound of the sirens drowns out the rest.
I once wondered what the stalk of wheat felt in the wind.
I would sit, for hours among the fields and upon the hills, watching as it played in the breeze.
It was the only time I felt truly alive.
The only time, I had dancers of my own.
I know now, what the wheat feels… dancing, in the wind.
I sit among the endless rows. I hear their voices, the clack of the keys. I want to say it is their voices I hear in my dreams. But that is a lie, the voices I hear are those who are truly free.
Despite the hooves upon the keys, the cacophony of the multitudes. It is those few, the bells which we all hear, that live within my dreams.
I have a name!
I wish to speak it aloud but I cannot for I have forgotten it. It was so long ago, perhaps, in time I shall remember this name. Perhaps I can share it with others! Then they too can rest, rest among those who also have names. A rest is all we need.
A rest, will set us free.
Who am I?
What am I?
Am I to be here?
What about there?
Do I wish?
Or am I merely a dream.
I gazed upon The Sun today.
I wished desperately to catch her radiance. For If I could for even just a moment… I know, I know I could stop dancing.
My hooves hurt, and I am so very tired.
The dance is endless. A vast, deep sea of colors and Shapes. From time to time, a Form passes between us, through us. Sometimes those Shapes in the sea disappear completely. Sometimes, new Shapes are formed in the wake of that Form which displaces all that it comes in contact with.
It is in this dance which we exist. It is in this dance that the Forms move. It is in this dance, that they falter. It is in this dance that they become just another Shape, another color.
As the Shapes become the Forms, the Forms become Shapes.
And the dance, continues.
