Dreams and faith. And dancing.

I dreamt about dancing last night. I dreamt I was getting ready to go to a wedding, full of people I used to know well. Getting ready, in front of my sister, I chose the most shapeless dress I could find. And I was still embarrassed of my body. We walked down to meet the others, and engaged in some silly shenanigans, lots of pointless running around and meeting random folks and refusing to take a zip line. And then we got to the bottom floor, and people were starting to mingle, and there was music. And suddenly I had to dance. I just had to. Nobody was dancing in the venue, so I went outside, around the fire. And there, singular people were dancing, all of them self consciously encased in their own bubble. I didn't want to feel self conscious, didn't want to make a spectacle of myself, but I just had to dance. So I did. And I flew. You know the kinds of dreams where you are deeply rooted inside your own body, deeply aware of everything that your body is doing? Most often those are sex dreams, but for me, they are dancing dreams. I move in ways I've never been able to move, pure grace and fluidity. Goofy movements, sensual movements, angry... it doesn't matter. I'm just dancing. And in this dream, dancing gave me super powers. I had to stop, eventually, because the wedding was about to start. But suddenly I couldn't walk, I could only glide, bouncing every now and then. I leaned against a fence and promptly knocked it over, which got me a stare from a woman who didn't appreciate my sudden superpowers. And when I walked into the wedding, finding a seat at a table, and took of my giant grey coat, I was suddenly not wearing a shapeless dress. I was wearing a tight blue-black velvet bustier, shiny with metallic threads, with a flowing skirt. It was the kind of dress I had always wanted to wear, but wouldn't dare. And I wasn't suddenly skinny in it. I could see back fat under my arms where the bustier cut in. But my waist was small and my curves were kicking, and I was making mens tongues roll back into their throats for them to choke on. I was determinedly unselfconscious, a feeling I am so very, very familiar with. The one that requires stuffing your knowledge of others eyes on you into the back of your mind and letting it scream in a closet while the rest of you plasters an insouciant smile onto your face and glides. And I danced in that dress, the first out onto the dance flour, flying.

What a silly, wonderful dream. Faith in my body, faith in my self. Those two concepts have always been deeply connected for me.