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When the angel appeared to Mary to tell her she was going to have the Lord's child later that year she was, quite understandably, a little miffed: her and Joseph had only just gone and got early birds for an all-dayer the weekend before Christmas (which was about to be invented). She'd still go, but reign it in a bit.
But seriously folks, it does seem to me that the dancer and the parent of a newborn share the same hazy hour...
It happens around four in the morning, when most people are sleeping. They are awake, or half awake, on different planets, but both shifting their weight between their feet, swaying in space and time, eyes closed, cradled by and cradling eternity.
In this scenario, the dancer has entered the bliss of a weary land where the lights will never come on, held in the arms of the speaker stacks, home again. And parent and child, too, have become music: a movement of body and air to lessen suffering, an ache held close in the dark, a room left behind.
So I offer this 122BPM lullaby to all the seasoned dancers and the new parents out there this Advent. God bless ye!