blog armada

So. I have been teaching dance at my friend Vicky's house in Connecticut. It is a wonderful house, three stories of Italian stone on the ocean with wild green parrots living in the trees. We teach dance in the parlor, with huge windows and french doors opening out onto the wide stone verandah. I don't feel like I'm in America anymore when I'm here, I feel like I was transported into some fairytale land of my childhood. Also, my worries are stopped at the gate: somehow here I feel protected from everything that is not pure, beautiful, and good.

The dancers are girls, eight and nine years old. They are amazing natural dancers, wild and untrained and perfect like wildflowers. One girl, Sophia, shuts her eyes as she spins, letting herself go into the music, completely unaware of being watched.

Yesterday after the girls left, I retreated to my third-floor room to rest. When I woke up, a vase of flowers, calla lilies of purple, yellow and white, had mysteriously appeared on my bedside table, with a card reading "To the three most beautiful women in the world" and listing three of his pet names for me.

With all of these wonderful influences, I find myself awakening from the dark internal dream of the past three months. Somehow I was on the wrong path, and life grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and set me down on the right one.

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