I keep stomping my feet bloody. Make eye contact with strangers across rooms and they hold onto that. I hold onto the floor. I hold onto the sweat dripping and the arms moving and the people beckoning the DJ to let us live here. Let us dive into our own recollections a divine immortality.
I beat on my chest and beg oceans with my hips to carry us home without violence.
I keep shaking my ass holy. Make movements that’ll put ministers in a coma. And it is another type of prayer. To uncontrol the body.
I hold onto the spirits next to me. They all clutching their knees. They all polaroid picture miming. They all begging the DJ to keep on keeping on.
I beat on my chest. And wave my hands and hallelujah my way into the fluorescent lights.
I will go where the music takes me.
Dancing revived a lot of my people. Resurrected the hands of those who only knew freedom this way. Could only picture it feet on ground running. Sweat on brow surviving. A reminder that all our entity belongs to us.
I dare you to leave the dance floor.
I dare you to collapse in the wake of what we can do.
I keep sliding and smiling with all my teeth showing. Hold hands wrinkled. Tied by the sound of drums. The smell of green grass turning brittle. The fevered concrete turning dancehall. The feet turning history lesson.
I know I’ve never felt a belonging like breaking out into a two step. The resounding bellow of collective jubilation. This is what i call freedom and some will know it vicious. Some will know it blessing. I will cry with my feet moving. I will live dancing.
Movement of dance is spiritual, your description is perfect!