I feel a powerful force that wants to be released. To be expressed. To come to life. And I want to know how. More importantly, I want to know what this “force” is. Because it drains me to the core that I am weakened by his imprisonment. Physically I’m fine but my soul cries out for a voice. Maybe I don’t allow myself to listen. I fear what it may reveal.

On the one hand, I want it to materialize so that I can hold it in my hand and release it like I would a butterfly caught in a web. On the other hand, my rational self asks me to look him in the face and demand answers. The questions I can’t quite define. Not in words. So I’m stuck. I want a dialogue but the words do not come.

It seems that I am at an impasse: my soul asks for release, my mind resists and so does my body: a state of confusion. I lie awake at night wondering if this strength comes from a place of depth or frivolity. I can not tell. However, I can tell you how this inability to articulate words makes me feel: frustrated, angry. Only. Like an infant who, unable to communicate an immediate need in speech, cries and screams to be understood. But I’m older now. So I cry inside and scream silently.

It seems that even in the adult world, the language of words and their domain often fail to capture the spirit of our meaning. We say “I love you” when the love is gone. We say “I hate you” when all we feel is love. Words betray. They are simply too limited. Deficient. Ambiguous. The strength we feel, the depth of our emotions is so powerful, vigorous and complex that expressing it in words only serves to weaken and confine.

I should know. In my profession, where words are the currency used to inspire, influence, and change the way people are, the “message,” a chain of cleverly woven words, doesn’t always stick. So it shouldn’t be so disappointing that in my private domain, words fail to give an exact meaning to my riddle.

Bitterly, I retreat to my cocoon in the hope that a brief respite from the maddening pace of the world will focus my thoughts and give way to a speech that releases the unspoken.

It is not like this. What I find, buried and forgotten, locked down by a heavy artillery of “grown-up” problems, is a distant memory of emotional exuberance and physical ecstasy that once ignited my passions and inspired self-expression. There are no words or speech that colors your energy and gives you life. It is pure meat. His language is the body. He only understands the rhythm. He doesn’t lie because he can’t. He only tells the truth. When the body takes over, the mind obeys and the soul delights. In the moment, I surrender to its power. Lose all inhibitions. Unleash what chains my being. In the language of dance I give voice to my soul. I put my thoughts to rest. I talk to my body. We make a beautiful conversation.