The Dance of Una Ecclesiam et Deus- Journey in a Broken World

(Journey in a Broken World)

Article by Marc Aupiais

She felt it like silk against her skin: anguished, as though a soft brush of needles has been combed over her naked heart. She was worried, and pranced back and forward like a fearful horse after a loud noise. Shadow and light combined, her face hid a small scar, her eyes pierced, yet she was almost blind now.

She waited, and awaited her dance- as the announcement reverberated, and the audience quieted. They had come so far, to see her: to support her and jeer at her. She was a prodigy, a paradox. An example of foreign oddness.

Fear sailed up her shivering form, and entered her veins, and conquered her heart. She breathed, and calmed, as her heart pounded, and her chest beat against solid air. Things slowed down, then began to speed up, as she closed her eyes and hoped. She trusts, does she not? Calm enters her, as she is left conflicted. On the stage, the music starts, it enters one, and encompasses. Ahead lies a leap of faith. She goes through the logic, as she prepares to run, her legs move, yet she calms her conflicted self, and feels her veins contract.

The rivers inside her skin move slower, and she steadies her heart rate as much as viable. Ahead lies a sharp light, and around it- all is dark. She breathes in, and brushes her hair, combing with naked hands, and then she walks forward. Her heart is now like a log, tossed in the sea, and it beats as though buoyed in a hurricane. The beat is constant in her ears, as her face becomes pale beyond comparing.

The figure walks towards her, and peace begins to radiate, like the sun shining on her form. The rhythmic beat hits like a soaking in torrid ocean waves. She prepares to faint, and faintly stumbles into view, as around the lit up area they stand on- darkness surrounds. She cannot see the crowd, she ignores them as best she is able. She nearly closes her eyes, as she prepares to dance, as gentle, and perfect hands clasp her waist, and as a beam of light shines against her. She notes now, she is wearing clothes- a shining, translucent pale blue dress, which shines and reflects- sparkling, swirling like waters turning: in the light.

Dressage. She prances like a horse... Together: as one flow, together- form molds. She floats, like a strand of shrubbery, blown in the wind. She sways- like the savanna- in torrents before the storm. There is electrical energy in the air- a calm coolness preceding the power of an ancient storm.

The crowd is agitated, some want to hurt her, some devalue her- she senses their stare, and shivers. Other admire, others are jealous- others still wish they were her, and still others want to see her dance. Her moves are sudden, dramatic in this act of passionate rhythm. She hardly knows to trust her partner, as he leads her in a dangerous pose. In every move she senses his stare- it sustains her more than love- fear of betraying him, who trusted her is greater than that of the watching crowd. In every moment, he watches her technique, it is flawless: least he grimace, it is perfect, least he leave her and no longer dance. She is scared, a fear twirling, like a black horse swirling: she is terrified, as one who loves the mirror of her soul, whose heart would fade, should she disappoint. She barely trusts, but movement takes her, she barely knows- but logic sustains her.

"Ecclesiam", Deus whispers her name, as she recognizes barely her partner, and they prepare to move again. She realizes she was frightened now, she sees the swaying crowd, and watches as they move.

"Ecclesiam... Dear, dear friend!" Ecclesiam glances up at Dues, at the partner she so loves... and sees her partner, barely flashing against the flowing of movement and light. Her heart takes longer to beat, surprise takes her, she dares not meet his eyes!

"You did... good...!" She barely remembered it, these near foreign words he said. It was soft, it was quiet, barely could she hear... "Now follow me, we have more to dance... ... ... Do not disappoint"

She holds his hand, she feels steady now. Her fears are lost, she's bathing in his tearing love.

Her form is perfect, technique matters so much. She aims in her self: now barely to please- her heart wont pass this down.

They do a dance, as light flashes around. She holds his hand, daring not to glance up. Her fear remains, yet so now does her hope. She dances now, freed: by her very technique; extravagant- for her exacting specification of pose. Her feet move faster, her eyes glance around. She stops, then moves, then isn't sure until her partner carries her forward into the blissfulness of dance.

This is her chance- the only one to please, this is her promise- her actions will make her married. She is God's fiancée, the church of the living God. This is where she has the opportunity- to impress him into marriage. When in love: we cherish our foolish loving, when in love- every risk is enough: yet, when in love with truth: truth must lead all things. We dance not with the audience, no: we make them wish they were us.

Perhaps, we are only the shoe, or a tiny part of her, but as long as we, as man and as woman: are the cherished woman: Ecclesiam: that pristine woman we call church: we dance with God himself, and we are entitled to what follows! We are like royalty, or the couple at their day: let us not forget our dignity, our birthright should we not forsake it.

All watch, and some applaud- as Ecclesiam and Deus end their dance- all around people begin to stand: inside her heart, the wild horse dances. All are impressed, she finished her dance, and shall dance forever with Deus: her partner. Her form won him for her, and his goodness, true oneness won her for him. Let us become Ecclesiam's flesh, let us be good- true and morally sane!