Dancing is freedom, no other way to put it. Once the music starts and begins to settle inside, the spinning, the rhythm, the primal beat feels like flying as if the air around me is mine alone seemingly lighter, lifting, void of gravity. I love the slam into the ground the forceful pop of a ribcage thrust, the sensual rotation of the hips as if drawing circles in mid-air. There are pockets of time when the music demands and celebrates hard moves allowing any anger to pitch itself outward and bounce off the walls and there are other times when the music is soft and a gentle longing pours from the body and out through each fingertip before it floats up and away. Then there are those moments, those delicious moments, when the music swells from inside and beams laughter and sunshine and joy and spreads itself around the room infecting everyone. Dancing is freedom, indeed.