Dance: an anti-Ramble (or ramble-less ramble, perhaps)


As you can see by the photo, I have notes and Desire Cards and the Bible out for reference for this one.  This one is going to take some taffy pulling to pull it together (see blog post…/thinking-a-cathartic-ramble for the taffy reference).  So, not a real, raw ramble.

You ever know any bizarre, creative people who do bizarre things, wear bizarre clothes, write bizarre words and try to fit the word bizarre into a sentence which both breaks the Guinness Record and is bizarrely compelling enough to read the entire, bizarre thing?  Did I overdo it?

Anyway, we RARELY sit around and think about HOW we’re going to be bizarre next (If you pay me $1000, I’ll bring you as my guest to the next Bizarre Bazaar/Ball, where we actually plot these things.  You’d probably kinda like to get an inside look at that, wouldn’t you?).  If I happen to feel, for instance, like wearing a PURPLE cape, that I sewed up entirely without instruction, I simply DO IT.  I didn’t think about you or anyone else.  I made the cape.  I put it on.  I went to the grocery store.  I kept the cape on all night.  My cape and my boxers, here, safely tucked in my Batcave.  I didn’t think about you once.  I just did the Batdance all night.


I like to dance.  I liked to dance as a 12 year old sissy, back in the ’70’s, as a form of expression.  Only when I was stripping, in the Navy and a few years beyond, did I EVER dance as if someone else was watching.  I only occasionally open my eyes so that I might not knock down other dancers with a kick or a punch or a turn.  As strangely as I danced, I danced from a place of my making, a place where I was free.


So, kinda by accident (not really, but you have to wait for this story), one day I became a Christian.  Only there are SOME brands of Christianity that are a bit less than approving of Dance.  “ESPECIALLY if he came to GOD from among those [gosh darned] FAGGITS!”

“Don’t say [gosh darned] in church, Honey.”

“____ing FAGS!”

“That’s better, Honey.”

“You ain’t still one of them FAGGITS, is you, son?” asks Two-Tooth Tony of Philo.  “Cuz I ____ing kill FAGS.”

Philo thinks, ‘Sounds like you got more of a struggle going on inside than I do.’  But he replies, “I didn’t come to GOD, HE came to me.  When I was a fag.  That’s all you get, Tony.  Go polish your pickup.”

Back to Dance.  I like to Dance.  I like to Dance as if only GOD is watching.  So, if I’m a bit more, uh, animated by Worship Muzik than you are, you do you; I’ll do me, OKAY?  Me and MR. MR. MR. MR. CHRIST, MR. CHRIST MR. CHRIST MR. CHRIST, we got our thaaaang goin on.  It ain’t your thang.

As soon as I accepted the CROSS, I had somewhat about which to Praise HIM.  HE brought me through some serious merde.  And HE is still bringing.  But I SEEK HIM!  In Prayer and Dance and Worship and Yodeling, er, maybe not that last one.  I can’t sing, and I can barely manage a kazoo.

But David

King David

Look what it says here in Acts about King David (New Testament, btw) 13/22:  And when he had removed him, he raised up unto them David to be their king; to whom also he gave their testimony, and said, I have found David the son of Jesse, a man after mine own heart, which shall fulfil all my will.

I mean, wouldn’t you like for GOD to say something like that about you?  I certainly would, and I am not ashamed to admit it.  Look at how King David Worshiped the LORD here:  2 Samuel 6/14 And David danced before the Lord with all his might; and David was girded with a linen ephod. 15 So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpet.

If King David can Dance for GOD, so can I.  I wouldn’t mind being compared to David, whose name means the same thing mine does, albeit from different languages.

I AM has named me BELOVED, from before the foundation of the world.  And GOD’S Beloved, he DANCES.  To GOD.


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