Journal Entry #1

I once quoted Virginia Satir for her sorrowful reminder on the subject of creation and regret; “I’ve often wondered how many dreams, and how many possibilities, have died with their owner without expression.” She said.
It makes me think of the meaning that dance has to me.
That in a sense, all my dances end with a desolate notion as it denotes the closing of a series of actions, a sequence of intentions, and perhaps a collection of my obscure emotions. It ceased to exist as I anchored myself into that still state. They were born and I am often time the only witness of the death of the expression.
That I gave birth to those dreams and possibilities yet they were born to be dead. Without being noticed, if I extend the metaphor by Virginia Satir, I became the only griever of the vanished existence.
But they existed.
As I would.

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