the price of freedom

is running about $350/hr. or so i'm told. pretty steep.
i wish money wasn't a factor in everything. that all my broke friends
could have what they need (namely, money). that i could give them
some of mine. but for some strange reason it is what it is.
and i've not yet found a way to live apart from money, there are
precious few who can.

tonight in belly dancing, my beautiful, delicious instructor
led us in a spontaneous meditation. this from a figure eight.
i have a poem in me about it, but it's not ripe yet. and will
have to wait. as i was driving away i thought, how odd i must
appear, when i have to go write. i make a beeline and shut up.

then at home, no one can talk to me until i'm done.

it must be the same for all artists.

but the poem eludes me and i'm too tired to try to wrangle it,
'tis not my style.

so i'll let it come. and will try to present favorable conditions
for its return. belly dancing music being one.

i have a few cds, they are not my favorite. i like the music my
bohemian instructor plays. but her tastes are ecclectic and trying
to pin down her selections is tough.

she's who turned me on to that annie lennox song. which i listen to many times
almost every day.

so, i will sleep with my belly dance cds on. and see what happens.

tonight she said,

belly dance is a dance by women, for women.

and we were all lost in the movement of our hips, the rolling of our spines,
the undulations of our arms. there were no awkwardnesses tonight, i stumbled a few times, but that is to be expected when lost in movements one is trying to learn.

i saw myself dancing. i was dancing.
and the instructor's movements are easier and easier for me to follow.
though her form is hard to hold.

she's got a rock solid body, and well, i just don't.

but i do the best i can, and muddle through.

that seems to be how i get along.

i want my freedom, seems i'll have to pay the price.
when i told my instructor about this she said,

freedom is priceless.