They dance in imitation of maenads who associated with the god in the old days.
He that knows the Power of the Dance dwells in God
This is what it feels like.
We are dancing along the blade
of a double edged sword.
There is a blunt edge
& a sharp edge.
Trying to keep in time
we dance from the hilt
to the point and back again,
sometimes daring, to leap
to the sharp edge in
the sheer joy and excitement
of the dance.
& sometimes to the blunt edge
in quantitative tranquillity.
& always back to the
continuum of the blade.
Often it is just a question of
who is the best dancer.
She holds love in
the palm of her hand
& inside her own body.
She cavorts with luck,
flirts with misfortune,
she gives birth daily,
severs her heart from her brain,
and listens to both.
Her children constantly
clamour for attention.
She is the heroine and the wimp,
the virgin and the vamp,
the child and the woman
She is the venus of madonnas,
within and without she
realises the pleasure and the pain,
the immensity of love.