No one likes to submit. It feels foreign and dangerous, but we long for intimacy (in-to-me-see), so we taste and see if the other is good and safe.
There was movement and rhythm as the couple glided across the dance floor. He gently led, she moved in response. She would tilt her head, he would follow. This was passion. This was love.
There was grace and beauty, purpose and direction.
The music leads them both. The beat kept them in time, and the rise and fall of notes kept them riding the waves of the composers’ expression. It was an expression of perfect submission.
They to each other and both to the rhythm and rhyme. Floating in perfection, entranced in grace towards each other’s little failures.
The other couple on the floor, though, were struggling.
One wanted to Hip Hop while the other wanted to Line Dance and the music was strictly ballroom.
It just wasn’t working. No one submitted to each other, and there was no listening to the music.
Can two walk [or dance] together, except they be agreed? Amos 3:3
I long for perfect dance. A flow of perfect unity, but more often, I feel pull and push, demand and manipulation. ‘You will submit’ and ‘I demand you do …’
Relationships become policies and procedures, rules and regulations, real estate agreements, rather than walking in three-fold unison with something bigger than the relationship itself.
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