I spent the hour after lunch weeping at my desk, thinking about the panic I generate when I dance.

I don’t understand. Chris Tomlin sings (Good, Good Father, which I’m looping today):

Oh, it’s love so undeniable
I, I can hardly speak
Peace so unexplainable
I, I can hardly think
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
As you call me deeper still
Into love, love, love

Is that what it’s like for you when I dance?

The world calls for love, compelling a response, and energy fills the air as I arch backwards with my heart open to the sky. On the streets later people smile as though they know me, and I wonder what they expect. I can’t relieve them of the hole in their hearts that God meant to  be used as a gateway for love. I can only bear witness to the consequences of their neglect, witness etched deep into my disfigured face.

Oh, Woman! I don’t need the forgiveness of your beauty. I need a pair of arms to encircle my weary heart. I need someone to believe that I am enough, even as the tide of sorrows rises and our conventions surrender to heaven’s purpose.

Yes, it hurts. It hurts SO MUCH! You were meant to see that wound, to guide the healing power of love to it. It’s not your heart to own! It is filled with waters for you to channel into life.

This purpose: why does it have to mean so much? Why does it have to exclude everything else?

My father tried to warn me: “Maybe we’re all waiting , Brian, for you to prove that love works.”

Corruption seeks power, and absolute love draws corruption absolutely. We fear ourselves, the candles that draw the moth to the flame.