(a)
The real dancer has no stage, no dance, not even a rhythm, no silk strings and drums singing. In the eyes of ordinary people, most dancers are ascetics dancing with handcuffs and shackles, and a pair of red dancing shoes is the witness of countless rules and regulations. Bouncing feet, trembling knees, tightening hips, sending hips, girding the waist, spreading the back, sinking the shoulders, raising the head ...... From the first second of touching the handle bar, the dancer's life has been fixed into a model inherited for thousands of years. Of course, there is also music, those colorful, ups and downs of the rhyme, in fact, is the rhythm and beat twisted into a fiber rope, every slight shake is touched by a hundred readings never tired of Prajna Mantra.
The walker has no boundaries, and dances with the wind. Everyone is a born dancer, no need to intentionally imitate the body of the classics handed down for thousands of years, no need to distinguish the complexity of the changing syncopation of the beat point, as long as you have the heart, will certainly dance between heaven and earth. "When you fall to the ground, you make an unintentional stomp under the shadowless lamp, and it is the initial appearance of the world from the other world to this world; you waved your arms and stretched out your legs in the sunshine of your childhood without thinking, and left a natural shape in the world; and then you are in the winds of the teenagers, in the rain of the youth, and the endless frost, snow, wind and thunder, using your limbs as pens and writing with your thoughts. Then, in the wind of youth, in the rain of youth, and in the frost, snow, and thunder that followed, you used your body as a brush and your mind as a writing brush to sketch out a picture, a scene, a sketch of a dance, a sketch of a dance, or a brushwork of a dance.
Of course, there is a difference between ordinary dancers and outstanding dancers, between which there is not only a mountain of years, but also a river of the heart. When we graduated from the Beijing Dance Academy's folk dance program, we observed a performance by a black Zimbabwean dancer. The stage is unusually simple, no lights, this man with dark skin color first heavily stepped down a foot, immediately there is a drum splash, splash to the audience full of body full of face, then he kicked the drums around, kicked into various shapes, humbly lightning general straight to the audience's bottom of the eyes, ears, and even the wall of the heart, and then he gently stepped down the other foot, and immediately there is a Sac or a Batson snake-like scurrying out around the drums! The drums were beating, and a saxophone or a bassoon came out like a snake, and danced around the drums. At that moment, all our years of dance practice were almost completely diluted, and all our vocabulary and experience were polished to transparency by the three simple words "heaven, earth, and man". The black dancer finished his performance, came down to the stage and shook hands with us one by one, and I realized that this man with a face full of vicissitudes of the foreign land actually has a child-like pure gaze.
(2)
Looking back, the earth is far away and the sky is high. In the light flying gap, I always can not help but think of the predecessor who led me to stumble.
Nearly 20 years of mingling stage, hand in hand taught me at least 20 dance teacher, among them, there is no lack of Dai Ailian, Jia Zuoguang, Chen Yinyun such a famous teacher, but I miss the most is the laid-off after the home of the enlightenment of the teacher. My enlightened teacher is the hometown of the small county cultural center of the dance cadres, a dance as the life of a devout pilgrim. This life, he seems to have only one hobby, only engaged in a career, until the cultural center in the market economy tide disintegration, he also fell into the "laid-off", the heart still only dance this thing. In my memory, he kept the professional posture of closing the abdomen, lifting the chest and raising the head at all times, even if he walked alone on the rugged road to the Tibetan and Qiang cottages or struggled in the bumpy mud of the countryside fields, and never changed easily. Many years later, he taught me those ancient, solemn dance vocabulary is mostly covered by the later masters of the instructions, but he carved in my soul above the upright posture and unyielding spirit is more and more clear, more and more obvious.
Not long ago, I went to my hometown with a film crew to do a special program. In the evening, the comrades of the Propaganda Department specially arranged for us to go to the county town of Leisure Square, where I once again met my enlightenment teacher. He is an open space to lead a group of old men and women dancing fitness dance, dancing a lot of people, a large black, a moment to stomp, a moment to clap, a moment to step, just like the tide of the tide. However, in the dim streetlights, noisy music, a variety of rhythms, I clearly feel that his dance is so lonely. I quietly approached him, followed him behind the serious dance up, the crowd rang a burst of applause, the teacher also jumped more vigorously, black and white hair in the deepening night tirelessly fluttering.
Will live and will not live, are living the same day, but not all days can withstand the torture of time. The beat of youth is destined to be replaced by the vicissitudes of the camel's bells, until the child's heart is far away, the young silhouette into a blurred outline, who can calmly bear the lightness of the past and the weight of emotion? The dancer's encounter, like the uncut fairy tale, deep and shallow life, like that flat and narrow mountain road, really can't help but look again and again.
(3)
"If the years will forget anything, it is the song I wrote for you in a hurry; if time can leave anything, it must be the drop of tears when we shake hands". Such a sentence, a thousand times written in our graduation book, written in the yellowing of the journey, but none of them become an excuse for future dating.
The way to go is misty, the way to go is pattering. Most of the finished dances are step by step choreographed in the exchange of dance partners program, holding hands, jumping, spinning, lifting ...... dazzling plot, all the carefully designed passion and warmth. And once the song is over, unloading the sweaty costumes, fading out of the mottled oil paint, life will be lifted to the pages of the blandness of the book.
In the dance class, I stood in the front row of the eldest sister. She had a pair of beautiful and slender hands and a pair of understanding eyes. When practicing spinning, the teacher often divided us into groups. Whenever that happened, she would always say, "Come on, hold on to your hands and look into my eyes." Those were eyes that spoke, and one look into them would wet you with their tenderness. I was so engrossed that I couldn't let go of the tenderness in my hands until the next combination had already begun. Sister laughed, gently broke away from my palm and said, "When it's time to let go, you have to let go ah."
In my back row stood the little sister. She has a pair of well-proportioned legs and a pretty face. She was my dance partner when I practiced lifting. She is a natural dancer, a gift from God to the world. While other girls tend to panic when they first learn to lift, she is able to make a series of difficult movements in the moment of soaring. But then, the moment she landed, she would unexpectedly wrap her arms around my neck and feign intimacy. The teacher was very unhappy about this, the companions also quite a lot of criticism, I was embarrassed all red in the face, but the senior sister said: "That's it, don't let go."
Ten years later, the eldest sister also became a dance teacher, we often meet, but no longer hold hands; ten years later, the youngest sister went to the south, and never met again, listening to classmates, she is no longer dancing, a few years ago, and a comparable age and her father's marriage to a man, do full-time wife.
(d)
The teenager's heart is always loaded with a bird, and fly and high, but forgot that behind the time there is an iron anchor, and hook and sink.
In fact, every story has a specific theme, every journey has a unique scenery, just as yesterday and today there is no clear boundary, every step we take is actually stepping on the intersection of history and the future.
Seniors say that a person who dances with his soul will eventually find his own stage. I believe that every star will have specific coordinates, even if the shooting star also has its own trajectory, only, the years go by, time is hard, memories and yearning can never replace the much-needed proof. As today, I am also gradually old, although the heart is still overflowing with exuberant feelings, but how the feet are not allowed to step on the drums of life.
Listen to it, the harmony of the bamboo is far away, the singing of the black stallion is close, the faint evening bell, who is opening another curtain of life?
See, the distant pastoral flute goes, the fashionable sound painting comes, in the hazy morning sun, who has been in the more traveled and farther on the road to dance with the wind?