Five Dancers and a Football Player

Written by 

[Editor's Intro: Our usual host for Sacred Sundays, Chela Davison, is busy working on her final projects for the Integral Coaching Canada program, so we have a recent poem by the Reverend Bruce Sanguin to offer in her absence. You can read more of Bruce's work at his new blog/website If Darwin Prayed. Blessings, enjoy. -Trevor] 


Five Dancers and a Football Player - Bruce Sanguin      Light_Dancer_by_canyonlord-300x182

Dusk touches

five dancers from Montreal

on a city street in Guelph.

People gather

for a boulevard transfiguration.

The artists move upon an asphalt stage

between parked cars,

no space too profane

to be transformed by beauty’s motion.

I am lost, and found, in ecstasy.

A single honk of a horn

interrupts the African beat.

Asynchronous and profane

this blast from another culture,

shatters my reverie.

The driver, fresh from football practice,

his body a bone-crushing instrument,

twitches with rage.

It’s Miller Time,

and Miller will not be interrupted by flakes and fakes,

writhing out their cryptic message

on this single-purpose venue made for cars.

Mary appears at his window,

speaking words of wisdom,

a plea for patience,

but he will not let it be.

Unable to advance,

refusing to back up (or down)

he takes his goal line stance.

Unmoved by sacred motion,

evolution meets its match.

Following the light

my attention floats

from the dancers,

to the man undone,

and on to the peace-maker,

knowing that such is the true dance of life:

Cultures approach,

then push away, circling each other,

touch briefly,

tectonic plates grind;

arms and legs

suggest tsunamis of fear.

Differing definitions

of the good, true, and beautiful,

buffered by heroic attempts

to span continents of discontent.

I am this dance.

I am the street dancer,

interpreting subtle emotions,

(allurements of a higher realm).

I am the football player,

flooded by a reptilian past.

I am the mediator,

choreographing a truce

between warring instincts —

to defend against the intruder,

and yet fly to the heart of the Holy.

This is evolution’s spiraling dance.

Sweeping us off our feet.

It takes the lead

wooing this warrior to retire his weapon

and surrender to awe,

(making all things possible).

I stand on a curb,

as witness,

to this whirling mystery within,

mirrored back to me on a city street.

And am surprised by love arising —

love for all of it,

for all of us.

The sun has not yet set.

It blankets and unites.

The dance goes on,

The dance always goes on

to the rhythm of love.

Related items

Join the Discussion

Commenting Policy

Beams and Struts employs commenting guidelines that we expect all readers to bear in mind when commenting at the site. Please take a moment to read them before posting - Beams and Struts Commenting Policy

Login to post comments

Search Beams

Most Popular Discussions