There is something wonderful about inclement weather. About the energy in the air on a grey, rainy day. It's expectant, yet calm. Probably the reason why I like days like these, is that no matter what I do, it feels like I've accomplished something (i.e. sitting and writing this isn't accompanied by the guilty sting of sunshine).
Gloomy days encourage introspection; and for me, they're a reminder of the duality in the world. There can't be good days without bad, light without dark, or contentment without discontent. Contrast is the ultimate teacher of awareness. In this regard, meditation is being aware of the ever-changing nature of the world while maintaining inner stillness. This is balance.
I keep having to remind myself that happiness isn't some static, attainable goal. It's a stream, violent and ever-flowing. If you throw your hands in a stream and try to grasp something, try to hold onto it, you will always feel empty handed, always in pursuit. But if you're still, feeling the water rush over you or floating along with it, you can experience happiness as it happens.
Perhaps this is what dancing is to me, when something inside me is stirring. I feel chaos in my body, like rain building up inside a cloud; and when I let it go, when I move past that threshold of aching, tired muscles, I become awake and ecstatic. I find stillness in motion. My body is the stream and awareness is my true self.
I can't say why I feel the impulse to put this into words, or to share these words for that matter. I suppose it's my way of expelling pent up thoughts and emotions, acknowledging and then letting them go. Right this moment, I feel small and insignificant in the best way. The world is carrying on outside, unencumbered, and the impermanence of everything is somehow a comfort. No matter the feeling, no matter the moment, the truth is, "this too shall pass."