Lost, looking for answers for my life, I enter into a library,
The largest library in the universe, with walls stacked with books,
As if the books made up the walls themselves.
With walls seemingly extending toward infinity,
This library, I thought, must have what I am looking for.
I rummaged through its books, as if swimming thru them,
Skimming parts of one, before coming across another,
With a finer title, with promises to quell my lack of inner peace.
I find bits of satisfaction from answers here and there,
Sparkling bits of gold in the river of wisdom of millennia of authors.
At first my heart was buoyed with happiness in that river,
—then it sunk, telling me the search has not ended.
“There is more for me to know,” I told myself,
“Before I can start to fully live my life,
And find peace in knowing myself.”
The librarian, overhearing me talking to myself,
Pointed to the sign that says “QUIET”
And shared with me, “We have this sign
Not so much that others can have peace
But that within this space, you find it in your heart.”
He then pointed to a very small room
In the center of the whole universe-wide library.
“Here is the Heart of the Library
Where you may find what you are looking for.”
I marched there with glee and determination, thinking,
“Surely, in a small room, I must be able to find what I want!”
But in that dark, stuffy, closet-like space,
There were only old books, none with up-to-date information.
And when I opened them, only pictures can be found.
Sinking my shoulders in disappointment,
A woman of an unrecognizably old age, perhaps a thousand years,
But with a smile and vibrancy of a mischievous child,
Playfully tapped me on the shoulder.
“I can point to you what you are looking for,” she laughed,
And started to clumsily move about and danced with her fragile frame.
“Here in these movements, are the secrets of the library!”
She continued them without self-consciousness.
“But this dance looks absolutely silly!” I scoffed…in my mind—
I didn’t want to cause any commotion in a library.
Patiently as I could, tapping my foot, I waited her out.
As she danced her dance with no seeming music, rhythm, or expertise,
She made a small, intricate movement with her hand
And at that moment, a voice without words entered into my head
“This is a movement” the voice telepathically described to me,
“Capturing a truth of life all the books in the library can’t quite fully capture.”
There is something confident and knowing in that voice—
And I realize then it is the voice of the old woman.
My intuition knew: “She must be the Spirit of the Library.”
“Listen to your heart,” her voice told me.
And when I did, I felt an ancient music playing within it.
She was dancing to it, synced with its rhythm,
And I saw how even in the small gestures of her dance,
Moving to the wordless music, sweet and tender
Subtle and deep truths are conveyed about living
That moved me to tears.
In another small movement of her dance,
It expressed open and inviting warmth, yet if I looked really looked carefully,
Something vulnerable and painful too about the same movement,
As trauma of hers was still stored within it.
At the same time her movement was confident, as the trauma
Was processed, healed, and channeled over time
Into a wisdom of empathy developed over years
Of her having understood pain, and turning it into a welcoming kindness.
Yet there is much more contained in that movement,
a lifetime of self-awareness of hers that I just cannot describe.
“Before we created writing and were able to read,” her voice continued,
“We all have these truths within us, and we were able to dance to them like they’re music,
And words in books become a wonderful way to translate aspects of truth,
But the modern world has forgotten the pictures behind them,
And forgotten how to move to them like a dance reverberating through life.
It has only sought for more and more words, with greater speed and perfection,
And less the truths experienced beneath them,
And the warmth and the patience with which they were breathed.”
“Now it’s your turn to dance,” she told me with a smile.
“I can’t!” I retorted, “I am unprofessional, and I’m still reading dance books,
And I plan on taking dance classes one day!”
But something about her having danced her vulnerable dance
And her inviting smile, gave me a sense of non-judgment
That relaxed me and slowly opened me up.
Something in her dance conveyed to me
It did not matter how I began.
Like her, I started clumsily moving,
Closing my eyes, trying to listen for the inner music in my heart,
And in that inner stillness and space,
A quiet, ancient music emerged, one I realized always had been there, playing all along,
But in my rabid search for truth, I never stopped to listen to it.
And its sound became clearer and clearer the more that I tuned inward,
And the less closed off from myself I was.
I moved to the music, and the more that I followed my own heart,
The more I realized my movements were directed from an inner source.
Trusting myself, I expressed feelings, vulnerabilities on the one hand
And knowledge and wisdoms on the other—all from a lifetime of experience.
The movements brought them together into one whole
When I allowed my movements to be laid bare,
And my unconscious to take over.
Then I realized I was on a stage—
The walls of the room opened up to reveal
That I was on a round, raised platform.
And from behind where the walls once were,
A small half-circle of an audience sat,
All of them with instruments, harmonizing to my inner music.
Upon the sight, I freaked out inside—
And my whole body tumbled onto the floor.
“Oh, I messed up! And in front of everyone too!” I told myself.
But the old lady heard my inner voice, and smiling, she started tumbling too,
In a way that seemed absolutely horrible and career-ending to me,
And the whole audience gasped and stopped playing.
But then her tumbling transformed and emerged
Into a dance move that was full of grace, dignity, and poise.
The audience started cheering, making the music louder,
For she did not hide the tumble, but transfigured it!
I followed suit, and decided to continue my tumbling, the shame released from it.
Then I transformed it into another dance move different from hers,
And the audience cheered louder, enjoying the collaboration the dance became!
I quietly wished there was more people and a bigger room,
That there was a full circle of audience around the stage,
Rather than just the small group in front of us.
But the vibrancy and energy of the room
And the intimacy and involvement of a small group
Made it feel larger than an anonymous, impersonal stadium of spectators.
I realize I was not sure who was directing the whole scene:
Was I harmonizing with the old lady, or was she harmonizing with me?
Was the audience harmonizing with us, or were we harmonizing with them?
Who was ultimately doing directing? Perhaps all of us, or none of us—
But the more I continued to harmonize, and the more I expressed myself
The more enjoyable the whole collaborative experience became
As the music and dance become louder and more festive!
