By: Andrea Lingle

In each manifestation [of art] is the seed of a striving towards the abstract, the non-material…With few exceptions music has been for some centuries the art which has devoted itself not to the reproduction of natural phenomena, but rather to the expression of the artist’s soul, in musical sound.
Wassily Kandinsky Concerning the Spiritual in Art, 19

Sweat poured from every face, especially the one framed by thick braids. Her fingers scrubbed and tripped over the banjo as her eyes beguiled the audience. The heat of bodies and joy pulsed through the air and romped with the song as it burned from her throat. The throb of the music somehow corresponded with the human condition from the garden to the moon landing. This was humanity played out in song.

I had been invited to hear Rhiannon Giddens and the Carolina Chocolate Drops by a friend. Until that moment I only knew their music second or third hand: a friend had seen them at a festival, and, boy, were they great! I stood in the choir-turned-crowd, muted by my unfamiliarity, observing. Until the song began. I don’t remember the words or the tune. I remember the way that my feet moved parallel to but unregulated by my will. I have tried finding the song since then, but, while I am sure the song had a title and had been recorded at some point, the song that was played that night was a singular event. Rhiannon, the crowd, the heat, the lights, the drums, and I created a song that existed only in that moment. This was a visitation by Song; the only proper response was to dance.

When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign, is Solitude—
The Prelude, Wordsworth, 69

There was once only darkness, then God spoke a word and there was light. There was once only silence, then God spoke a word and there was sound. My favorite depiction of creation comes from The Magician’s Nephew by C. S. Lewis. Aslan, the leonine representation of the Divine, is walking back and forth across the emptiness of pre-creation, singing. Song brings the world into being. Sometimes it is the pianissimo of snowfall or the andante of late afternoon, but creation is a song that is sung to graciously minister to the soul. The allure of the loon and the robin beckons to the soul to wander deep into the breast of creation, on feet built for pirouettes, and join in. Later in the Chronicles of Narnia in The Last Battle, Aslan cries to those who can hear him, “Come further up and further in.” This is an unfolding world that, without the specific rhythm of your dancing feet, would be incomplete.

No one gets a free pass from heartbreak, discouragement, and the dull, weary thud that comes from asking, Did I waste my time?
Rob Bell, How to Be Here, 88

The thing about dancing is, most people aren’t very good at it. Done well, dance is an art form. It can be a statement, a political act, a celebration, a ritual, but for most, it is an emanation. It is emotion that must be moved through. Is there a greater expression than the unobserved dance? Perhaps it is merely the swaying of the gnarled hand in the sunlight as a memory plays through the mind. This dance is responding to the song of creation even when your back is stiff and your rhythm limping.

The Song was sung, not to be in perfect tune, but to offer an invitation to

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