SHE who dances in dirt knows the joy of being clean.
SHE who dances in first eats a slice of darkness alongside her cup of sunlight.
SHE who dances in dirt can smell the stench and survive,
won’t hesitate to cry when she feels pain.
She screens until her anguish breeds laughter and her laughter breeds movement.
She proclaims her boundaries loud, proud, with conviction,
and believes fervently that her input it valuable
SHE who dances in dirt breathes fully, breathes freely.
SHE who dances in dirt has also flirted with fire, swam in sadness, tasted tragedy, felt the forceful flames or fury rise within her soul then bubble up, out, and over into a salty sea.
She has been there. She has gone deep.
She knows the meaning of suffering,
and has risen from her pain alive and clean—ruggedly scarred—but shinning clean.
SHE who dances in dirt does so because
she knows her dancing will cause he wounds to heal.
Her dancing will connect her with the pulse of the great mother.
Her joy atop a mass of confusion
will help others learn
to trust the dirt, befriend the pain, know
its watery depths
and in them find power to rise from the black hole.
Her dancing with spread until
SHE who dances in dirt
will not dance alone.
SHE who dances in dirt is one of many
who move their bare feet
across and into the land
dancing, dancing, dancing . . .
joyfully, confusedly, wildly, in the dirt.
– Anna Ruth Hall