The Rescue of th Dancer
"The Rescue of the Dancer"
By Sarah Faithy, 4/21/06
Once, there was a dancer. Now, not just any dancer. She was a dancer of Stories. She danced of life before the King. She weaved stories of heroes, of heroins, of love and of music. She danced the tales of simple mystery, of Truth and its opponent who always seemed lost in the victory of Good.
The Dancer never talked. No, for she was meant to dance and the King took great delight in her - for it was He who had created her. The Dancer had not always danced for the King, however. She was once captive and bound in a cage of shame and struggle. Even then she danced of course - for that is what she did. It was for who, for what, and the wind that whispers of her shackled beauty-distorted, that leads the curious reader, on.
As is all things before manglement, the Dancer was young and hopeful and naive. Her purity could not be matched by even the most lovely of babes, and many admired her beauty. For some, the intentions were souly to comprehend and even thereon, attain this light she carried. For others, the intents were not so pure. It is here, that we meet our foe disguised in sheeps' wool - the Manipulator.
He desired the Dancer's beauty, but not for his own admiration and delight. It was another notch in his stick he was looking to acquire. His only pursuit was to ruin her. The Dancer of course, he knew was not familiar with shadow. But he also knew she was not a fool. She knew what evil was, and with that he would not be able to tempt her. He knew that in order to grasp her, he would need to speak her language. ... apparent Love in the form of dance.
She loved to dance - and dance she did. She danced for Love. She danced in the hope of the wonder of falling in love. She danced dreams of Love - and she danced in the innocence of a clean-heart anticipating this beauty she kept in her vision.
Thus it came to be that a man, dressed in white garments came to *surly* show her the meaning she had tried so long to express with her creamy hands and un-touched feet. It was he she knew, who had come to whisk her away. He - the Interpreter - The one she waited for so long, who had come to understand her soul - her body - her being. It was he who danced with her the tales of imagination, of fantasy and of ...heaven. Or so she believed.
But it was not the Interpreter that she danced into love with. It was not of beauty, it was not of purity that this man had danced of. No. It was a web he danced, around her. One of egg-shells of lust and shame. He knew that the Dancer could not see it - for he knew the Book of Poetry like the back of his hand, and it declared, "To the pure, all things are pure..." And he knew that she was fresh and unsoiled. And he knew who he was.
"...But to those who are defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure, but even their mind and conscience are defiled."
He was the Manipulator. And it was HE that had fallen the Dancer captive, not the Interpreter, for whom she had saved her heart. Indeed, there came a time where the Dancer realized she no longer was a poet-dancer of Light. For when she leaped for the freedom she once knew, she saw that she was bound with chains of succumbtion. And when she spread herself to run for joy, she slammed into the iron gates of shame and sorrow. Her feet bled from the razor-shells and pieces of glass she stood upon with her master - one wrong move and he would turn. - Not knowing He was always against her. He gleefully basked in her tears and enjoyed the presence of hopeless desperation and pain. She danced on still, though weak and - to a death she found she had gained.
As time went on, the Dancer became reckless. She had never spoken before, but she reached for the light that peaked through the crackish hole in the cave-like dungeon she found herself in. Surely a Rescuer would hear! She had heard of a King, once. Fact was, she had danced for His Son - and His eyes shown with a Loving pride she'd never seen before. He had said she could be a princess - and even more so, He spoke. He had said to her, "Seek first, My Dancer-friend, the Kingdom of Heaven. Seek with diligence the King of that Place - for He is My Father. And Little Dancer, if you seek Him with all your heart, you will find Him, For He first loved you."
...The King Loved her? Heaven. Heaven...was...up, right? Heaven was pure, right? What if she sought to pursue this Heaven, seeking to call on the King? Would she find Him? Would He save her? The Dancer looked in and around her new home of sham and shackle. It was worth her try; staying here meant she would die anyway. So, she danced. She danced and she called a word she'd never known, never heard, never uttered before but somehow it fit with all she danced.
"ABBA!!!!" She cried. "ABBA!!!" she called, moving - yanking - at her chains of contempt. She hated them. But she remembered what the Rescuer had said and so she called and danced on, despite the angry threats of her master the Manipulator.
So it was, not long after she begun, the crack where the light had been,burst through with as with a mighty force. Down jumped the Rescuer, a golden key shaped like the form of a cross is His bronze-like hand. He unlocked her cage, her shackles and chains as fiercely silent agents poured through the entrance, warding off the Manipulator and His ploys.
He screamed, "She is MINE, Rescuer! She beckoned into MY way and into MY life which I have risen. She gave herself away... to ME."
As the Rescuer picked the Dancer up into His arms, He turned to the Manipulator and said, "She may have given herself to you once, but the King has called her, and I have WON her. You cannot touch her now - your doom will soon find you, but it will NEVER find those who are Mine."
With that, the Rescuer left, with the Dancer, and with His warriors, to the sound of the screeching, powerless Evil. HE had spoken, and True Authority had staked its claim. It WAS Finished.
The Dancer knew this faithfulness she had once danced for, for the first time that day and it was right then, that she was made clean her heart once more.
"You shall dance for the King, My Sister." said the Rescuer. "Take My yoke upon you, for it is easy and My burden is light."
With that, He wiped away her dirty tears and waved a new cloak woven with gold upon her, more beautiful than the one which she was even born into as an infant. It shone like a star in the clear night's sky. He then gave her His "burden" which was but 3 things.
The first was a beautiful white-gold neck-chain which held on it an intricately designed Cross...one that seemed to be made only and just for her.
"First, you must take up your cross and follow Me, Dancer," The Rescuer said as He put it over her head.
The second given to her was the Book of Poetry, of which The Rescuer said, "These are poems My Father and I have written - specifically for you to dance to."
The third was not physical substance so it caught the Dancer's attention.
"I may not always be available like I have been today, my Dear Friend," began the Rescuer. "So, this I leave you with: My Spirit. When you feel lonely in Your dance, it is He who will surround you and interpret EVERY thought of your heart - and You will never again be left alone to find your own way."
The Dancer's heart melted ... into a bigger shape somehow and an overflow of thanksgiving seemed to be on the tip of her once-stuttering tongue. She knew who she would live to please all the rest of her life - the Rescuer. The King.
And so, we find her dancing before her King - The King who delights in her so - the King who knew her before she was made. Who still knew what she had always, deep-down desired. It was there, before her King, that another man first saw her, and admired her beauty and purity - seasoned and even refined, it seemed. The King knew that this man would soon desire her - the Dancer, for in fact, the King had planned it all the long. The Man's name, of course who was so captivated by this young woman was the Interpreter... The one that the King had planned for the Dancer to meet from the beginning of Time.