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I've always seen my craft, aerial dancing, as an exquisite metaphor for life's capricious dance. There are moments when you command dominance, exerting your power over esoteric laws of gravity. And then there are times when you must submit, allowing the force of the universe to guide and rule your path. Being an aerial dancer, especially a woman of my rather mature age of 47, and an undeniably fierce Brazilian at that, teases nuances that mirror both my personal and professional worlds.
From the ground, the aerial dance seems a haloed art of grace under the hush of celestial conversations. But up there, high above, it is an intimate battle with self, labyrinths of strength and vulnerabilities—as twisted as the silk I soar and plummet on, as unpredictable as the capoeira games I once played on terracotta roads. It is a constant fluctuation between seasoned control and blatant surrender. If I told you it’s not intoxicating, I'd be lying. 😈
Each spin, each twist and fall, demands a ferocious dominance, a rebellious assertion of strength over the silks, over my body. My muscles scream in the language only dancers can decipher. My hands, hardened like seasoned tambourines, grip the silk like a warrior ready for battle. This is me, in control, in command, dancing to the tunes of my own whims. Like a flower blooming, like the burst of a ripe jabuticaba, I am power incarnate.
But then, in swift pirouettes of reality and motion, the dance changes its tune — pulling me into its unforgiving vortex, demanding surrender. As an aerial dancer, the most profound moments are not when I dominate, but when I allow myself to be dominated. When I let go, allowing the centrifugal forces to pull me into their embrace 🧶, I experience a delicious power exchange. The intensity of the silks twirling me up in cocooned cradle, the decisive swoosh of the fall — isn’t it, ironically, an exercise in trust? Trust in the silks, in my own body, in the universe itself.
"You choose next," the universe whispers, almost mocking, as I give in to the melodic spiral. It's no longer about efforts or commands; it's about understanding the give-and-take. It mirrors those intimate moments when I navigate the ebbs and flows of my personal life. Just like the paradoxical plein air dance, intimacy also requires both dominance and surrender, the power exchange as riveting and as nerve-wracking. It is about knowing when to take lead and when to let go, when to express and when to listen, when to be the fiery Brazilian pepper and when to be the soothing cup of creamy café com leite.
This dance, this art of creating a mesmerizing display of dominance and surrender at my age, as with life itself, has taught me an invaluable lesson. It’s alright to be in control, to be the assertive force tearing through the ropes. 😮💨 It's equally alright, even liberating, to let go and succumb to the powers beyond your control. The dance, like life, continually changes its rhythm, and as a dancer, as a woman, I can only bow and surrender to its call. There is pure beauty in that surrender, in living that truth. 🍆
Say what you will about the world, but from up here in the silks — poised between the realms of dominance and surrender, in an ageless dance of strength and softness — I see a world moulded by the luscious tangle of power and trust. And each day, each performance, each intimate moment, I fall in love with the dance all over again. Measure for measure, twirl after twirl, surrender after surrender, dominance after dominance, I choose to dance, to live, to love — truly, madly, deeply. [url=https://anussy.com/][img]https://san2.ru/smiles/smile.gif[/img][/url]