( 1)
Real dancers have no stage, no dance, even no rhythm, no singing with strings and drums. In the eyes of ordinary people, dancers are mostly ascetic monks dancing in handcuffs and shackles. A pair of red dancing shoes is the witness of countless rules and regulations. Jump, shake knees, close hips, send hips, gird waist, spread back, sink shoulders, raise head ... From the first second of touching the handle, the dancer's life has been fixed into a pattern that follows the Millennium. And music, of course. Those colorful and ups and downs are actually a string distorted by rhythm and beat, and every slight jitter touches endless Prajna mantra.
Walkers have no boundaries and dance with the wind. Everyone is a born dancer, and there is no need to imitate the body classics that have been passed down for thousands of years, and there is no need to distinguish the complicated and changeable syncopated beats. As long as you are willing, you will definitely dance between heaven and earth. When "quack" landed, you accidentally stepped under the shadowless lamp, which was the initial appearance from another world to this world; You casually waved your hand and stretched your legs in the sunshine of childhood, leaving a natural shape between heaven and earth; Then, in the wind of youth, in the rain of youth and in the endless frost, snow, wind and thunder afterwards, you use your body as a pen and freehand brushwork with your thoughts to draw sketches of dances, sketches of dances or meticulous dances.
Of course, there is a difference between ordinary dancers and excellent dancers. In the meantime, there are not only mountains of years, but also rivers of hearts. When we graduated from the advanced class of national folk dance of Beijing Dance Academy, we saw a performance by a Zimbabwean black dancer. The stage is extremely simple, and there is no light at all. The dark-skinned man first stepped on a foot heavily, and suddenly the drums splashed all over the room. Then, he kicked the drum around and into various shapes, and went straight to the audience's fundus, ear vortex and even the heart wall like lightning. Then, he gently stepped on the other foot, and immediately a Sake or Basong snake came out and circled around the drum demon. At that moment, our accumulation of learning dance for many years was almost completely diluted, and all our vocabulary and experience were polished by the simple words "heaven, earth and people". After the performance, the black dancers came to the stage and shook hands with us one by one. I found that this strange man, who has experienced many vicissitudes, has childlike innocent eyes.
(2)
Looking back suddenly, the earth is far away and the sky is high. In the interval of flying lightly, I can't help thinking of my predecessors who led me to stumble forward.
I have been on the stage for nearly 20 years, and there are at least 20 dance teachers who have taught me by hand. There are many famous teachers like Dai, Chen Yinque, but what I miss most is the first teacher who has been idle at home since he was laid off. My first teacher is a dance cadre in a small county cultural center in my hometown, and a devout pilgrim who regards dance as his life. In this life, he seems to have only one hobby and only one occupation. Until the cultural center disintegrated in the tide of market economy, he himself was laid off, and all he could think about was dancing. As far as I can remember, he always held his head high. Even if he walks alone on the rugged mountain road leading to Tibetan and Qiang villages, or struggles in the rough soil of rural ridges, he never changes easily. Many years later, most of the simple and solemn dance words he taught me were covered by the guidance of later masters, but his tall and straight posture and indomitable spirit engraved on my soul became more and more clear.
Not long ago, the film crew and I went to my hometown to do a special program. In the evening, the comrades of the Propaganda Department specially arranged for us to go to the leisure square in the county town, where I met my first teacher again. He is leading a group of old people and old ladies to do fitness dance in a clearing. There are many people dancing, and it's getting dark. Stamping your feet, clapping your hands and stepping on them for a while are like ebb and flow. However, under the dim street lights, noisy music and various rhythms, I obviously feel that his dance is so lonely. I approached him quietly and jumped up after him seriously. Applause broke out in the crowd, and the teacher danced harder. Long black and white hair danced tirelessly in the deepening night.
Those who can live and those who can't live all live the same life, but not all days can stand the torture of time. The rhythm of youth is destined to be replaced by the vicissitudes of camel bells. When innocence is gone and the young silhouette becomes a vague outline, who can calmly bear the lightness and emotional weight of the past? The fate of dancers, like an unabridged fairy tale, a deep and shallow life, like that flat mountain road, can't help but watch it again.
(3)
"If time forgets anything, it should be that I wrote this song for you hastily; If time can leave anything, it must be a clear tear when we shake hands. " Such sentences, without exception, were written in our graduation yearbook and on the yellowing journey, but none of them became an excuse for future dating.
There is fog on the road, and there are falling flowers on the road. Most dance products are programmed step by step to change partners, holding hands, jumping, rotating, lifting ... dazzling plot, full of carefully designed passion and warmth. Once the song is over, the sweaty costumes and the class paints fade away, and life opens a dull picture album.
In the dance class, a big teacher elder sister stood in front of me. She has beautiful slender hands and big understanding eyes. When we practice spinning, the teacher often groups us. Whenever this happens, she always says, "Come on, hold hands and look me in the eye." Those are talking eyes, and they will be gentle and moist at a glance. I am addicted to it until the next combination has begun, and I can't bear to let go of my gentleness. Sister smiled, gently broke away from my palm and said, "Let go when it's time to let go."
Young is standing in the back row of me. She has a pair of symmetrical slender legs and a beautiful face. She was my partner when I was lifting weights. My sister is a born dancer and a gift from God to the world. Other girls often panic when they first learn to lift, but she can make a series of difficult moves in the air. However, at the moment of landing, she will unexpectedly hug my neck and pretend to be intimate. The teacher was very unhappy about it, and my companion complained a lot. My face was flushed with embarrassment, but my sister said, "That's it, don't let go."
Ten years later, the master elder sister also became a dance teacher. We often meet, but we never hold hands again. Ten years later, Yang Ge went to the south and never met again. According to her classmates, she no longer dances. A few years ago, she married a man the same age as her father and became a full-time wife.
(4)
There is always a bird in a teenager's heart, flying high, but forgetting that there is an iron anchor behind time, which hooks and sinks.
In fact, each story has a specific theme, and each journey has a unique scenery. Just as there is no clear boundary between yesterday and today, every step we take is actually stepping on the intersection of history and future.
The predecessors said that a person who dances with the soul will eventually find his own stage. I believe that every star has a specific coordinate, and even a meteor has its own trajectory. However, as time goes by, time is hard, and remembrance and yearning can never replace the much-needed verification. Just like today, I am getting old. Although my heart is still full of unrestrained feelings, my feet can't step on the drums of life.
Listen, the sum of silk and bamboo is far, and the singing of parallel songs is near. Who opened the curtain of another life in the faint night bell?
You see, the distant flute is gone, and the fashionable music and pictures are coming. In the hazy morning, who dances with the wind on the farther road?