Finally! Mania has finally made an appearance. I knew it was merely waiting in the wings, watching as I struggled through waist deep angst, fought against big, ugly demons. It waits, knowing I will fight my way through the latest chaos, the most recent drama. Mania knows I am stronger than I think I am. Mania knows I will rise to the occasion. My Mania knows me better than I know myself. Once I had dissected myself, exposing the bleakness at the root of my ongoing battle, Mania stepped up to help relieve me if the heavy burden weighing upon my soul. I know the core issue is still there, it did not magically disappear with the arrival of mania, but it has been tamed, forced into a corner, muzzled, sedated, until I have recovered enough spiritual energy to renew the battle.
With Mania in the house, I knew my soul needed me to dance. I have missed my Manic Dance Party For One. And though I am somewhat hindered by recent surgical invasion into my troublesome knee, I strapped in and danced. Not quite with my usual reckless abandon, instead I relied on measured, sinuous movement. Music that caressed my body like lover's hands, encouraging flowing movement, flexing muscle, warmth, sweat. My soul needed me to dance. Dance renews me, empowers me, frees me to send my mind away from the day to day strife and off into the cosmos. Mania rescues me, Dance salvages my soul. Now, I am tired, but justly so. My muscles ache in a sweet, heated, post-coital way. I am relaxed beyond measure, tranquil, serene. I know that it isn't likely to last, but I will enjoy the afterglow while I can. Mania has arrived, I am saved.