The Dancer Never Lies

I remember early in my new life in Canada...the thumping music playing at parties...and no one dancing...and sitting like all
the rest...immobilised by my wonder...at how anyone could resist such music...never having known this coolness of the
blood before. The years have evaporated like dew under Barbados sun...and the dancer in me chooses his moments...for
exulting to the music...when once upon a time...there was no choice. Like an urban guerilla...he has gone underground...not
sure of the consequences of revealing...under the gaze of cool and unacustomed eyes...what the call of the drum beat can
still do to him. And so...the dancers re-appear...on autumn pages...and winter canvasses I paint...imprisoned by the
limitations of paint and canvas...but caught in freeze frame gestures...as if to say to the world...look as long as you like...
but your gaze will not take this dance away...to the life force...this creation celebration dance. Mask to mask...we may fool
each other...with our actor's gestures...and our lawyer's words...but with body revealing...otherwise concealed chains...or
the liberation of cell and flesh and blood...from the wounds of individual experience...or history itself...as the music lights
a fire...below or above the limitations of intellect...the dancer...never lies.........................Quester.