Opus 28, Number 16 from Chopin
I stand, still, quiet, waiting. Midnight shadows across a grand space of entertainment, a stage set for this night. I am not alone. There are eight of us poised in these arched doors, an octagon stage, set, ready, just waiting in this deep blue glowing, poised for the house lights to rise.
And there's the opening, a long chorded tone, disembodied somewhere far beyond us. Blue and black shadows now, and eight arches appear, one darkened performer in each portal. I step forward as do each of us, onto this main stage, our motions choreographed seamlessly. The walls around this stage are high. The stage itself comprised of turning gears, but glossy and smooth in deception. There will be no escaping this circled stage, this gauntlet of shifting levels and fantasy. The lights continue their ascent but after all, I am only aware of me. Illusion is the game here.
The floor begins to move, made of many gears, like that of a clock, so smooth and shifting so suddenly. This will be an audacious undertaking, a challenge to keep upon these two legs. I step first right, then left; I jump and land. A clock face appears below me and I am spun backwards. I pirouette and slide; I spin and glide. Every motion must be fluid, so very smooth. After all, I dance for my life.
Arms outstretched, lithe and nimble I roll and tuck, then hide. This lustrous floor is so many revolving discs, spinning, spinning. There are clock faces, and gears, time shifting backwards and suddenly forward again, directions changing on whim. Sun dials and calendars appearing and disappearing quickly, none taking solid form. Rotating, gyrating, a mirage, an illusion and I start to see a dark space ahead. I leap and narrowly miss, clinging to the next fast wheeling disc. But wait, there are no hand holds here. Everything is so smooth and tricksy. I bobble for just a moment, still for a split second finding my balance, fingers splayed, eyes closed tight.
Reach, glide, and jump again. I am performing that I might continue breathing. Turn, shift, turn a somersault and step lightly once again. There's a trapeze now, a gentle offer. Will I take this possibility? or is this a ruse? I bend low and shuffle quickly under. My black leotards stretch with me, my body lithe and athletic. I am fluid and motion as I dance across and back over this whirring stage. No image stays for very long. Everything is an apparition, a mirror, a contrivance. My own face is painted to betray, masked and half-obscured.
I might be running on a clock face, or sliding across a compass. Everything points the wrong way or tells a past hour, and I am no longer aware of those portals from where I started. The lights are bright, and the colors so vibrant. There's the sound of slot machines turning, turning, on a night artificially lit. Luck, lady fortune, where will she leave me tonight? Red and black checkers, reverse and clicking, and something new slides into place. My death is certain is the whisper and I once again leap and twist and find my stride. I am a gymnast. I am a circus performer. I leap up and away and grab a bar that wasn't there a minute before. I vault over these illusory faces, that seem to bubble up, and fold over, giggling as they do, small chuckles and toothy grins. I cheat death one more time.
Crimson, green, clashing purple, jarring bright pink, flashing reflections, this palace of mirrors, each one showing me in a different light, a different color. I am dark and straight. I am thin and bent over, colors matching the floor below me and a sudden appearing wall beside me. I move my hands, my arms like the most delicate dancer. I am so polished, as glossy as these floors. Faces slither and cavort. But death won't find me this night. Faint humming, and disembodied music, churning like a calliope, this dance is demanding and all for another's entertainment. I breath more heavily now, the floor still changing and shifting, this gauntlet of a circus weave.
The light shifts slightly and I chance a glance to my left and then I do a double take. There are shadows taking shape almost as if I have stepped to a window. I let myself breath a bit easier and find myself taking in the sharp scent of pine and earth. I turn more fully and this image forms more clearly, within a forest, the soft needles beneath my feet and I start to sink into this beautiful place, rest clearly dominating my mind and wish. And then the hallucination fades as quickly as it began and once again, I am revolving and trying to regain my balance. So many tricks this night, contrivances meant to tempt and delude.
My shoes are tight fitting, like ballet slippers and I once again dive into this slippery dance. I will survive as long as I might. I will dance until the lights go out. Something is descending now. This stage is tilting fully in front of me and I keep dancing feeling myself falling with it, and then a quick upsurge and I leap to keep time with this intricacy. And now falling again, this time even faster, plunging and I simply extend my arms and throw back my head, my chest heaving heavily. I will dance no longer and tired legs sink into this floor, finally at one with the smooth surface, now an illusion of my own. Head bowed, fading, fading. I am but a smudge on this glassy surface.
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