In the intricate life chain, there is a link that connects the past and the present, birth and death, beginning and end. It connects incompatible, visible and invisible. It predicts unpredictable, hints unknown, explain the unexplainable. It is the key to many mysteries and flows. This link is called rhythm. It is a language all over the world, the master of all rituals and podiums, the creator of all events and repetitions. It is the father of the oldest art - dance, art available to everyone, dynamic and diverse, art that knows no boundaries, art that will outlive all the time and disappearance. The dance serves the rich and the poor, gods and harvests, the halls and the palaces, gladiators and knights, nature and traditions. It serves every living being ever incurred. Dance is an art without words, weaved from our sensitive souls and views. All we want to say, instead of us say our body. In the centuries-old podium takes us sometimes sadness, sometimes joy, sometimes love, sometimes memory. Our movements reveal our innermost thoughts, experiences and aspirations. In this vast vortex of different dances, some views are connected, and some separated. Those who are connected they continue to dance forever, and those who are separated they remain to roam the seething podium. Maybe they wanted to say something at one moment, but it was not the right moment. Maybe they just were burdened by the weight of the words that they were not able to pronounce. Some souls have a huge desire to stay as long as possible on the podium, and they therefore remain silent. They fear that their words will chase away the magic of dance. Unspoken words, soaked with sweat and tears, dying trampled some new and unfamiliar steps, disappear in the slow movements. Only those who did not have the strength to answer them, they know that they once existed. Unspoken words haunt them in solitude, in dreams and the gloomy mornings. They wonder if they just kept silent out of fear, or the main causes are missteps. Perhaps these are the words that dance does not understand. Unexplained, sometimes unknown to themselves, they remain trapped in their soul, and waiting for a story to be told. They're waiting for the story of one art accessible to everyone, and so inscrutable and mysterious, known only our bodies. They're waiting for the story of a dance, a long time ago played, the story of the slow movements and difficult words. All of us, sooner or later, danced our last dance. Tired of difficult steps, consciously or unconsciously, we part ways with all its beauties. Sometimes, we just have no choice. Maybe it was our last dance just because of one unspoken word, and maybe we just did not want to dance more. Then, when the memory of the last dance and the unspoken words starts to fade, it remains to live one link in the twilight of life. It remains the master of all time. It remains a rhythm. It echoes in our sensitive soul and awakens memories from the podium, brings back memories of a long time ago separated views. My grandfather often said: "If you do not catch the rhythm, you missed a whole life." And what about those who want to catch a rhythm, but have no ear for music?
The art of dance and rhythm, author Suzana Stojanović, April 28, 2016