Dancing with Dahlias

Entering a garden full of dahlias, I felt the urge to waltz. The upturned, expectant faces, wildly outstretched arms and petals dancing in the wind brought me into a state of exuberance. Lively insects buzzed to the scalloped rhythm as I began to twirl around, remembering…

Have you ever danced with God? I have—in a vision, many years ago. I was at a Quaker Meeting for Worship, eyes closed, deep in silence. Without warning, I saw myself waltzing with Jesus in the center of the room, both of us barefoot and clad in long, flowing gauze tunics.

I was standing on his feet, as a child would, letting him bear all the weight of my frame, do all the work of lifting and swirling. I was as ecstatic as a whirling dervish, lost in the joy of movement, pattern, unity.

But then I saw the carpet beneath our feet was stained with blood. His feet still bore the gaping wounds of the stigmata and my standing on top of them was causing them to bleed more profusely.

I suddenly understood that I was no longer a spiritual child. It was time for me to partner with God as an adult. To carry my own weight. To learn the dance moves well enough to mirror Jesus, enabling us to glide gracefully in unison.

Back in the garden, I realized that I was dancing with the dahlias, partnering with the glory of creation. The bold flowers were dazzling. Even the dying dahlias bowed graciously, allowing the bright, beaming buds to take their place on the grassy dance floor. And the scattered, fallen petals were ready to nourish the next set of dancers. I, too, was ready to move on—to the next dance.

All photos © Sondra Sula.