Walking across a plaza, between big buildings. Your typical suits with briefcases: taking late lunches and toting their laptops.
And there she is. Frizzy, curly hair. Worn clothes. Worn face. Arms flaring and pointing to the sky. Guttural, tonal songs emitting from her mouth.
In the context of corporate America surrounding her, she appears crazy. Insane. Off her meds. Imbalanced. Lost.
And then I notice she is gesturing towards and singing to the sun.
In that moment of realization, without hesitation, I am envious of her ability to express something so raw. So pure. So natural.
May we all experience moments so real.
May we all do our own sun dances.