Testimony, Maria Abreu

Some time ago, I had this dream. I dreamt that I was in an open space with no walls, an area that was just an immense, silent, serene floor. This floor was dotted with several large and small boxes, some worn out by time, others impossible, where I would never dare enter. The destination was uncertain, I walked among these boxes, and with each step taken, a long necklace of memories emerged: toys more or less old, photographs of people and places, beloved books, girl’s shoes unveiling the world, a simple flower until I came into a halt by a very, very small box, opening it.

At this magical moment, a ballerina approached me and gently offered me her hand.

I handed her what I had found in that tiny box: a grain of sand. With this brief touch, our hands, arms, and body turn into branches and trunks that unite and bloom, then in a flap of wings, a bird of fireflies sowing stars in our hair. Moved, I shed tears that are going to water the feet of another ballerina, and another, fluttering along the floor in a whisper of fresh water, fertile water that grows, grows, forming a lake that seeks a sea of life that sprouts and populates my dream. When I make a draft of my testimony about Dancing with the Heart, I feel like a child rushing into the sea heading for the next wave, trying to grab with my hands this great pulse of life that is dripping through my fingers.

Maybe this is what, for a few seconds, I could retain in my cupped hands, engraving on my skin the sense of this turbulent and serene sea, Dançar com o Coração.