Jinny's dance

i'm in the bath reading the intro to lefebvre's rhythmanalysis. i'm feeling a bit enthralled, yet guilty - i probably shouldn't be reading this. it's extracurricular. or something. but it seems like i need to. it arrived in today's mail. it demands to be used.

then i put the book down and lay quietly; slowly adrift. i contemplate the tired state of my body, the hour, and the tingle of hot water. i hear noises and then i don't. i want to read more, but i won't. instead i pick up virgina woolf's the waves.

and i read until i get to this passage. which makes me stop to read it again.

We go in and out of this hesitating music. Rocks break the current of the dance; it jars, it shivers. In and out, we are swept now into this large figure; it holds us together; we cannot step outside its sinuous, its hesitating, its abrupt, its perfectly encircling walls. Our bodies, his hard, mine flowing, are pressed together within its body; it holds us together; and then lengthening out, in smooth, in sinuous folds, rolls us between it, on and on. Suddenly the music breaks. My blood runs on but my body stands still. The room reels past my eyes. It stops.