Ab-Un-Dance: A Dance with the Divine

Ab-Un-Dance: A Dance with the Divine

I.
Before the ledger, before the word for mine,
there was only the syllable that holds the world:
Ab
the sound a child makes
when the arms it trusts
close around the dark.

II.
Before the many, before the scattering,
there was the Un
not one-as-opposite-of-two
but One-as-breath-before-breathing,
the silence that makes room
for every possible song.

III.
Then the Father leaned in,
whispered the secret step,
and the silence turned:
Ab-un-dance.

IV.
Not the clenched fist.
Not the vault.
Not the anxious counting of tomorrows.
Only this:
the body yielding to gravity and grace at once,
spinning so fast
the difference between
giver and gift
falls away like a robe
no longer needed in summer.

V.
Watch
the prodigal does not ask for inheritance.
He hears the music leaking through the gates
and runs, bankrupt,
already dancing before he arrives.
The Father meets him mid-turn,
laughs,
joins the same rhythm
He never left.

VI.
There is no coin in this economy
that does not melt
the moment it touches the open palm
that is whirling.

VII.
So the storehouses stand empty
and the heart is full.
The table is bare
and the feast has already begun
inside the ribcage.

VIII.
This is the wealth
the misers die guarding:
to learn the step
where your pulse
forgets it was ever separate
from His.

IX.
Ab
Un
Dance.
A single word
broken open
into eternal motion.

X.
Turn, then.
Until having and being had
are the same vertigo.
Until the night itself
leans in,
takes your hand,
and whispers
the name
you forgot
you always were:

Child.

Keep moving.
The music
is your heartbeat
and Mine
and it will not stop
even when the stars burn out.
Dance
until the universe
understands
it was only ever
a love song
learning how to sway.
Abundance.
Abba.
One
Dance.
Forever.