Dancing in the dark

I've had this blog idea rattling around in my head for a month or more, but have been too busy and not sufficiently centered to write it.
I'm in the midst of a relapse of the "too much"s.
Last year I sailed through the summer/winter on the food I'd already put by and committed to no garden or animal responsibilities.  This year I hoped to enter back in to that world,  just a little.   oops, need to recalibrate.  How much is enough?  Why do I want to spend the time/money on gardening and raising our own meat?  Is it the strangle hold of my lifetime identity as a producer (I don't buy at farmers markets,  I grow my own)?  But how much of my life force am I willing to give it?  Knowing that that life is becoming more and more finite?  I think I want to spend more time/energy with words.  Let's see if I can remember and change the pattern next spring.
So the blog idea.
I had been listening to the Gil music and turned the lights off as I was heading to bed.  The music was still going and a great latin song came on.          I could feel him.   There was that magnetic pull to move.  And I started to dance,  with him.   When he had his shoulder/arm surgery he was no longer able to use his right hand to lead in dancing as firmly as he had.  So I had to just tune in and anticipate where he wanted me to go.   And that's what I did; I let him lead me and I flowed loose and hot.   Dancing in the dark is such a great experiential metaphor for what I'm doing right now.  I'm trying to listen to "the beat" of what's happening.  I'm trying to trust and let it lead me.  And I'm trying to feel the joy/pain of engaging and letting loose.   I'm recently going through a wet stretch of weeping to certain songs.  It's good.  I'm harvesting moisture.  It's keeping   him   close.