"We are going to flood the grid tonight, baby! Flood. The. Grid!" my husband said.
"Oh, it won't even seem like a psi collector," I said. "This is a brand new floor, wood over the collector plates. Looks like a regular old-fashioned wood dance floor. Like swing dancing in Philly in the '90s!"
"Whatever. We're gonna flood that grid and then we're gonna break that new floor in half. The routers in the neighborhood will all burst from the surge. I say we hit the balance mark by 10 p.m."
"Oh, you think we're going to dance that much? You really think the energy we spent to put on the party will be
generated in full before the night is half-over?"
He took me in his arms. "Yes, yes I do."
It was my 50th birthday. The bash planned in detail by my loving husband and children was promising to be a big one. The ballroom was booked two years earlier. The organic caterer, who composts all the used party supplies, was the newest addition, found just two months ago. "Everything will be local" they promised. They got the job.
The food was almost an afterthought, because tonight, we dance. The focus is on Movement. Traveling through air, space, time. Dance, on a floor that feels our energy and feeds it back to the power grid that sustains us, a feedback loop of poetic proportions.
What is dance but a soulful testament to surviving - and thriving -for 50 years? What is energy if not light? Tonight we have and make both. Tonight my children will dance with me. My husband will dance with us. The sounds from the speakers hitting us and turning our energy into
light, our own personal versions of sonoluminescence.
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