I’m sitting in a train at Saint-Ghislain Station, waiting for a départ to Brussels, and then back home to Gent.

The body is tired after five days at the Dour Festival.  And the smile is big.

Last night at the De Bazaal stage was the peak of my dancing.  If I would attach a number to previous days, I’d say moments of 70, 80 … even 90%.  But yesterday!  Some of my body gyrations were truly 100%.  Giving everything of feet and hands in the service of expression, of joy that rises above the earth.

I hit my pillow before midnight, in advance of Charlotte de Witte’s grand finale to the festival in The Last Arena.  And I was fine with that.  I’ll see her in the not-so-distant future.

And God willing, I’ll be back at Dour next July to shake a leg once more.  Dancing is a realm where I’d set an artificial boundary of potential aliveness.  These five days have said it loud and clear … Silly me!

I’m amazed …

That I could sleep each night when the driving bass beat at the nearby stage went on till 3:00 am

That my 76-year-old knees just kept vibin’ – no collapse into agonized stumbling

That lots of young people talked to me, some shaking my hand, many high fives

I made people laugh

I sang “O Canada”

I lasted five days!