The historiography of dance is an impossible one to trace. With conjecture, we can assume we first danced about the time we crawled out of the ocean, grew legs, felt the spirit and let it move us. We’ve since danced to summon weather, to heal the sick, to celebrate births and weddings, for salvation, redemption and to mark full moons and bat mitzvahs. We’ve danced in ballrooms, in forest clearings, in empty dive bars in eastern Oregon and in the wallpapered kitchens of our first loves. In whatever way we move our bodies, it is always to release the hounds of our selves in some way — and to conjure the spirit of the moment. Where language fails us, dance is the thing still true.