Miss Lila’s Groove: A Story of Rhythm and Soul
By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar
I met Miss Lila on a night when everything felt out of sync like the beat of life had gone off track and I couldn’t find the rhythm. She wasn’t flashy, didn’t try to grab attention, but there was something about her that demanded it. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, like she knew things most people wouldn’t dare to imagine.
Her kicks were worn down to the threads, each scuff a chapter in a story only she could tell. Her baggy jeans hung low, and her silver braids danced as she moved, catching the light like sparks of wisdom.
We ended up in the same holding cell a place that makes you sit still long enough to feel every wrong move you ever made. I sat there sulking, but Miss Lila? She leaned back like she was waiting for a party to start.
“What got you here?” she asked, voice like smoky jazz, rough but warm.
“Wrong crowd, wrong night,” I said, shrugging.
She smirked, shaking her head. “Honey, ain’t no crowd worth catching a charge over. You gotta know when to walk solo.”
Then, without warning, she started talking about life, about losses, about how she’d learned to find the beat even when everything around her was chaos. Her words didn’t just sit in the air; they danced.
“Life’s like a jam session,” she said, her voice full of rhythm. “You might hit some sour notes, but the music don’t stop. You just gotta keep playing.”
And then she got up and danced.
It wasn’t the kind of dance you see on a stage, rehearsed and pretty. This was raw, full of soul. She stomped, spun, and let her body say all the things her words couldn’t. It was grief, joy, anger, and hope all rolled into one.
“I used to dance at every fair and corner show,” she said, catching her breath. “Didn’t matter if it was a big stage or a cracked sidewalk. Folks need to see something real, something that reminds ’em they’re alive.”
She talked about her dog her partner through fifteen years of highs and lows. “When he passed,” she said softly, “it felt like the music stopped. But you know what? You can’t let silence win. You gotta find the beat again.”
Her moves weren’t just for show. They were a message: No matter how hard life gets, you don’t stop. You move through it, over it, past it. Before we got released, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “Life’s gonna knock you down. But, baby, you don’t have to stay there. Find your groove and ride it.”
I still think about her sometimes dancing under streetlights, spinning on broken pavement, turning life’s chaos into something beautiful. Miss Lila wasn’t just a dancer; she was a walking testament to the power of movement, of rhythm, of never giving up.
Author’s Note
Miss Lila isn’t real not in the flesh, anyway. She’s a symbol, a story painted to help you see the tension between the soul and the flesh. Her story isn’t about her; it’s about all of us.
The soul is that eternal rhythm, the music inside you that doesn’t quit, no matter how rough life gets. It’s the part of you that keeps pushing, keeps fighting, keeps dancing. The flesh, though? That’s the worn-out shoes, the tired feet, the aching joints. It’s the part of us that feels every loss, every failure, every “almost.”
Miss Lila’s dance is an analogy. Her movement represents the soul leading the flesh, pulling it through pain and doubt. She dances because she has to because if the soul doesn’t move, the flesh will quit.
This story is a reminder that life will test you. The world will try to silence your rhythm, weigh down your steps, and steal your joy. But your soul? It’s got a groove that can’t be stopped.
So, when life feels heavy, when the silence gets loud, remember Miss Lila. Let your soul take the lead, even if your flesh feels too tired to follow. Dance through the chaos, and find beauty in every misstep. Life isn’t about getting it perfect; it’s about keeping the beat, no matter what.
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