Sentences with phrase «singing fire dancing»

I love singing fire dancing and being a single mother of three.

Not exact matches

Oh, and dancing around the fire as they sing «Onward Christian Soldiers» as these hateful pieces of trash are incinerated.

And whereas Judas was described as undergoing the worst torment ever, Peter is described as being as bright and glorious as three rings of fire circling around one another in a dance and singing a song so divine that no imagination can comprehend it (Canto 24).

Oh yes, I completely agree, if only Muslim leaders protested against the building of an Islamic Community Center 2 blocks from Ground Zero (6 blocks from where the Towers actually stood), then the entire divide between Christianity and Islam would just fade away and we could all dance around a camp fire singing the coca - cola song!

The show features comedy, some audience participation and Polynesian fire knife dancers along with singing and dancing, all staged under the starlit sky.

All night long, we lit fire, sang and danced to some of the happiest songs ever including Sunshine Reggae.

I love to fire perform, dance, play and sing on the guitar.

Singing, dancing, touchy - feely school governors are in the firing line.

Forged under the same principle as the hyped Amazon Kindle Fire it dumps humble monochrome e-ink in favour of all singing, all dancing LCD, an Android core and basic tablet functionality.

Dance and sing into the rhythm of the Berbers music by the camp fire.

There is also a large back garden where we host regular campfires and BBQs — so bring your guitars and best (or worst) singing voices and join us for a good old sing along around the fire; dancing is optional!

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

Later came a «sustainable performance arts» troupe (they use biofuels when fire dancing) and a woman who sang about rain and peace.