:: images ::
How do I become gentle.
With passion and vigor?
How will the light flash off my frame when I am unrelenting and ferocious.
Is this the clearing beyond a forest I must journey through,
or a forest I must sink my roots into?
Is it the distinct way the sunlight gleams through the treetops onto me and the dirt?
Or is it the way my body remembers the canopy-shaped shadows when I am once again in the full heat of day. The pattern of warm illumination my skin remembers when I am once again in the full cool of night.
I want to scream and howl and sweat as I tear away at the dirt.
Ripping it away from its bed and turning it over within itself. Feeling the burn of effort and the salty smell of earth.
All of this making room for the first breaths of a flower.
The warm press of atmosphere and the feel of my freshly showered skin inside these sneakers makes me feel like I am in utero.
I am still inside.
It is still outside.
But in the middle. There is something.
Movement between panels of a one-way mirror. I observe through the amniotic glass.
And the sky fills me up again.
Why is it?
When I hear of beached whales
swelling on the shore among
an ocean of people.
That I think of myself?
Am I trying to find some
profound significance in
myself for feeling sad about
the death of another creature?
One whale was beheaded
Its jaw turned up towards
Why is it that I hear this
and think of my own pain?
Of moments I’ve been brought to my knees and sobbed
a silent yell to the sky.
The description is flesh and
blood and bone.
The stuff I’m made of. The stuff
through which I have felt pain
So of course I think of myself.
Is this narcissism or an
Living a life is like sitting under a waterfall. The water pounds you down into the earth. It's overwhelming and never stops. You must be sturdy enough to not let the rush dislodge you, and yet soft enough to feel each drop of water as it caresses your body. But, much to our human chagrin, the overwhelming sensation must come first. You must be willing to subject yourself to all the uneasiness of being overwhelmed by the water before you can begin learning to sense the subtleties of the water. Most people don't let themselves feel overwhelmed. For many, it is a sign to either clench up and go numb, or to step out of the stream. But if you can find the strength to submit yourself to this seemingly unbearable force, a world of immense beauty and softness will rise up to greet you. And if we stay curious about ourselves, we may find a little relief.
Show me where it hurts.
Tell me your aches and pains
Lead me to where the shame pools up
in secret corners and soft folds of your body
To where the bitterness stagnates in your vessel
I want to know where you’re raw.
To rest my warm hands where you throb
Let your aching body soften in my arms
Sink deep into the balm of my embrace
Exhale the breath that you’ve been gripping for so long and
I’ll press my skin upon your skin
and caress your wounds so gently that
your timid joy may be coaxed to the surface once again.
I will not tell your body what to do
I will bear witness
Will trace the topography of your pain with reverence
Will place my kisses so softly that
even just for this moment
occupying your body feels
Even, just for this moment, you may rest easy.
For this moment, your vessel is no longer a burden.
Dance performance is not hypothetical. Not only are you proposing a reality, you are enacting it. You can choose to suspend the realities that we all subscribe to, but at the end of the day, the events that happen on stage have a place among all other events of human history. They happened. We often dance in order to escape to or explore another universe or dimension. But perhaps we are just expanding and discovering the one that we are in. We call this new place "new" because it doesn't fit in with the way we have been trained to perceive our world. Dance does not necessarily entertain the impossible. It is a medium through which we can strip away limits that don't actually exist.
Say I love you. More. When your heart boils enough for the warm air of the syllables to rise up behind your lips, let them out.
Ah, the sweet summer breeze of those three words.
What matters is not the strength, flavor, season, or even presence of the other person's reiteration, but that your soul feels fully expressed in its warmth.
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