I don’t know what i’m doing more and more in my dancing. It’s less known.
Sometimes I don’t know what to do. And then it happens. Movement arises of its own accord. Out of stillness. Out of momentum. Movement comes and goes. I don’t worry that I don’t know. Sometimes I worry.
There is a new space. Inside of me. Its a kind of blankness. A clean slate. The usual moves have faded. An emptiness sits inside me. But its full. Simultaneously I am organised and undone. And then I dance. I don’t know what i’m doing. Its innocent, bewildering, mysterious, interesting. I’m paying attention.
My body moves of its own accord sometimes. Sometimes I direct it. Another person’s movement catches my eye. Or the music takes my attention. Or some inner rhythm takes over. Perhaps I was born to dance. Perhaps we all were. Movement is our life. It is inherent.
To dance is a pathway in and of itself. I like to be fully fleshed. I like to step into the unknown. To discover the pathway as it unfolds. One foot after another. The extraordinary capacity or bodies have for communication. Its potential.
Tapping. Tuning. Listening. Connecting.
What can happen if I get out of my own way? If I strip back my usual habits and pathways formed by life’s restrictions?
And be present in the unfolding of a mystery …