in simplicitate
because sometimes we forget:
to breathe in itself is quite a miracle.
This complicated series of cells and passages we call the body.
it hold us.
sometimes when it is quiet i like to dance fiercely.
and get so exhausted i fall over.
and then i get up again.
and i start again.
I have gone back to ballet and minimalism for a brief affair.
Discipline. Rigour. restraint. abundance.
Such classicism confuses me at points.
Learning another’s language.
“There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy.”
Yet how do we learn it?
How do we repeat it?
How can we teach it?
“The body is a great intelligence, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace, a herd and a herdsman.”
Yet how hard it is to gather, form, calibrate, when speaking another language.
sometimes i give up
and listen to the rise of fall and breath.
then i go back what makes sense.
and i leave the studio and walk and run.
“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”
“We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.”
Other peoples voices. Other peoples vocabularies.
What then is left to say?
Urban re:passages 