i wonder who reads any of this that i'm writing; or why it would matter, for that matter?
but,
there is something to be said about having witness.
in the practice of authentic movement,
you move, listening to the impulses of the present moment,
blind to all but everything emergent.
you could do this all day long, every day....moving, listening....honoring the present urge to spiral or stretch or collapse or shiver. all day long.
and,
something about it would hover, lost, and unreachable, indecipherable.
a secret language, buried,
if no one were there to witness it.
it is only by being seen that we can see ourselves.
when your eyes shift open again, returning to the textures of wood floor, daylight and painted walls,
it is that warm animal sitting quietly across from you, breathing, seeing, listening,
that welcomes you home.
and,
until you are welcomed,
you are not home.
some of us know this truth.
this is why authentic movement is a sacred practice.
why writing.
why singing.
why dancing.
why sharing a joke.
why telling my story.
why I offer these small gifts.
because, they are the thing my soul comes to say.
and,
if you are here,
if you have heard or seen,
please,
tell me.
there is no request for praise or critique,
simply,
that you've been here,
breathing, seeing, hearing.
and, then, of course,
I get to see you.
and that's where all the magic is.
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