In reflection: one hour of improvised dance in public.

Dancing it all out is like some trance; you just start and then your body keeps moving, some all-powerful steam engine keeps pushing you forward and forward, outward and outward until it is only you, and you purely, that exists in a bumpy plane of inanimate things; things that cannot interrupt you, that dare not disturb you because you, fire-power-woman-mover, are a force of nature.

You are all sensation, all dusty marble and scratchy caution strips to keep you from falling, falling. This is a process more powerful than words or pictures because this is existing, is being, is alive. Every cell, every molecule, every proton and electron in your corpus swings and jumps and heaves with you as you shake out the over-exposed, over-wrought, raw etched out memory reel that is always racing racing, rewinding rewinding back to start-stop-pause-reexamine-rekindle-remember-refute-repress-regret.

The people are looking at you and they are staring or averting but they are forced to make a choice because your presence is present, truly and fully occupying space. People are afraid or intrigued or nonplussed but they are not blank; they are reacting to your action.

You are not lists or words or choices or books or names or friends or foes; you are spirit, you are human, you have escaped the rigidity of knowing only concrete and metal.

You are here, here, here.

You are, you are, you are.

APRIL 22, 2015