How do we tell stories through the way we move?
Do we, inevitably?
If we are improvising, then we are always simultaneously crafting and telling a story in the present moment
What is the story that I’m trying to tell?
Am I choosing to tell this story?
Or is it unfolding on its own?
But its not on its own
It’s my story – our story – so it can only exist with me, us
Belonging to it, it belonging to us,
Us belonging to one another
Belonging, moving, shaping,
How much is possible?
If I am the creator, then I am free to create
What are the limitations?
Aspects of my physical reality
Assumptions, presumptions of the mind
So, my body and my mind
Beyond these bounds, there is an infinite realm of possibility within the fine fractions of every breath
I cannot possibly comprehend the vast array of stories that could be told
I like some things and do those things
Dislike some things and don’t do those things
But how can I know if I like or dislike what I do not yet know?
The greatest story worth unfolding is that which has never been born
How fearful, frightful is the unknown
How uncomfortable it is to be strange
But then, how beautiful it is to taste a possibility that was once unknown and thereby glimpse into the infinite realm of all potentiality – all possibility
This is the realm of the imagination
The place where reality can be bent and broken
The divine space where dreams are born
Un – know
To enter into the unknown, we must first master the art of un-knowing
What is un-knowing?
Curiosity, wonder, allowing, accepting the most bizarre
Seeing the world through the eyes of a child
Am I telling a story?
Whose story is this?
Is this my story?
I watch as we unfold
Pray that I never cross the same path twice
Footsteps disappear behind me like sand washed away by the tide
I can only be in the present, always asking – what am I now?
How am I now?
What do I feel?
How am I being?
(change is inevitable – nothing can be repeated)
I am inevitably me
All I can do is be