I do not run, although I ran. I do not dance, although I danced. We do not write, and yet we did. After this initial three days working together I am left wondering what else we do not do yet but could, or say we do not do but do, or what else is possible when we trust the process to lead us and not us lead the process.
Here we are safe. We hold each other’s stories, we support their journey through the air, we lean against each other and the tiniest gestures become a dance. Are we safe here, I hear you ask? I need to go to the toilet, you say later, and your lips don’t even move. Phrase against phrase; the grammar of our bodies as they make. Let me tell you, you may say dance is abstract, but your body, to me, my love, is never abstract. Every move you make is meaning to me and even your stillness is War and Peace.
Also, I am left thinking about why and how I write - about the desire or need for story, and how that seemed such a given - because before we had even started the room was already full of stories, because we were all there, and we have so many stories inside us, we just haven't told them yet.
In the quiet of our time together we all imagine the woods. The woods we imagine are different woods. We are different and the same. Who is leading who? Close my eyes. The stars come out (imagined). We are telling stories again. We are telling stories with our bodies. But what about the stories our bodies cannot tell? What are the secrets we do not even know that we are keeping? What are we ready to let go? Are we ready? Let’s go. Tell me a secret. I will tell you mine. It does not have to be a real one, it just has to be true.
(Written by Ben Webb after 3 days @ SED studios, Hextable)