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)
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