I have been spending a lot of time contemplating, writing, thinking about what matters to me in dancing. And what seems to matter most of all is getting to the heart of something. But just finding honest, essential movement has been difficult because everything about the world we live in tends to favor form over content.
We, in the west, in the modern world of product-driven, disembodied culture,
we the doers,
spend so much of life on the periphery
physically isolated from our own guts and organs.
We, so comfortable in our suburban homes, with washing machines, hair dryers, toaster ovens,
experience only abstract depth of feeling.
Many of us seldom come face-to-face with life, able to escape so readily in social media, pizza advertising, home shopping network,
should the sharp pangs of life’s uncertainty and questions about our existence ever approach us unpredictably.
We see activity, busy-ness and noise
and think it is a sign of real things happening
We mistake form for substance
and stillness for emptiness, death.
We are easily swayed by empty words, unsupported by real meaning or integrity, because we rely on their form, so unpracticed at using our intuition to discern lies from truth.
Our exercise equipment moves our parts for us.
We are animated by machine, and the parts that more are peripheral.
We can spend hours moving our parts without every taking one real breath. Without our vision being ever connected to what our bodies are doing.
In truth, this is death. Never inhaling life.
So I seek to get to the heart of matters, and it involves being with my own body. I go to the place one is supposed to find physical presence and engagement, the gym. And I am seeking true motion, one that is is coupled with all my senses.
In this place where body parts are animated by machine, I stand and shake my insides, vibrate my organs, eyes closed. I hum to send breath and vibration down deep.
I see my whole self, pelvis, organs, kidneys, ribcage, skull… I shake my whole self. I breathe, and sigh and want to scream.
Why does it feel embarrassing, strange to do these things in the place our bodies are meant to be active and engaged?
Perhaps even our idea of health and fitness remains on the periphery.
I want to say to the world,
Get to your guts and don’t be ashamed. Get alive, get living. Scream and breathe deep. See with your eyes. Let machines be machines and you do the work of being human.
What if we were better acquainted with our organs?
Would we be more honest, daring, full and rich? Could we exhibit the exceptional qualities of all the organic systems that sustain our lives? The vitality of the lungs, the constancy of the heart, the efficiency of the kidneys, the all-encompassing resilience of the liver?
Would each breath be truer? Would we do more of what we really wanted and do less that was merely distracting?
What if the front was only part of the equation?
What if we always sensed the back of our heads and the space behind our eyeballs?
What if we remembered that the body and the earth are both mostly water. And saw the relatively small mass of land we inhabit, as well as the physical materiality of our bodies, as simply signifiers of our expansive, never-ending fluid selves, fluid world.
My sister said to me recently,
struggle is the greatest gift. Because when we struggle, when we face head-on the most frightening moments, we cannot help but access our strongest selves. Struggle forces us to lead with our guts. To makes decisions from a place of honest strength. It saves us from mediocrity, it gives direction, lets you say what your heart feels, through your free and open throat, with the power of your organs bubbling from below.