Why? Where? And who? And how? My roots in stasis - a collapsed lifeline. What everything means - does everybody else know what to write, or are they just pretending? I listen to the sound on the inside of my hip joints. The moment I return to words, my sense of body begins to leave me, like I can't be in two places at once.
Shake me down, strip me of my senses. Let curl. Let be. How can I sleep when my lungs are still learning to breathe? I feel like I've leapt before I discovered the bridge between my body and my mind. Keep searching.
This is a silly little game. My words come out as affirmations already. They don't know another way. I am confident in my words, just not my movements. Why do I struggle to find the bridge? Why is it so hard? I struggle to find the bridge. It's so hard to find it. See? The "why" is neither here nor there.
I'm worried you'll shatter if I bump into you, but you won't.
I return to words.
Shaking me down doesn't strip me of my senses, it fills me with them.
It is (still) hard to find the bridge, but maybe I'm searching for the wrong solidity. It's not an either/or, only the sliding door between my creative senses.
If I don't soon define the bridge, I can just swim across, and know myself in a different light. From another perspective. From across the water.
When I'm dancing, there's this fear I'll come outside of myself. and it will be deleterious.
[collapse/rebirth]
I could become a lion, but I'm more comfortable as a little fluff in its mane. It is shame of my animal nature that leads me farther from the bridge, though some animals are frightfully creative. Look at wolves. I hold back trust - my bestial nature did something unforgivable and it is only in dance that I dare look at it now. Had I not been a woman, I might've yet become a martyr.
Why has the lifeline collapsed? Why do my senses leave me? Look at wolves, but only through my mouth. When I dance, I'm dumb and blind. So I find another way to finish this story. Why be in two places when you can be everywhere?
