¡Viva la Resistencia!

After being politely ignored by a blog promoting dance blogs, I've just had my posts wiped off a dance discussion board... Am I that radical?
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Maybe. After all, instead of writing cleanly -- about dance wear, the perfect gift for your dance teacher or costly competitions that will transmit the values of combativeness and expediency to impressionable children -- I'm making a mess trying to write about movement.

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Words set ideas down and movement always moves; the two worlds are hard to reconcile. When you try, you usually end up sounding vague or mashing together a bunch of metaphors, each one a facet, a point of view that just might, for someone, trigger something interesting. Urgggh! I know: it's unbearable to listen to!

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Luckily, there's other inspiration to be found out there.

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Today, I went to the Secours Catholique Christmas party in Paris. Each year, they help thousands of polical refugees with, among other things, housing, food and legal advice. There was couscous, cakes, gifts and I don't know how many languages, cultures, religions and other views of the universe mingling coherently. There were Caribbean songs sung in French, a poem read in Bangladeshi, a traditional Indian dance that looked suspiciously like a Bollywood video clip and a group dance performance that went from calm gospel to the hip-moving World Cup theme song: Waka Waka (This Time for Africa).

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It's the second time I've seen that group dance and the second time I've felt slightly embarrassed by the lump in my throat and the watery blurring of my eyes. Seeing people dance in front of others for all the right reasons -- joy, playfulness, curiousity, generosity and gratitude -- is a rare enough thing. And, though I'm always a bit shock by being deeply moved in public, isn't that what being in an audience should be about? Not succombing to manipulation, but releasing yourself into healthy, happy hands.

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For three months, now, I've been dishing out my pyschedelic soup, and I started doubting my ability to convey anything helpful. But, today, I saw a group of dancers with little resources or training (or even a name for their group) get everyone dancing in their seats. It triggered the best in everyone. I thank them and the Secours Catholique for reminding me that, even when one community shuts the door, there are others who keep reaching out. They just ask you to keep on doing what moves you the deepest, and they have faith that it's the right thing for all.

Out of Bounds

Keep your energy circulating. It can sound hippy-ish and vague. But, we all understand it when put a different way. Try this one: If you lift something heavy, make sure you bend your knees. Who doesn't understand that?
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We know that straight legs and a bent, flat back are dangerous when hoisting heavy. It cuts us in two. We know that if we squat down with our torso more erect, the push of our feet can go up through our back and connect with our arms. We know to push off harder for heavier objects and lighter for light.
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However, pushing harder doesn't necessarily mean better results. How is just as important as how much.
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When we were younger and had a less clear sense of self, our energy circulated differently. Babies, as we know, can grip a finger with an amazing amount of squeeze. And, yet, despite an almost brutish force, they just lie there, smiling and soft.
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Babies are also impressive when they just start to stand. For long minutes, they watch the world, calmly swaying with ease. They don't sink, slouch or shuffle their feet. Like little bamboo, they grow in two directions, with no clear sense of their highth or the ground. They're in a continuous state of reaching out. They haven't, yet, focused on their limits.
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When we push down to lift a heavy object, we tend to put a limit on our push. The ground starts here, so my push ends here is how we think. But, like a boxer punching further than his opponant's face, we need to push down further than the obvious place of contact. That way, the energy doesn't burst and dissipate quickly. That way, our muscles work all the way through the movement, connected and uncrinkled, and our intention stays vigorous from start to finish.
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Where's the finish? There, too, we should have no set idea. After all, the push moves up from legs to our back, then to arms and heavy object -- so it finishes somewhere out there. Somewhere well outside our body.
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Amplitude Exercise #1
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1) Find a wall and place the palm of both hands against it. Try to feel the contact in all fingers, in all parts. (That means a good dose of both relaxation and intention.) Stand close enough so that your elbows are bent, but don't lean into the wall. Feel the weight of your forearms and upper arms hanging there, like a hanging bridge, attached to two verticle surfaces and drooping in the middle.
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2) Now, imagine that the contact goes deeper. Imagine that you're feeling into the wall, somewhere inside or beyond it. Already, you may feel a difference in your body. If space opens in one direction, then space opens in the opposite direction. Can you feel your shoulder blades relaxing and becoming more mobile? By touching deeper into the wall, can you 'touch' your shoulder blades?
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3) Push gently into the wall with one hand, then the other. Keep your knees relaxed. Notice how far down your body the movement goes and how you sway from side to side. Can you feel a circuit opening up, from one shoulder blade down and around to the other?

Don't Worry. It's Just a Ph(r)ase.

A friend of mine, who recently immigrated from the Balkans, speaks English in a haphazardly creative way. Among his recent classics: I go now to the bank to buy some money. You know that story called Snow Witch? and You're always looking at my sweater... do you have a crush on it?
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Sometimes, wrong has a way of being right. If I stopped thinking of ATMs as friendly helpers, I'd certainly be better off at the end of the month. And, 'witch' seems fitting for Snow White, in a way. I've always thought she sent an extremely bad message to kids. Oh, a little house, with no one home... Maybe if I clean it up, they'll let me stay with them! Conniving suddenly seems more innocent than simply asking for help.

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Even the crush-thing -- which is flat wrong, on all levels -- gave me a thrill with its unexpected turn. My friend's English is improving rapidly, and I already regret the day when everything becomes straightforward.

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When you start experimenting with movement techniques, when you start letting your body reorganize itself differently, there's always something wrong about what's more right. After all, the old way is the norm. There's something soothing about it, even if that means more tension, more effort and, even, discomfort.

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In the past segment exercises, we started exploring the weight of our body segments. We felt how the hand, forearm and upper arm have their own distinct weight. At first, this new sense of weightiness can be a drag. New ways of functioning mean muscles working differently, which, in turn, means a new (although temporary) type of fatigue. It's only when we start experiencing the poetic side to it -- how weighty segments allow movement to pass from one part of the body to another, how the different parts can coordinate instinctively, how our minds can relax in a bath of sensations -- can we appreciate what we've taken on.

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In the past walking exercise, we started exploring how our walk can become more dynamic and design-oriented if we give up some control. Of course, giving up control when we walk means a newfound wobbliness. We lived it once, as toddlers, and often feel no need to go through that experience again. (Memories of booze, cold sweats and up-chucking might add to that reserve.) However, as we start to feel how our steps can massage our feet and legs and how that extra mobility can pass up through stiff hips, backs and neck, we begin to find charm in all that lack of composure.

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Vision Exercise #1

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1) Stand in an open space, looking forward. Tilt your head, slowly, from one side to the other. Ask yourself if, through some mental effort, you're not trying to keep the horizon horizontal, if you're not trying to keep order in the universe.

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2) As you tilt your head from one side to another, try to lessen your hold on the objects you see. Accept that, as you tilt to the left, they tilt to the right, and vice versa. The more they tilt, the more you relax in the neck. Let the tilting movement go further down, into your torso. Do this very calmly: there's no reason to fall over. Explore and don't forget the importance of comfort and amusement.

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3) Very carefully, try tilting your head slightly while taking a few steps. Do this in a safe place, every chance you get. Notice how your body can adapt, get used to and, even, enjoy a certain chaos. Can you feel any body parts coordinating instictively? Do you feel anything poetic or charming happening? Does your mind feel as though it no longer has to hold up the world?

Backwards, to Bounce

My sneakers are light and cushion my steps. They give me spring even when I'm feeling fatigue. Unfortunately, I get a little lost in them. I get soft in them..
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Our bodies are made to pump on their own: to stretch, suspend, relax and come down, again. We have certain curves that are excellent at this: our cervical curve (the neck), our lumbar curve (the lower back) and the curve of our legs -- the reason why dance teachers harp on about unlocking the knees. The diaphragm is a horizonal curve. It curves up and down and keeps our lungs pumping. We think about the diaphragm a lot in yoga, because it can give us insight into how to connect everything.
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But, there's another curve that often goes unnoticed: the arch of the feet.

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I had a teacher, named Regine, who once told me to feel the bottom of my feet, just before the pads of the heel, where the arch starts. She called this area 'the heart' of the feet, even though it's not in the middle. It's the spot where pressure comes down through the legs and goes either forward, through the toes, or back, through the heels. And, that spot, it turns out, can be far more active than we think. It can act like very subtle pump.

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In other words, our heels don't just stand there. When our toes reach out, they're reaching back. Or, to put it in the most dramatic way, our feet have the dynamics of the claws of birds of prey.

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Standing Exercise #1

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1) Stand barefoot on a pleasant, firm surface. Knees unlocked and head floating, happy and round as a helium balloon.

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2) Imagine that you're wearing skis. The skis go in both directions until out of sight. Give special attention to the back half of the skis. We spend our lives looking down and into mirrors and already have a pretty good sense of 'front.' (We often have a good sense of other people's butts. But that's where our sense of 'back' usually ends.)

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3) Feel how this image -- skis going out, forward and back -- gives a sense of direction to your feet and, thus, reinvigorates them. When a part of the body snaps out of it after it has been half-asleep, other parts can finally relax. Can you feel where you relax -- where your weight falls better -- somewhere else?

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4) Imagine that spot towards the beginning of the arch of your feet, towards the heel -- the heart. Imagine it letting go of tension and opening up. Don't force anything. Just imagine and invite. Do you feel the pressure from your body going more clearly in different directions? Do you feel your arches becoming light? If you normally stand with your weight back on your heels, do you feel your body moving slightly forward, realigning itself? Is your weight more evenly displaced? When you breathe, do you feel a slight pumping effect in your feet?

Don't Wanna Cramp Your Style

When my mom got home, she'd kick off her shoes. Following in her steps, I would, too. She was my reminder that bare feet feel great.

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Of course, in a world of chemicals, rocks, broken glass and rusty nails, shoes make sense. Flip-flops make sense, too. They're comfortable and cool and usually protect us enough -- a happy compromise. But, though they're flat and look relaxed, watch someone walk in them and you can see that they're not totally unlike high heels: both of them substantially change the way we naturally walk.

According to my anatomy book, there are 26 bones, 31 joints and 20 muscles in every foot. It's a complex design made for high demands, in strength and subtility. Feet carry our weight (and more), cushion our steps, adjust to the floor and roll us, not just forward, but also backwards and sideways, at many an angle.

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Dancers spend hours massaging, pointing and flexing their feet. They draw circles, inwards and outwards, to ease up their ankles, where foot and force of the leg meet. And, when this is done, some dancers slip their flip-flops back on and shuffle off, as flat-footed and stiff-ankled as a geisha.

Next time you see someone in flip-flops, stop and listen. It's rare that they go flip and, then, flop. They would if, like normal, we rolled through our feet. But, instead, we tend to carry and place them down carefully, so that the sound is minimized. In other words, we consciously carry the very things that are supposed to support us. (With high heels, we stabilize the things that are supposed to support us.) It defies a certain structural logic. It seems like self-sabotage.

Now, I'm not very interested in fashion. I just like variety and the fact that people can change. But, I also like continuity. I like that we can do our thing -- dance, yoga, qigong or tai-chi -- and, then, continue exploring when we pack up and leave. Because we can't be schizophrenic about deep change.

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Luckily, we can't be too earnest, either. Awareness of difference is a major part of exploring movement. Differences can clarify each other -- and the whole. So, if you've bought Birkenstocks and feel like you're losing your soul, throw back on something unreasonable, at least, once in while. It has to do you good, somewhere. And, if you remain curious, that's a good-enough place to start.

Walking Is Child's Play

I became a much better dancer when I stopped trying to dance and just started doing stuff.

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Bend knees. Feel what that's like. Place palm of left hand on the floor. Feel the floor. Swivel and place buttocks on floor. Feel the floor.

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Thinking about dance and what we expect from it -- fluidity, strength, expression... -- clutters the mind and keeps us from being effective. It cuts us off from the sensations we need to set up truly interesting situations. Situations in which things happen almost by themselves. That is when quality comes in.

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Walking Exercise #1

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1) Revisit the exercises from last week.

2) Stand up, barefoot, with feet close together but not touching, knees unlocked. You'll probably feel that your legs are closer together than normal. You might feel that you've given up a secure, wide stance for something a bit wobbly. That's good! 'Wobbly' means that you're ready to take off in many directions.

3) Visualize a vertical line running up and down the middle of your body, through your head and torso. It continues upwards, from the top of your head, and downwards, from in between your sit bones. Remember that your legs are not necessarily implicated in this imaginary line.

Reach down and feel the point of your sit bones with your hands. Lift one heel so that only the balls of the foot and toes touch the ground. Do the other side. Notice that the movement doesn't significantly change the direction in which your sit bones point. (While exploring this, keep looking towards the horizon. Moving your legs shouldn't alter the direction in which the top of your head points, either.)

4) Imagine a string attached to each knee that goes out over the feet, pretty much between the second and third toes. There's a gentle, gentle tension on that string. With knees directed out over the middle of your feet and a modest stance, your body weight can fall evenly on all parts of the foot. You're neither pressing outwards nor caving inwards. All is sollicited and active.

Imagine that you're standing in soft clay and that, as you sink slowly down, clay is pressed out, in every direction. Don't make an effort to push downwards; your weight does the pressing, on its own. Keep in mind the line going through your head and torso and the two strings directing your knees. Add to that the perception of the volume of your feet that comes from the clay oozing out. Feel how your weight falls differently when you have a sense of volume.

5) Lean forward slightly and imagine someone pulling on one of those strings, just enough to set you walking. Each step is initiated by one string or the other. Don't try to do it at a slow pace; let the momentum of your body in motion carry you forward. Give yourself enough space to cut loose. Be like a baby taking his first steps, both in and out of control.

How long before you revert back to your usual way of organizing yourself? Ask yourself why you reverted back to it and if it was really necessary. Test it, again and again. See if you can feel places -- in your hips or back -- that roll more than usual. Can you develop a taste for the wobbliness of it all?

Be a fanatic. Experiment, all day long. Start on sidewalks and, when you're relatively in control, move on into supermarkets and restaurants.

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But, don't feel silly, gangly or punk. What might seem to be a lack of composure, from the inside, will appear as 'animal' sleekness, from the outside.

Less Blah Blah, More Grope!

Last week, we felt up our legs to find where they start. Now, it's time to get even more intimate with our skeleton.

Reach down and feel yourself between your hamstrings and your butt. There, you'll find two pointy bits called the 'sit bones.' Locate them, massage the sinewy connections around them, feel where the bones are and where they are not. Sit on a hard surface and feel, if you can, the weight of your upper body settling down onto them.

Having a feel for sit bones without some sort of outside contact doesn't come quickly. Luckily, an understanding of their placement and direction can already be of great help. We can imagine them down there. And, though imagination can cut us off from reality, it can also help us connect with it in new ways. Imagine, but be open to new sensations.

Leg and Hip Exercise #1

1) Lie on your back, with your feet flat on the floor, knees pointing up. With each breath, feel your feet settling onto the floor, more. Continue the process by concentrating on the hip area, then the shoulder blades and head.

2) Imagine a line running through your body. It goes out beyond your head, in one direction, and beyond your sit bones, in the other. Notice where your legs articulate in the the hip socket and that they are not part of this line. In a way, we can say that our head and torso are living one story and our legs, another.

3) Now, imagine that your knees are suspended by strings, that your upper and lower legs merely hang downwards. Notice that, by moving your knees slightly towards each other, you can relax the muscles on the the outside of the legs. Feel how, on the inside, between thigh bone and pubis, you can also relax. Imagine two little streams running, there, that gently erode tension and open up space. Forget about muscles and get the sensation of bones. Bones give the underlying logic to our efforts.

This is one of the 'nothing to it' exercises that changes everything. By clarifying directions, we can release unnecessary tension. That, in turn, allows the body to reorganize itself more efficiently. Lying down with legs bent, knees pointing up, becomes almost effortless; and that little bit of effort gives the body a big chance to breathe.

Lying down like that or standing up, we tend to push outwards with our legs. We think of the sturdiness of a wide stance -- football players, sumos, wrestlers and cowboys might come to mind. But, that sturdiness is often born purely out of muscular force and not out of skeletal logic. Skeletal logic requires a play between outside and in. It permits sturdiness and mobility. (And, while, from the outside, it may not appear as tough, it's free in a way that is sexy enough.)

[Next week: Walking Exercise #1]

Leg Crazy

Most showgirls come to work in jeans, but they all change into fishnets and sparkly G-strings. G-strings arch upwards and make for longer legs.

How far up do your legs go?

That question sounds simple enough. But, one day, when we were asked it, in class, everyone else did the same things as I. They ran their fingers up and down their sides, hesitating here and there. They peered down, searching for a place to stop, and smiled, sensing a paradox.

Surely the length of our legs doesn't depend on whether we're sitting or whether we stand. Or, on jeans, Bermuda's or tights. Yet, the way we conceive 'leg' is largely visual. And, those visual references can leave us confused. At least, in terms of the best way to move.

Slide your hands up the side of your thighs, until you find that bumpy spot where the thigh bone stops. It's roughly marks the level of the hip joint. Turn your legs, in and out. Lift your knees and let them down. Feel how the tip of the thigh bone pivots around and how much lower it is than we would expect.

Visually, the leg line might go further up -- to the top of the butt or, even, the ilium crest -- but we have legs and a hip. I had danced professionally for many a year before this distinction was made perfectly clear. Before then, I was trying to involve muscles that weren't implicated -- or, better said, that were implicated, but in much different ways. In a world of relativity, for something to move, something must stay. Things can resist and, still, work together.

The moral to the story: There's the pleasure of looking and the pleasure of doing, and they, both, are valid and real. But, if you want to move more deeply, a body is something you should take time to feel.

(And, please, take that anyway you want.)

Happy Zombies

It's the season for strikes in the City of Lights.
Retirement reform has got Paris churned up and grinding down, again. And, although it could turn into a much bigger mess, there's always something inspiring about social unrest.

Take the strikers, for example. They leave their houses well before dawn, stand for hours in the drizzly cold, and, only then, do they march (or block railroad tracks and refineries). Keeping that up takes a lot of fortitude. Serious non-working is no picnic.

And, of course, with such uncertain commutes, working isn't easy, either. But, somehow, the French stay good-natured, on the whole. They seem to accept that, given their traits: solidarity, critical-thinking and a love for debate, big social movements are simply inevitable.

But, last Saturday, things turned dark and ugly.

Out of nowhere, a few hundred zombies invaded the center of town. Screaming and shrieking with mouths red with blood, they attacked everything and everyone. The government, large industry, pollution, declining health care and junk food were among the victims. One of the signs they were carrying summed it up perfectly. It said: We Want More Brains!!

Now, these are serious times; there's a lot at stake. But, someone thought that, as the French love to gripe -- and they do and they admit it, too -- why not bring all sides together for one afternoon? A protest, for anyone, about anything at all. The perfect French reunion party.

So, the zombie-band played loud and beer splashed out on the crowd. Even little old ladies laughed as the street came alive. And, intelligence danced in everyone's eyes with naivity.

Parisians tend to be overly sophisticated and hardly spontaneous. But, when inspired, they make art out of paradox.

Bit by Bit, the Pieces Fit

A teacher, once, told me to not focus on steps. Dance is all about transition, she said. It worked! I, immediately, became more fluid.

There's something particular to movement: You can take a great image that works well for you, stand it on its head, and that can help, too.

Let me give you the reverse-version, now.

Last year, I was rehearsing an old piece with two good friends. We were really happy to be back together, again, but something went wrong. We were open and vibrant, but our dancing had become self-satisfied and insipid.

It was Phillipe who figured it out. We started the piece too comfortable, he explained to Paola and me. We eased through it, with memories of simplicity, and forgot how demanding it was for precision. We can't linger or anticipate. We have to be at the right place, at the right time, putting our entire selves into the act at hand, then the next, then the next, then the next....

After all, what is a line, but a series of points?

And, because that image worked, too, I assume, in my heart, that they're both equally true. (Dancers see the world in terms of complementary opposites.)


Recap #1: Segment Exercises

1) To coordinate, we first must be able to differentiate.
2) Differentiation -- the recognition of segments and parts -- comes to us through sensations.
3) The amount and quality of our sensations depend on our ability to feel.
4) The ability to feel is born out of a state of relaxation.
5) Relaxation comes when we open up to the pull of gravity.

P.S. With this different way of looking at it, why not go and give those segment exercises another try?

Here or There

Warm it up. Rev it up. Slip it into high gear.

We often talk about the human body as though it were a machine. It's not the most flattering image for a complex organism, but, if it works, why not? Any metaphor that gets the job done is a good metaphor, as long as we don't start taking it for reality.

When we move, there are parts of our body that lead and others that follow along. Of course, it's not as cut-and-dried -- not as mechanical -- as it sounds. After all, in complex organisms, everything participates and adapts on some level, all the time. But, let's stick with the image, anyway. It'll get us somewhere, despite its shortcomings.

In dance, we refer to those parts that instigate movement as 'motors.' Changing motors is one of our ways to reorganize the body and access different qualities. Switching motors can be very subtle and, from the outside, not always easy to read. But, anybody who likes to watch people walk by has, certainly, picked up on it a bit.

Most people walk leaning forward and leading with the knees. But, we've all seen people who seem to stroll everywhere: leaning back slightly, feet pulling the body forward. And, there's the John Wayne swagger: hips advancing a reluctant body, eternally headed towards a shootout or brawl. A number of young males show how tough they are by combining systems: one side leading with the hip and the other, with the knee. It's a rolling strut that, at least, has the advantage of musicality.

But, let's leave the legs, for now, and get back to our arms.


Segment Exercise #1 (continued)

1) Revisit the segment exercises from Sunday.

2) Do the sequence again, but, this time, standing up. This time, however, there's only one puppeteer and he's floating above you (where he should've been, all along). Again, he slowly pulls on the string, setting into motion a chain of events. But, now, when your arm reaches the top, the puppeteer cuts the string and your arm flops back to your side.

While experimenting with the sequence, try and keep your stomach loose and your knees unlocked. Breathe as easily as possible. Ask yourself these questions: Is the segment with the string (the motor) really instigating the movement? Are the non-motor segments hanging from the motor segment with a real sense of weight? Given that there are different possibilities for organizing the movment, does the arm alway rise to the same height? Does it always fall in the same way? Where do you feel repercussions from lifting your arm? How far down do the repercussions go?

Altered States

She was German and he was French and words were lost between them. But, a breeze swept off the water, fanning the warm summer night, and they followed each other, using the simplest of signs, into a world all their own. We watched, charmed by the easiness of it all.

We were, also, intrigued by their differences. Not in terms of language or culture -- they were, after all, only four years-old -- but, by something even more fundamental.

Sybille had a wide stance and often stood settled into one hip. Her shoulders slouched foreward ever-slightly. For a little girl, she looked surprisingly steady. We imagined her doing tai-chi at dawn or hitchhiking her way across Eastern Europe, with a dreadlocked head dwarfed, even more, under a giant backpack.

Vincent, on the other hand, skimmed over the floor on tiptoes. He stood perched like a meercat watching for jackals in a high stretch of grass. He, we thought, could be the prince in a ballet or flagging down a taxi on a drizzly New York day.

Sybille organized herself from the bottom-up; Vincent, from the top-down.

How we organize ourselves has to do with our character and build, which, in turn, has to do with our genes, God, karma, chance, stars or any combination of these, depending on how we interpret, analyze or perceive the universe. But, in general, if the way we organize ourselves works well for a certain activity, people just say that we have a talent. And, we assume it comes from somewhere.

But, is the idea of talent -- of innate ability -- accurate or helpful? What about our talent for change? After all, change is the one thing we've all been doing remarkably well since conception.

Here's an exercise for clarifying intention and possibilities. It's gentle on the body and, yet, has deep repercussions.













Segment Exercise #1

1) Lie down on a smooth surface, on your back, with arms by your sides. Place the bottom of your feet on the floor, knees pointing up. Feel your weight settle with each breath you take. Mentally, travel from your feet upwards, feeling your major segments and breathing. Tell yourself: My feet are heavy. My lower legs are heavy. My thighs are heavy... continuing with every segment and bit you can locate, up to your head.

2) Imagine that someone is sitting on the floor, a few yards away, in the direction of your head. He's a puppeteer and is holding a string that runs along the floor and is attached to the middle finger of your right hand. He pulls the string slowly, drawing your hand towards him. The hand moves first, then the forearm is implicated, and, finally, the upper arm and shoulder. Each segment remains heavy and drags on the floor. Verify that you aren't lifting your arms to assist. Remember: You're merely a puppet being manipulated. A heavy, happy puppet, in very good hands.

3) Now, the reverse happens. Someone's sitting a few yards from your feet and pulls the same string. Your hand's engaged, then your forearm, then your upper arm. Whether going up or coming back down, your arm finishes where it finishes. Don't reajust; don't try to make things tidy or complete.

4) Do the same thing with the string attached to the middle of your forearm and see what happens.

5) Do the same thing with the string attached to the middle of your upper arm.

6) Do the sequence again, on the left side.

It's a simple exercise that takes a lot of imagination and concentration. With practice, you can abandon your body, more and more, to the puppeteers; you can start to feel like someone else is really doing all the physical work.

As you become comfortable with the process and your newfound schizophrenia, observe how each segment of your arm is different. Observe how and when each segment engages the others, which parts slide gracefully and which ones roll and flop around in seeming-disorder. It's the same activity organized three different ways. Observe how each organization touches the rest of the body differently.

[To be continued on Thursday.]

Taking Off

Watching me leap across the floor, jerky and stiff -- a catapult trying to fling itself through the air -- a fellow dancer came up to me and said: You want to fly so badly. It's a beautiful dream, but it's not helping you, at all... Why don't you just change dreams?

That question, though many years have passed, still rings through my thoughts and befuddles my brain. Isn't perseverance good? How can you tell where life wants you to be? Isn't inspiration more fundamental than my friend would have it seem? Consider it as I may, a shrug is all I come up with in response.

Still, I love the sound of it. Why don't you just change dreams? It's so simple. Surprisingly crisp for something carrying such weight. It trickles lively and floods my brain, until I find myself floating, face down in my own head. And, I love that, too. Because, when you're trying to move better, less-thinking's a good thing.

When analysis finally decides to take a break, the mind is free to work differently. It can pick up sensations from outside and in, get a feel for each part and where and how it fits in. Differentiation, after all, is the first step towards coordination. But, perception comes first.

The purpose of this project is to offer a different point of view on dance and movement in general. It's not just my view; it's shared by others who have spent years and years exploring, who have chosen the longer road. It's the view that the indirect has as much value as the direct. That, for one good step forward, you might need to start with four steps back. It's the belief that, no matter what our interests are -- dance, fitness, sports or movement techniques -- by considering basic things like rhythm, space and weight, we can create a shift. We can invite new relationships to come, bringing efficiency and ease. Coordination, after all, is just an access to the body's quieter intelligence.

But, before we go there, let me rant and get that out of the way.

Dance has absolutely nothing to do with falling into a split. Nothing to do with the size of your breasts or you hips. Nothing necessarily to do with youth, tights, Flashdance or Fame. And, if you're into submission, self-dominance and pain, save it for the bedroom!

It's about adventure and mystery, seeing yourself and the world-around-you differently. It's about being awash in the unfathomable and getting a feel for the waves. Striking a slippery balance that works well for you and doing it again and again. Until you find yourself weaving and spinning out, wild and calm, into the warmly pertient and refreshingly unexpected.

It's less about flying high, more about diving in.