Wild, bawdy humor which makes out-of-control noises pour forth from one’s nose. The movement there, this is something that a body does to survive, no? Like the beauty of flesh saving itself in falling.
Smoothness. Moving through whatever is there. Yes-ing to all. Onward-ness. Never turning back. Aikido’s way of harmonious spirit. These are certain types of flow.
What does flow look like? Feel like?
Can flow be broad enough to include awkward edges, contrast, nose noise-making humor?
Is a violently shifting riptide in a storm’s wave flow?
How could it not be?
Can there be pleasure in dissonance, in confusion? Can dissonance be considered a type of flow?
……
I once heard a teacher talk about need; to let your body do what it needs.
‘Is this instinct?’ asked one student.
‘No,’ the teacher replied.
‘What if my need is to take care of another? My need is to tend to what they want.’ another asked.
‘No, that is not it!’ the teacher replied.
If a boulder dropped from this cafe’s roof, would I react in time?
My body, keen to survive, would move.
I allow myself to scratch my nose as I type.
I do not need to scratch my nose.
Is the difference between allowance and need, instinct and survival, a matter of speed? A matter of urgency?
Are you speaking of, assuming that, each organism’s need is always individualistic?
Do you know about community-oriented survival strategies?
At a certain speed, I lose my ability to observe my sensations. I work at this tempo’s edge.
(I could easily stay relatively still for hours. I once spent a year working as a living-statue. With pleasure.)
The quality of these movement-origins feel slightly different: Need. Allow.
Probably, the precise distinction of words is not so important, rather the experience.
… …
Without forcing any, when I listen, there are sensations which fit with the word true. They feel true, somehow.
When I allow them to move they feel right. I feel an overall sense of possibility. Vitality. Creativity. Openness. Some amount of I can (Sheets-Johnstone 1999).
I feel other sensations too.
Some have a quality of neutral-proprioception: balance, weight, etc.
Some have a more external or temporary quality.
Sometimes I have thoughts that fit my sensations, like: “I am supposed to move in a certain way in this space.” Or, “This move will be impressive.” Or, “I want to appease you.” These sensations-thoughts feel stifled, frozen, disconnected. Dead-end-street feeling.
When I hear my sensations that have this quality of true-ness, I increase my speed. I incorporate awareness of you. Of the room. I lose the sensations. I find them again. And so on.
As we dance together I notice and allow these sensations with a quality of right-ness to move.
Does need feel true? I don’t know, it all happened so fast. But I’m pretty sure, yes.
… …
“… human understanding (e.g. abstract and rational) arise from earlier and more implicit forms of sensorimotor organization… A subject can perceive… only those environmental aspects or events that she can actively assimilate (integrate or absorb) into already existing senorimotor schemes… faced with an ever changing world (and body), [she] will constantly be challenged by not-yet-assimilated aspects of her environment, which create internal sources of tension and conflict … What and how this agent experiences perceptually… is determined by her sensorimotor repertoire.” – The sense of agency – a phenomenological consequence of enacting sensorimotor schemes – Thomas Buhrmann & Ezequiel Di Paolo (2015).
… ….
It is tiring to disappoint.
A particular type of muscle tautness and heat rising from my skin. What perceptions arrive me to the conclusion that you are disappointed?
In many cultures it is rude to decline food. Hurtful, offensive, insulting.
With these (and other) customs enmeshed in our tissues, how do I communicate that my own allowing is telling me to not move towards the offering of your back, your gentleness, your…
And
this does not mean that I am not aware of you. It does not mean I am not dancing with you.
How many ways might I communicate, say this to you?
… …
If a boulder dropped from this cafe’s roof, do you reach to protect me?
… …
If I listen closely, I can sense nuances in the qualities of my sensations.
Even if I do not understand their meaning.
… …
Does one seek softness on the dance floor because life has so many rough edges? Or simply because there is pleasure in soft flow? Does a well balanced soul always move smoothly? Is the state of a psyche judged based on a flailing or smooth style?
Who knows what each of us are doing on the dance floor.
… …
My sensations light up, feeling judged for my flailing styles, for my moves which do not make sense to you.
We find and do not find how to make sense, moving together.
“How far are you going?” asked the fighter, meaning how much closer was he going to get to his reservation than he was now.
“Up to Wenatchee,” I said. “I’ve got some people to interview there.”
“Interview? What for?”
“I’m a reporter, I work for the newspaper.”
“No,” said the fighter, looking at me like I was stupid for thinking he was stupid. “I mean, what’s the story about?” – The Toughest Indian in the World – Sherman Alexie (Grove Press, 2000).
What do the sensations of our assumptions feel like?
When I notice a thought or emotion about your moving, analyzing, judging you –
if I dive deeper, to hear more of my tissue, what are the sensations there?
… …
The experiences of dissonance, surprise, tension, boredom, conflict, they inform me about my desires and expectations in our dance.
What sensations notify you that you have reached an edge? Of assumption, hope, desire, exit… ?
Curiously exploring, gathering information through experiencing – Are our discomforts, our moments of not-understanding each other also flow?
How could they not be?
Your scent is seeping into my pores, and mine yours – creating, even if temporary, influence on one another.
How long does it feel true for either of us to dance together?
What are the sensations you feel when you decide it’s time to leave our dance?
I notice what it feels like to end my words here.
Relational Awareness 