On not taking hold

At the tipping point; a threshold. The backwash rinsing through.

At the extremity of a situation; an action; a contact situation; out of speechlessness, rigidity, incapacity; a coming undone, this spontaneous backlash to all that we keep on a tight meter unfurls and in its exquisite display it is unbehold to anyone, even to the personality of the person doing the action.

It is an exegesis into a wider pattern of relationality and an admittance of affect in this co-dependency.

However bizarre, ritualised, repetitive it may appear it is loosening the strings that hold us tightly into and onto ourselves.

In this case purposelessness is the catapult unfurling of our improvisation that knows itself in the doing. It is of the moment and so despite appearances is more real, more apt and more appropriate than the tight edge of choreographed learnt gestures of social mores.

It is the unwinding part on part felt sensation as it is happening in real-time. So it is an enquiry- facing a deep fear that to act and look out of this consecrated norm is to risk everything; to break down the borders of identity.

Yet it is a necessary loosening in order that the components may shuffle and truly relate through a feedback of holding one position in relation to another.

This accountability; a kind of intricate bodily accountancy where the mind is deeply imbued into the minutiae of each felt sense whether pleasant or unpleasant and hovering there like a bird resting on an egg, it has the patience to wait so that the discomfort, the pain, the impossible yield is held in this suspension warming yet not crushing until of its own accord the light shell of the egg cracks just at the point where new life might emerge.

It is a risk but because the breaking apart happens from the inside; as a new birth and life-form, and not from the outside as an intervention or theory for a better kind of life, it is authentic and there is self-reflection in and through every cell from core to bone, ligament and breath.

Sensory atunement rests on this apt placement and timing so that an accuracy, a settlement, a gesture or impulse however small and seemingly inconsequential, becomes the axis around all else and in that moment may turn and so thrive.

This is a way to value what is there whether a silence, an incoherent utterance, a beckoning or a rebuff.
All are the pieces upon which an atmosphere of coherence gradually evolves. Yet the coherence is infinitely spacious, not packed tight with a mission or a judgement of its worth but simply allowed to rest as it is.

In this sense it becomes part of a wider whole just as each person however seemingly rigid or monotone they appear as a cut-out figure, in a wider connectivity they become too the axis around which all else turns. In the supposed vacancy of these figures, the hollow spaces between one breath and the next, the compulsive and the person in transit- between gestures, moves, steps, sentences, there is a silence loaded with feeling; a wordless message that draws all into conviviality where not knowing is our shared human experience and making it up according to the deep respect of intervals and pauses becomes the grammar and meter of our life together.