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Discourse in motion.

December 14, 2009

I know that you say we must release all definitions
but, if you don’t mind, it just doesnt work like that now.
Not yet*.

And I know that I promised that I would be listening with my heart

And that a promise that you make when you’re awake
isn’t a promise at all but an oath (and if you noticed, I do listen sometimes).

But then sometimes, things deserve a really good think-over.
Movement is born from
the silence of listening
and action arises from the deep rest.
When I feel what you label love (even though you’re dead set against labeling), then
my body starts moving of its own accord.

Dancing yesterday,
there were angels singing in the corner

and a little old man at the opposite side of the room playing the fiddle and moving his sinewy old limbs as best as he could and

a man with his drum
in a trance
with his back against the wall
and his deep voice creating a humm for the rest of the music to rest on as it came tumbling out of the speakers

(all of this next to the International Society for Krishna Consciousness– the irony of which did not go unnoticed as I walked past the white robes and piety and greedy stares which you wouldn’t necessarily think were there but they were)

and over the top of it all somebody
started talking about love.

The group of separate people started moving together
in unison. And each time I started moving of my own accord
I went quiet again until the movement
that wasn’t mine returned into my limbs

Until a thought popped in:
What if all of this ‘love’ that people talk about
Isn’t really love at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I know that’s
what I keep telling you already, but, I just hadn’t thought about it in this context before.
That it’s not love–
that it’s the force behind the love
that pushes through us
and it just happens to feel so good that
we label it with a name
that feels good
(one that we are sure should feel good, anyway, but let’s not get into that right now).
And a big problem here is that when
mincing words, the signifier stops
taking on any meaning of its own;
love starts hanging in the air like
a fantastical garland that people throw out
and throw around each other and
that the nuevo hippies of Los Angeles
take as their mantra and bless each other with (wide-eyed and very spiritual looking too)
while Love is actually in the closet quivering
with kinetic tension about to burst out of itself but not knowing quite how to do so…

Is the allowing of intent to flow through your body

not just love (or any impersonal force)
in its freest form?

Press deeper:

Is the love that flows through us all not
just the white letter that the word is written on?

And when we love ourselves are we not just allowing ourselves to be
both the canvas and the thread that weaves it
and even the paintbrush that paints on it
and if you expand yourself enough
maybe even the hand that moves it
but not separate like

When you dance and let it come up

through your spine and

out of your limbs and into the world it

explodes in an ethereal cacophony

building and destroying

without resistance
(and happening so fast that any resistance whatsoever is sure to create some kind of tension somewhere).
The label is the resistance.
The word is the vessel.
The heart is the motion.

Love yourself,
he says.
But don’t think that this is the answer.
Do it, and then turn out to face the world.

*(One day it will, mind you, but by then we will be sitting in our left-sided oneness wishing for some kind of excitement. And then after a while one of us will say, “I know– let’s start labelling things” which will of course cause a rift in our friendship because that’s why we ended up here and bored in the first place.)

2 Comments leave one →
  1. December 18, 2009 06:40

    That is incredibly powerful and moving. When I heard it at first I did not understand it all, and did not feel the wholeness of the piece, but now on further reading I see you have a sure touch with words. You use words like an artist uses paint…

  2. January 3, 2010 06:58

    I feel like I understand you completely…

    BTW, the man with the voice and the drum… his name is Bob. He’s an ashtangi.

    I miss being in that room so much.

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