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What’s a Tree to You?

I saw time lapse photography of a tree seed sprouting and growing into a seedling.

The roots spread down, then out the sides.
The sprout formed at the top of the seed and nudged its way through the earth’s crust.
Growing straight up, a curved frond formed and from that two leaves formed.

This is the moment that woke me up. The frond went into a waving motion to unfurl the leaves.

Wait a minute? Does this mean that the tree is waving while it is growing.

I thought of a tree as a tree. A standing and stationary thing that I looked at.
I know they change by changing color, losing leaves. I know that in Spring their new green is fresh and surprising.

But every moment a new tree? How could I have missed that?

Oh my, my. Do I think of myself and you like a tree? Something stationary.
If I really you were a fresh new group of cells every so many hours….how many hours is that?
Tim Hurst k05/13/18

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Tree One and Two Poem

Tree One
Does the tree nuzzle the breeze like the breeze nuzzles the tree?

Does the tree love me like I love the tree?

Tree Two
Does the fresh new sprout squeal like the child meeting the air for the first time?

Does the trunk of the tree celebrate each new branch?

Do I even know the branches I grow?
Tim Hurst 05/13/18

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Give My Heart

The prescription for every lifestyle is always to go beyond oneself. The Beatles say to find someone to love. For a parent the gift is giving to the child. For the entrepreneur the gift is creating something useful and desirable. For the financial life, gathering assets is to benefit a family or to participate in a group. For the universal mind, the gift is gratitude to a creator or awe in the face of the vastness of the universe.

For the performer, the gift is sharing a vision with one person in an audience or with a complete spectrum of groups. In the study of dance and music, building energy fields is a matter of changing focus and imagery to include a fellow dancer or musician and to invite a wider group to experience unique combinations of movement, emotion, and intention.

Each artist devises their own configurations that reveal surprises and more demands to give of themselves beyond their wildest imagination.
Tim Hurst 12/22/17

In a search to lower my stress and get my blood pressure under control, I have begun giving my heart to a source outside myself. From my perspective of shifting focus from a broad view to a narrow one, my broadest view is a creator of the universe. This is a poem I wrote exploring this experience:

Giving my heart to my creator releases my desire for proof that I am the author of my energy.

If my energy is beyond my desire to torque and to force, what freedom I have to allow rejuvenation to live within me.

All is beyond my imagination anyway. Why must I struggle so for an opinionated desire?

Where does the dance, the music come from then? What need to ask if my creator is the author of my energy?

How much more unique my energy must be than I can imagine?

Yes it is true I must now ask and continue to ask to give my heart to my creator?

How can I possibly ask for that?
Tim Hurst 12/21/17

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Movement Poems

4:44 am
Young man I see your aligned spine
Straight as the day is narrow.
Your step vibrant and strong.

To my fault I see your forgotten memories,
The childhood tilts as an airplane,
The spins that set your mind right.

I wish for you and me the play of the diving Crow, the Bear cub, the Dolphin.
We could at least prepare for the unexpected slight that one day takes our breath away.

4:53 am
Young child I see your memory fade away.
There was a time when we all danced and sang with you hours upon hours
Our camping fires flickering the night with delight.
Our joy burst from us and joined on a path that knew no bounds.

So much harder it is now for you to touch the precious in yourself
And even harder to say, yes life is for living and I am life.
Tim Hurst 12/12/17

4:56 am
Young dancer I see you moment by moment opening memory,
Memory of the curious, asking of the moment to open.
I am inspired by each surprise you find behind each asking.

I wish for you and for me to move in agility until all our memories open.
Tim Hurst 12/12/17

5:02am
Young worker sitting at your arduousness, I see you.
Yes your body complains year after year kindergarten or CEO.
Sitting may as well be called stilling because we and even our meditators
Instill a force upon ourselves to sit still.

Of course there is a purpose of stillness, to move our thoughts, or our fingers.

To my fault I see the cascading memories of movement fade away each moment. Gone is the memory of our selves as continuous and agile movement like music, like a dance.
Tim Hurst 12/12/17

5:15 am
The breath of the singer is a study of agility.
Wish that I and we could open in like anticipation
Of the beauty we can find within.

Our bodies would know the memory of a yawn
That opens every cell in preparation for so much oxygen.
We would again welcome a lifting of ourselves
While spreading our ribs and wings to make space for breath.
We would remember that each breath awakens toes and nose.

We would remember the thankfulness of heart and chest rising like meeting the sun.
Our throats would open as would all the openings surrounded by our collar bone.

All the breath we have welcomed will rush through raising soft palates, bringing a surprise Ah to our throats. Our backs become new born freshness with breath expanding our edges.

At the top of breath we peak at what the next moment can be, rollercoaster or glider. At these moments all cells speak with movement, nasal passages quiver, third eye’s nurture, cranium bones prepare to release geysers of life from their top most joints.

All this is the life of one breath for the singer. We sit and wait for a rendering of sound vibrations revealing this one singer.
Tim Hurst 12/12/17