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Dancer Cares for Energy

I Dance every cell of me
Every cell of me has its own group
Every cell group follows a pathway through me

Every pathway has a purpose within me
Every purpose follows my journey to form and reform all of me

My cell groups are simple
Some gather Energy
Some store Energy
Some launch and dock Energy
Some track and respond to disruption of Energy
Some honor and absorb Energy

I Dance to care for Energy.
Care shapes and reshapes my pathways for Energy
Care is a full spectrum of curiosity
from smallest to largest and shortest to longest
Care embraces all cell groups as a part of my journey
Care invites all cell groups to become one Image
Care grows one Image into many families of Images
I Dance to care for Energy.

Grasping the concept of caring for Energy within Cell groups can be seen visibly as waves in the sea.

Waves spread across an expanse and gather Energy
Waves gather Energy as they lower and as they rise
Waves shape Energy as ripples, as choppy peaks, as lapping and curling masses
Waves roar and whimper as they meet other Energy from the air and the earth.

I Dance as a wave of the sea
I spread Energy across the expanse of me
I gather Energy as I lower and as I rise
I shape Energy inside me and around me
I merge with other waves as we shape our journeys
I roar and I whimper as I meet all other Energy of air and person and earth.

I Dance to Care for
Energy within me,
Energy from me
Energy I meet
Energy I merge
Energy I absorb.

I Dance to Care for
the shaping of me
the joining of me
the growing of me in all my meetings.
Tim Hurst 01/28/19 6:44 am

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Where is My Delight?

I meet nephew of almost three at the waters edge.
He says his full name, three of them.
I dunk myself to remember the entirety of my history in three names.

We stand eye to eye in the water. His smallest bounce delighted me to follow. A little more bounce, him then me. Bouncing now in slightly deeper water, our smiles just above waters surface.
Our eyes shining. Our heads beaming at bottom and at top of the bounce.

Bouncing moves us across the pool. He notices. I just follow. Now he bounces backwards across the pool. I follow still one and a half feet away.

His smile enters the water now and on the rising bounce, he says, “I am happy.”

Out of concern, someone hands him a tube of floating sponge. He touches one end. I touch the other. He bounces backwards. I follow. At pool’s edge i pull the tube and we quickly cross the pool. His feet adjust his bounce in ways I can not see.

I make a crunching sound as the tube hits the edge of the pool. Some yell comes out of me meaning, “your turn to pull me.” He pulls and bounces us back across the pool. I float, follow his pull, and subtly tug the tube and us out of deeper water.

He examines the hole in the end of the tube. I make a sound in the other end. Laughing, he makes a sound in his end.

Adults arrive and nephew has to go home for bedtime.
Tim Hurst 07/01/18

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Who Do I Say I Am?

Who Do You Say that I Am?

Energy of course. Alternating energy you say yet what is that?

I suppose I am the aperture of my own camera that nurtures the energies I receive, those I follow, and those I join with my very own energies.

Yes I suppose I have to nurture and own up to my own energies. So simple you say yet who am I to say.

Dare i? Step into my own energies?

Where would my courage come from? my balance?

Strength given through my immense energies you say?

Start Again We All Say.

Where is my energy now? Images I delight in? Movements I delight to find in me? Sounds I echo at my surface edge?

Where do my energies meet to clean themselves, to shine themselves, to nurture a beginning again?
Tim Hurst 07/01/18

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As Holy Sites Go Poem

Deborah Hay brings together two masters of dance to connect the unconnectable.  Adaptation by Jeanine Durning and Ros Warby.  Poem by Tim Hurst

Two Explorers highly tuned to slight movement, to fainter sound, to tiniest molecular modulation.  Two Explorer’s eyes are seismic readers of universes unseen and seen.  Two Explorers in interplay too tuned to toy with thoughts and ploys.

Two side by side.  Two approaching and apart.  Two adjunct and adjacent.  Two pretzeled and knotted.  And afterwards observing, being aware, moving reflections, maybe separation, maybe embarrassment, maybe compassion, maybe exhaustion.

And to say a word about myself as audience with my slight perceptual abilities.  At open, my word was “No,” no to relinquishing my version of personal interaction, no to entering my breath, no to allowing the two before me to become their exploration.

I could not fathom eyes that only explore.  I could not imagine bodies that only respond together.  I was not prepared for the intensity of so many universes in communion.

Yes, points of darkness placed throughout the experience allowed my system to reset itself and the softness of my “Yes’s” slowly overtook me.

And oh yes, the songs came as gentle breezes to my parched eyes as they waited to connect pure joy beneath my lids to the delight of living in the presence of other universes.

Oh yes, the song that only yesterday in the solo performances came singularly across the open plain, today the song comes from two separately unique universes of indeterminate origin.

And the song of two comes once and twice and more, each song’s return caresses yet another layer of liquid that I call my body.  The songs come as if from a canyon rim warm with nature’s touch of life.  Each of two songs tentatively meet finding dissonance as a first caress, then they fly freely echoing and joining and conversing.  Our Two Explorers are embodied in their harmonic convergence and dis-convergence, their sounds in air emulating the touch of their multiple inner and outer universes.

What events propelled the Two Explorers to opposite walls of the space?  Only a magician could explain.  And from where came the dings and dongs tricking the audience with Jeanine’s hot lighted dance at one wall and Ros’ standing dance on the other.  Our eyes as audience dart back and forth to discern the slight of hand that turned to be a foot and a finger involved in clanging metal sounds.

Yes, my “Yes’s” overcame my initial inertia and I became duly overwhelmed moment by moment with Ros’ exploration of Jeanine’s finger pointed into Ros’ eye, with ethereal shoe taps preceding the trail of here to there and to not being here at all,  with the two in free fall, one digesting agony in inverted space while one is regurgitating with lips almost touching the floor.

Almost too overwhelming was the immense multiplicity of Two Explorers interrupting pattern after pattern, embarking again and again to interrupt what must seem like the sheer face of treacherous peaks, crevas after crevas.  And then more overwhelm came for me to accompany the two as they break all bridles and like colts run fleetingly across the great expanses of our minds joined in this journey.

And as I gasp for air to fund this free run, the two are running willingly towards their backs, with the joy of their backs splashing through the air, side by side, eyes and foreheads and hearts in union.

Another free fall must come and a song and three words come spoken deeply.  Our Two stand together facing their universes and ours.  The lights go black.

In the darkness, the memory of Our Two Explorers falling and rising holds us as audience in awe.  The final rise comes from us as we grant the two a long patient silence in the darkness before we exude what inept sounds and applause we can muster.

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What's a dancer's perception?

Deborah Hay choreographed Fire to empty the dancer of previous perception.  Adapted and performed by Ros Warby.  Poem by Tim Hurst

Deborah Hay is committed to countering structure with the structure of infinitude.

Here in Austin, we return with her once again to experience the excellence of her movement, the excellence of her attention, the understanding of the full response of body in space.

Here before me is dancer, Ros, bared to basic white leotard and white head bandeau.  White bare movement carries me where I knew not, to a clarity of line broken and unbroken, bent and rebent toward line of life.  Stripped of intention, the bareness of life glows and shows clearly the stones on which we chew.

Dancer Ros’ eyes seek cells quirky pathways.  Her unity of body quickly spotlight patterns of mind and body. Body parts wiggle out of habitual bridles interrupting movement patterns.  Aberrant noises signal the escape from patterned movements hiding under the wires of dancer Ros’ cared for attention.  Each body part is under examination and in the process mouth and cheeks and face and neck take a long unscripted journey through what must be reminiscent of a hurricane. Falls into a white abyss may follow and certainly songs.

Seeing, feeling, being, the chasm of my brain splays open letting whiteness spill inwards and outwards.  The simplicity of the dancer Ros allowing all to be seen totally disarms me.  Simply speaking these words, I must acknowledge that I as audience am being seen as well.

Sharing the space with the dancer Ros and with Deborah has the quality of the song she sings, an infinitude of clarity riding the moment asking only to see and to be seen.  Where the dancer Ros travels can only be called dimensions or universes yet the simplicity of her sharing every process so visibly is inspiring.  Dancer Ros takes us into the seen worlds beyond the cell to embrace the fractile, into the unimaginable connection of our ancestry with planetary molecules, and into the unseen worlds of which we would rather not speak.

Seems so absurd to say yet the simplicity of the human connection to life is visible here in the dancer Ros as she attends to all these universes within and outside herself.  She assumes nothing, no absurdity, no importance, no comedy, no bondage to past present or future.  And how can it be that all this simplicity can be seen.

The vulnerability of the dancer is complete.  As audience, I the seer enter vulnerability completing some kind of union.  The basis of the vulnerability is not knowing and yet knowing and attending to the complete spectrum of seen and unseen.  The dancer’s vehicles of movement, stillness, and song give us the opportunity to stand in the moment together where our vulnerabilities guide us to listen and to see.

Within this vulnerability, Deborah is committed to breaking the patterns of mind and body.  Dancer Ros moves seamlessly through attending to pattern, connecting to pattern, holding pattern in view, cleansing pattern, celebrating patterns release, testing new clean space, resting in new clean space, collapsing when necessary. 

My memory can not hold the passing processes and grasps only a few images of awkwardness and clarity, moments of regurgitation or satisfied stillness. 

Only songs hold a place in my memory.  Somehow my brain comprehends the songs vulnerability, the open exploration, the balance of courage, fear, gentleness and boldness.

For me as audience, realizations and reflections break through constantly.  The dance is insisting that my attention move through frozen patterns of my mind and body.  In the visibility and vulnerability of the dance, my intentions are broken and I can not hang on to what is frozen and hardened within me.  The dance is asking me to recalibrate at every level.

The feeling is like being on the ocean where I experience myself on one wave at a time.  The memory of the wave melts into the memory of every wave.  The immensity of the entire sea is overwhelming and calls me to recalibrate.  I like the dancer send down echoes to the bottom of the sea.  What resounds baffles me and opens me to vulnerability and exploration.  With each new wave I choose to recalibrate, to regurgitate, or I crawl back in my cave to lick my cherished wounds so that I can reassure myself that I am in control.  Only one look at the enormous waves of the ocean confirms that I am only a speck on a spectrum.  So it is as I see Deborah’s dances.  To cleanse or not to cleanse is always the question.

Dancer Ros as all dancers with Deborah Hay are claiming a necessity to enter life by sampling and savoring all reality known and not known, seen and not seen.  As a willing audience participant, I can only respond with, “Thank you.”

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What's a Dancer's Reality?

Deborah Hay choreographed No Time To Fly as instances of non-linear reality. Adapted and performed by Jeanine Durning.  Poem by Tim Hurst

From the outset of No Time to Fly, I felt the three presences actively expanding the space.  One presence is the dancer Jeanine.  She bubbles upon us in exuberant lightness of a child.  She wears black shorts and black top.  The second presence is a very real sense of Deborah taking each step bold or quiet.  And the third is the tragic comedian slowly and abruptly cracking open the attic chest spilling the ancestry of each person present.

As with any tragic comedienne, the costume plays its character role.  On Jeanine is a luxurious smoking jacket golden and glistening in perfect character to carry the likes of Red Skelton and other truth tellers going back to our earliest caves and cook fires.

Jeanine is the ultimate trickster trained to travel the tumultuous inner rivers of never ending life.  She tricks me over and over to follow what I think is a story when actually the time line is Jeanine and Deborah totally savoring each morsel of this meal we call life.

When I think I know what I have just seen, Jeanine switches; she plays dead; she flips the light switch; or she takes a turn with the swagger of a Durante or Gleason.  And each time as hard as I try to stay awake, before my eyes can refocus, Jeanine ascends from the dead, appears from the dark, or charges through the gates of pity leaving my body aghast in surprise.

And not least of the surprises are the moments of quiet repose, moments held not in performance but in reverence for the moment.  My eyes must unhinge deep within my psyche to allow these moments to enter.  I might as well be floating in aTexas river or languishing beneath a cottonwood tree listening watching its leaves dance in the wind.

And while I am negotiating with myself to allow this ease, Jeanine has moved her focus to follow other cells in other directions and I am called to join.

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Ballet Necessity poem

Ballet brings me to the essentials of a Multiple dimensional paradise with Directional accelerations, Surprising anticipations, Multiple torques and crossings, Awakenings of electrical pathways long sense forgotten.

Ballet brings me to the essentials of  Multiple dimensional rejuvenation with Momentum of intimacy, Excellence of vulnerability, Unionof personality.

What more can I ask?


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Samurai Ballet Teacher

My ballet teacher is a Samurai.  Long tradition of the broad stance.  Breadth of knowledge of inhale and exhale.  Attuned senses to rhythms of breeze and storm.  Calibrated personalities from fierce to receptive.

What more can I ask of a teacher than to bring me into these well worn and infinitely changing moments of splendor.

 What more can I ask of myself than to enter with full exuberance even as my brain and body fail to understand the necessities of stalking stillness in circular pathways.