Remembering just there, as the muscles move, stretch and contract, the intention of dancing. It’s not a goal, neither an objective. It is not about tango, waltz or Lindy-hop. It is an intention in the movement itself, a movement as a set of steps in dialogue with a music and a partner, and a determination that gives it purpose. And finally dancing becomes an emotion, a movement into an evolution.
Finally, neurosciences is giving us really good basis to understand what makes a person, this fascinating notion of “neural self”. And that “neural self” is a true combination mind and body, a two-ways feedback loop in a continuous dialogue. Let’s keep moving and keep the dialogue dynamic!
Drawing is a movement as well, a hand movement, an arm movement, a thought movement. Evolution as a series of movements? It starts with a hand, moves to a thought, and then gets the body in action, and with the body, the life of the heart and the food of the brain.
Remembering just there, as the muscles move, stretch and contract, the intention of running. It’s not a goal, neither an objective. It is not about running 10km or 20km, running in less than 30 minutes or 60. It is an intention in the movement itself, a movement which goes somewhere, with a determination that gives it purpose. And suddenly running becomes more than a movement, it becomes an emotion, a movement into an evolution.
What makes the beauty of a move is the intention. Without intention a movement is only a set of muscles contraction, at times sloppy, without direction or reason. With an intention, it gains a purpose, a step toward a horizon. It becomes part of a system, suddenly bigger than the move itself.
It used to be there unseen, a stable element in my urban city landscape providing shade and wind at times. It used to be the tree. And then it became “The big tree in the corner”, a meeting place, a token of interest, a beacon of possibility. It is nagging me today, that big tree, that escaped idea… at days a virus I can’t get rid of, at others a cure I could get, and most days a well gone romantic token of what is not. What about an Instagram snapshot in my brain I could forget once taken? or rename once printed on my neurones?
Walking back from my run, I end up following a musician, at least I assumed so… He came out of Victoria Hall with a small bag and a much bigger one, which shape had not link with any instrument I could think of, so I asked. A bass clarinet was the answer, and the answer was cool enough for the conversation to keep going, from Bach to Schoenberg, from competition to the pleasure of playing until my door. Damn, barely know him and already he walked me home –which he had no choice to go to his car- the conversation going on a bit longer on the doorstep, still none of us asked for any opportunity to meet again. Of course, silly of me… we’re not yet friends on Facebook…