Relativity

Freshwater-Pearls-In-The-Mollusk

The moment of passion that urges speed as the triumph of pleasure increases heart rate yet by becoming still the pleasure settles deeper within moving through all your fibres right to the surface of your skin.

Moments of boredom where time moves infinitely slowly, lethargy grips you and your mind becomes numb.

The moment of tragedy where the pain renders breathing so painful you can barely open your lungs, the ache that will not pass tearing at the heart with needle sharp teeth, yet if some light can be located breath becomes less laboured and the briefest relief can direct a path forward.

Holidays when time whisks by and before you know normal routine has returned.

The moment of hilarity when sides blaze with spasms of laughter tears pour from your eyes and each time you feel the urge wane it suddenly rises burbling, insistent and stronger than before.

Inspirational times where the creativity flows bountiful and time fleets past unseen.

The moment of realising love for another when you suddenly know you would walk over glass to hold them close and give your life that they would live.

Moments of waiting when you feel you will burst from the tension of excitement, frustrated with the time before you eager to arrive at the appointed moment.

Stillness captivated in nature when a minute expands to feel an hour.

Stolen moments with your lover when you are so present in the moment each is a jewel made to last forever.

The hardest thing you have ever done, where only your inner voice and strength and perhaps encouragement of others have afforded you the strength to believe. The journey compared to the end moment…

Moments, mementos, a string of fresh water pearls all unique, all precious, all imperfect and relative.

Words by errant satiety image stolen from a site advertising fresh water pearls

Sleep Walkers

You see them walking through their day, eyes focused elsewhere, the past, the dialogue in their mind, on some unknowable point of future. Oblivious to all around them, missing subtle beauty, unaware of moments unseen, unfelt, unknown as they move through time and space, displaced. I try to catch them with my eyes, my walk my contagious playfulness. Sometimes I do catch them startling them from their slumber surprising them with a brief shared moment of, happy. The days I walk out of time I adore the moments that re-synch me to the here, the now, the real. Within the dance of my day some bright essence reaches for my myopic sight and I surface gasping for air briefly bewildered then all is right in the world again.

In my thoughts

Image

Alone, drifting rudderless through my mind. My raft jetsam gathered for review. Concepts discarded too aggressively, emotion overriding cerebrum. Ideas partially evolved, orphaned too soon. Memories rediscovered from fragment of scent. Dance reinvented by change in era, by change of heart. Situations seen anew cast in a differing of seasonal hue. Entire books re-read only to discover I was the author. A self re-emerging, birthed fresh with opened eyes. Instead of cleaning out the closet I find myself re-stacking the shelves.

Words by Errant Satiety image by Kyle Thompson 

Gifts

Three tellings of the same sweet story…

We encounter many souls in our lives. Some we are not inclined to spend much time with. Others we meet and find we are immediately enamored with. Others we greet as old friends, as if we remember them from another time and place. Some surprise us with a slow connection and one day you realise you just adore them.

I was reminded the other night of a wonderful example of the fleeting connection that is long lived, a meeting of souls that must already be long familiar. The Dutch pragmatist and I drove past a beautiful olive grove and private residence that stirred especially fond memories. The owner of this property now lives overseas but her extended family live there and run the olive oil business and she returns to holiday. She is a tango dancer and the last time she returned she brought with her an Argentine teacher who she is very good friends with. We have never met before but are introduced by a mutual friend we all get on like a ‘house on fire’. The teacher is a true Maestro and gentleman. They arrive in the height of summer so there are several large Milongas (tango social dances) while they are in town. We become a tight group having intense conversations and much wonderful dancing. From the first dance I have with the teacher he is praising myself and my partner and encouraging us to teach. He complements me in a unique way, acknowledging my ability to adapt to each different lead and style of dancing. For me this is high praise as I see this as the ultimate aim of improvisation. I partner another teacher for some private lessons with him. Then he invites us all to have a final get together to celebrate our mutually enjoyed time. When we arrive there are three male dancers and two female. Olive oil introduces us to her sister and explains that this day is the anniversary of a third sisters passing and that this sister was the one who introduced her to tango. They ask if the teacher and I will perform. We do and it is heaven. We drink good wine and eat and dance. It is an intense evening for me as the men are all playing with ideas and I am their tanguera as Olive oil is more a beginner. We dance into the small hours and in the end just the teacher and I are dancing as the others have moved onto conversation and there has been a lot of wine… We are in our own world, reduced to the music, each other, and the floor. It is very intense he communicates with great subtlety what minimal changes he wishes; a tiny movement in his hand upon my shoulder and I know he wants me to soften here, just so. This moment of suspended dance is etched forever in my soul. We dance very different styles yet we found each others essence and communed. The dancing eventually came to a natural end he held my eyes, deeply smiled at me kissed me chastely but fully on the lips returned me to my man and sang my praises to him begging us to promise we will start to teach, that we come see him in Buenos Aires and that we remain as connected as we are. This is the true essence of tango spirit.

Trece amigos. Dos Tangueros, un Milonguero y Yo. A farewell, a performance and an extended improvisation.

Willing
Primero embrace tasted through his distinguished eyes. Words pass his lips full of genuine and lavish interpretation, concise compliment to my movement; entiendas. Prophetic words astonish mind. Taking offered hand, accepting instigated connection. Stranger embraced as lover, intimate conversation, souls seeking tangible. Seen. Known. Danced. Flush of pure dance pleasure. Ending, continuum, lushness flows within all dances. Satiated, overflow, seeking the core of every connection. Night passes, more enjoyed, none as sweet as the first or the finale. Our farewell in a prolonged dance, subtle articulation, gestures refine perfection. Endless flow, música drives deeper, extending within, without, innocent harmony. Finally, speechless mouths thank with chaste lips. Returned to lover, gratitude shared, intimate inquiry lush with ripening. Body memory never to be lost.

Aida Denis ‘Anoche’