It all started out very friendly, light, open,
dancer reclined comfortably on the floor, gazing about the audience, taking us all in like sipping wine,
then proposing, with the inviting, the gatherings of words,

a pod of whales
a pack of dogs
a flock of birds
a gaggle of geese
a colony of ants
an exaltation of larks
a wisdom of wombats
a wisdom of grandmothers
a pod of dolphins
a clutch of hens
a wardrobe of clothes
an exhalation of housewives

Our two musicians piping in the parlor game, a feeling of appreciation for the roundness of words,
for the tumbling play of the way you can say
the pride of peacocks
a pack of wolves
a picket of porcupines ....

And when did the piece begin?
When did the piece begin again?
Was is when he announced "a short history of numbers"
"One."

When did it change?
What was the heartache that made him sob, was he sobbing or breathing in primal rhythm or just feeling his belly contract release contract release,
letting the movement enter and energize and take over his breath, belly, back,
an intensity of movement with with total relaxation, giving over, triceps jiggling loosely

What moved him?
What did he become?
A lizard, an insect, a crawling creature that could leap and flail about with unpredictable certainty and purpose
A trust, willingness, unreservedly giving his body over to energy, movement, music, intensity of
rising pitch, circling harmony, ecstatic despair, driving pulse,

Head like a head I've never seen on a human being swirled loosely circled with abandon
My chest swelling to burst
is this gratitude
with the whole unresolvable revolving immersion
of this thing
we so casually call
Life

I will call out

can I call this victory when there is no clear winning, winner or thing to be won
can I call this challenge when there is no opposition
I can only call this,
respectfully,

Gratitude.

Amy Shoko Brown teaches Qigong (Chi Kung) and has a private practice in healing the effects of trauma. AmyShokoBrown.com