Walking I come.
I have no choice by to come by this body.
Defined, even if loosely so,
By This Body.
The shadow I cast standing in the mid morning sun, looks like me.
But is this face, this mask of a body, truly insurmountable?
Grotowski writes of Masks, of turning them in, of stripping them away
And so I
turn to the mirror
What is this expression I give the world? This creation of my face enlivened?
Is this my true expression?
So, I come as me,
Walking in the woods toward a tree.
I let it change my face,
I let it speak to my shadow,
not the one on the ground
but the one I fill myself with as an expression of me.
I let the tree teach me a thing or two about freedom, Freedom of roots place in the ground,
of movement brought into being by wind and freedom to always rise into the skies.