I took Ulrich Schnauss’ piece, Monday to 6:15 class Thursday, after listening to it pretty much the entire day.

Normally, for me, when I fall in love with a piece of music, I can’t sit still. I have to move and better yet, dance to it. This exploration was different. My initial sensory experience kept me in stillness, rapt – with a huge recurring smile of systemic delight.

When I got into the lovely space that holds Nia twice a week, I turned on the music. At first my body just wanted to be still and let the sounds swirl and swoop around me.

Then the drums pull me in, drawing me close and teaching me where to move and when to wait.  Wisps, pulses, murmurs and voice of melody invited my body to relax and listen with different ears.

“L i s t e n,” spoke the sounds, “and F e e l.”

What had at once felt so familiar and unfamiliar began to melt into trust.

Bends in the music became bends in direction. Liquid percussion became liquid art. From vibration to flesh and blood.

Loose, joyful shifts into the pleasure of discovery; simple, open discovery revealing knees, hips, elbows, shoulders, hands and eyes. Alone and in relationship, my spine slips into the dance and a new conversation begins.

I am not pieces; bits and parts listing and rolling without consciousness.

I am a biological community; a nexus of cells and creativity. My boundaries soften and blur as sound and solid collide, and blend.

Now both more than the sum of parts, essences spill over and what was separate and discernible is no more.