on allowing
after a few months

in the train home just before christmas: I feel different

after a few months of moving every day

to be awake

vibrant in the cells

in breath

to witness patters and ruptures

it created a different perception of being me, sitting here

and it feels so good

what else remains? the thought, that it is not enough to feel good

and the desire that it could be enough

enough to legitimise all the money i spend, all the actions I pursue

to justify my right for peace and joy, for appreciation

for sadness and pain

then, I would be free

I sit down to write about how

I let myself be seduced in a state of awareness below my conscious control

what a dangerous place, what a suspicious momentum this is

all sort of things could happen

for example

I could develop a passion for what I find in this place

just by listening to my body and observation of my imagination

I would risk to feel good but look stupid

because feeling good doesn’t necessarily translate in a stylish way

so I risk loosing the momentum of style

and even more

I could loose my ability to care about the look of


and even more

I could loose my ability to differentiate between the feeling

and the looking

I could think that it is actually already enough

no need to lift a finger

just passion for it

no need for result

hold on: no need for result

what a suspicious thing to think

that I even

could learn to take care about yourself

even though

it is not an extreme situation

I stop to build legitimations for my feelings

I just feel them



after so many minutes, summing up to hours

maybe days

of waiting, on the floor

waiting for impulse to grow

of softening into the space

of getting out of the way of my physical self

of duets of space within and spaces without

of duets of breath and movement

I forget how to fit into rhythm that feels external

if I try: it hurts and

I feel useless and not functioning and

like a coward and

like a fool and


after many tryouts

of allowing to be a coward

I feel a shift of concept


neither right or wrong

but maybe right

a strange kind of