When I give speeches, I make a loose plan. A firm one can’t work. One audience laughs every few sentences while
another acts intense and quiet. I have
to watch and feel, then connect and adapt.
Musicians rely heavily on intuition. We aren’t machines that keep a steady
rhythm. We dip and weave, slow down and
rise up. With one musician, I lead. With another, I follow. We don’t discuss it in advance. Soon after we start, we just know and it
falls into place.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, she loved to
move. Elbows jutted as she prodded my
insides. I thought at the time I
wouldn’t know her until I saw her face, but in retrospect I did know her. She rested, then moved fast when she was
awake, same as she does now at 31. My
son was quiet in my womb. Today at 24 he
likes to move slowly and his body stays calm.
We connect all day.
Even alone, we connect with our own body and mind. We discern what’s right without a map. We feel our lives. We know.
Feeling becomes knowing.
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