the 100th impulse

You know this, “First Thought, Best Thought”, right?

It’s what I've built my improvisational research on, for a very long time.

Sensing that first impulse, instinct, and itch, and then followint it, all the way through, without question.

Not so anymore.

Now I follow the 10th or 100th impulse.

Sometimes thousands of impulses fly by, and still, I don’t act.  

I don’t move, and I don’t dance (I KNOW!  Who does that?)

I wait. 

And then an impulse lands and for whatever reason, that impulse is — without question —the place that I spiral out from, and ripple into.

Not doing so would be physically uncomfortable.

This process does not come from the rational decision making part of my brain, and it certainly doesn't tumble forth from logic:

“Number 78:   Ah yes, that’s the one!  Go with that one.”

Not at all.

Instead, it feels like a physical necessity, a physical pull of expression that comes from a place, that is both inside and outside the body.

I used an image in class the other day that Darlene came up with (thank you Darlene!), and that I love:

“Imagine the floor is being peeled up, slowly, from it base, and by it’s outermost corner…let’s say the southwest corner, just for fun. 

When that peeling up of the floor reaches you, notice which way you spill into gravity. 

How long do you spill?

Where does your weight land?

When do you find stillness again and what is that stillness like?

Another corner gets peeled up, this time the northeast corner of the floor.  When the peeling reaches you, spill into space until you cannot spill anymore and then find yourself, resting in stillness and quiet.”

That’s the 100th impulse.  

The 1000th.  

The 10th.

And within that space of spilling and pouring, resting and waiting, anything can happen.

It’s not about fast or slow, or wild or not wild:

It’s about watching all of the moments that you could grab onto, but don’t.

It’s about peeling up the earth that is directly underneath your body and letting that be the thing that spills you into space. 

Slow and steady.

Alive and wild.

Twinkly invisible improvisation fairies — alighting above our heads.