Butoh

is one's to its own.

Master teacher Hiroko-sun once told me, 'You don't dance butoh, you live butoh.'
Everything is butoh for me as a gateway to cultivate awareness of the body in its minutness and embodies both simplicity and complexity.
It requires absolute inner focus, limbic concentration, dissolving first-person subjectivity so as to be reflected back to see into your own skin.
Be. To be. Empty. Not empty.
You see it sense it feel it and it is it.
So, it is totally personal yet without prescribed personality.
Your character is you and you can be sometimes a flower delicate fragil and other times a giant kingkong running wild thru the woods.
It goes deeper into your molecure level because within there it is a whole universe of colours vital life force pulsating underneath every breath you make.
Electricity wave form life forms...

Le Poesia while butoh-ing in NYC:

THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD OF DREAMS

Am lost

Are found

Men's shoes floating in peeled apple dreams

Heels high knotted on a canal of desires and ice cubes

Flaming lotus seeds spread their legs wide in a house of wonders

Neon lights shine on the dawn of a red-briack building

The City,

La Ciqudad,

ChengTsii,

All baige into the curves of that orange-bluesea sky far away

Tucked within the smoke of chiminies, and white-grey doves of the city

City birds

Birds of bodies

That rebel the sensual habitats

Mistaken bread crumbs as offerings for gods

For that long spiritual path full of junkyards, dumpsters, and crowded sky

Mistaken, the birds

Urban gods never sleep