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The Blind Walker takes you on a journey through the unknown. No destination. The Blind Walker has many bodies that through imagination manifest themselves in movement. Photo: Palle Schultz

A new beginning. A new lunar cycle. I go onwards. Calm and serene, I had the gift of absorbing his anger and transforming it into light. To let his attacks collide with my soul and to hurl them into the vastness of nothingness. I heard my heart beating as he tried to coax the teeth out of my small-self. To crush my balance. But we hugged as we smoked the…

A breeze flows through the canopy. A second ago, everything was still and quiet, now something is stirring. Noises everywhere, rhythmically bouncing between the trees. Is it a symphony? Is it a choreography? Every leaf has a consciousness of its own. Every flower is a poem. Someone steps into a clearing and is struck by the illuminated spiderweb hanging as if on display in the tall grass. Something is shifting,…

Where or what is the line between me & you? Between imagining & being? Being and doing? Or is it even a line…. Might it be a _____space_______? A [ place ] where we can linger……. play **√~~^~○⧂~* and meeeet?

I move through air and dust. Feeling each particle against my skin. Moving through water and earth. Sometimes uncontrolled and sometimes grounded.Stuck to the ground and up in the air.Always connected to the surface. The unseen and seen.Always in movements as energy. Never stopping.

searching rest in movement, I waste myself, afloat carrying and being carried forceful, yielding a soluble state of being availability of moving and being moved letting go carried away bent by what escapes me inhabiting contradictory forces, I find myself in between.

I’ve recently been thinking a lot about a blue piano. For some reason unknown to me, I really would like an old fashioned blue piano with a lock and an old key. I want to paint it myself and give new life to an old piano. I want herbs to grow in the windowsill and hang them upside down in the kitchen to dry. Or maybe they have to be…

be an obstacle be soft rules are weird                            and      helpful at the same time my brain is making strategies upon how to remain soft and open i can’t make it work like that the brain strategy is not making me soft. the brain strategy results in ideas/ambitions about the ideal way to be soft and…

lump in my throat, shallow breath, racing heart after pulling down the net from my ceiling…collecting material from outside my door, where those who visited reflected. the net had become so tangled with time, it did not want to come down…leave the nest……foggy mind, sensitive skin, heightened hearing. desire to stay in my tableaux now even though I spent the morning longing to say goodbye, hungry to jump out into…

Out of the ground Into the sky I stretched out my green Darkness, cold, It has always been my mode of being. When I first did the poetic self exercise I thought my name was the illness, the darkness or the grey, but when we did it the second time all I could see was green. Growth. I had already grown. The green. A symbol, a metaphor of growth. It…