You are walking only as measurements.
You are merely a measurement between heaven and earth.
Your eyes are not looking forward anymore.
Life itself is walking ahead, the form follows later.
You are talking to something within you.
You keep a strange insect inside your body.
There are nerves that I don’t know
that run through my body and stretch out into the universe.
You are somewhere
between yourself that is rising and yourself that is going down.
You are something that cannot have a name.
You must give up seeing.
Walking is nothing but an attempt to desperately hold together
what is being steadily destroyed.
You must remember what you first saw,
what you first smelled, and what you first heard. And the things that you lost.
And the self that you left behind somewhere.
Butoh is encountering yourself
and remembering your body that can easily be deceived.