Everyday I walk in front of the same mirror
and see the same reflections.
Now I stand before an empty mirror.
It is telling its own story.
I can no longer distinguish between the mirror and myself.
The mirror's memory is warped,
we cannot remember clearly.
The mirror looks through me into itself.
Is it broken?
or enlightened?
The mirror moves while I stand still.
Where is it going?
Where has it come from?
Something speaks behind the mirror.
I cannot hear it.
Am I deaf
or only human?
Dancing butoh is like walking through a thick and wild forest.
Like hearing without listening, seeing without looking.
Everything is moving together - self, other, past, present.
Multiple dimensions are folded into themselves
and the cells slowly reawaken to the subtle life.
On the edge of the wordless question,
where body and idea merge and dissolve
formlessness shimmers between the worlds.
In naked time and transparent space
life swallows the mind, the i, the human, the movement, the audience
and butoh is... life is...