learning to dance in a restless body
Posted on October 23, 2021What does it mean to be situated here?
In a city with endless perspectives and stories, ideas and projects changing the world, and a sense of constant energy.
“… The bodies through which we produce knowledge matter,” [1] and I have always felt extremely sensitive to the messages of my body. But to be a body as an individual is only a piece. I then begin to think of it as a program and institution (a reflection for another day), and then as a city.
What does it mean to create knowledge inside of a body that doesn’t sleep? To be, “the city that doesn’t sleep,” coming to mean both incredible creation and energy but also overwhelming stress and an inability to rest. In Johnson’s words, “A brain that can’t stop reverberating is one way of describing what happens during an epileptic fit…” [2]. This body feels as if it is in a constant state of seizure, an alarming and helpless place to be.
My body feels ungrounded.
In a building 12 floors from the Earth, where the trees seem to be accessories to the skyscrapers. Where the soil is seen as dirty, filled with needles, piss, and the unwanted. Where the islands of green are perfectly pedicured and controlled.
I am not sure how to create knowledge here, where my individual body feels ungrounded, when I have always learned and created knowledge in direct contact with Gaia. Here that perspective seems to be unwelcome and silenced.
Which brings me to Donella Meadows, and the elegant idea of dancing:
“We can’t control systems or figure them out. But we can dance with them!… I had learned about dancing with great powers from whitewater kayaking, from gardening, from playing music, from skiing. All those endeavors require one to stay wide awake, pay close attention, participate flat out, and respond to feedback.” [3]
I learned about dancing from the rivers too.
Here I feel ungrounded from the great powers and lessons of the Earth.
I am reminded of my years white-water canoeing and walking through the cold rivers. Learning to read the river and work with the currents; respect the power of the indefinite movement.
I hear an echo in the movement of the people on the street.
I am reminded of standing below the canyons, feeling small and vulnerable, where the power of the rocks feels unquestionable. Learning to prepare to be lost in the vastness and respect the unpredictability of the desert.
I hear a distant echo in the buildings tall above me.
I am reminded of the unmovable mountains that surrounded me, and after hours on top of which I could see the interconnected life-scape. Learning from them how to be strong and steady, yet life-giving and adaptable. Learning from climbing to be patient and work with the roots, rocks, and soil.
I hear the slightest echo climbing the stairs to look at the city below.
I am reminded of the roaming bears and coyotes at night, the bees in the flowers, the spiders on the porch, the birds nested on my windowsill. Learning to communicate with other species, sharing paths through the forests, and coming to have a rhythm of life together.
I hear a faint whisper in the pigeons and rats.
I am reminded of the endless cycle of life and death, as Meadows says:
“On planet Earth there are no system “clouds,” no ultimate boundaries… Everything physical comes form somewhere, everything goes somewhere, everything keeps moving.” [4]
The mushrooms that grow out of the decay, the compost becoming tomatoes the next year, the beauty of the dying leaves, the abundance in the seemingly desolate places. Learning the repeating cycles and endless life potential of the Earth.
I hear no echo.
I hear resistance and denial here, where the trash is taken away as though to disappear, where the lights are left on to no end and there is always something else to buy and throw away without thought.
I am reminded of the winters that bring about sleep for the forests and the powerful storms that send all creatures home to rest. Learning to pause and stop by listening to the Earth and our bodies, and the necessity of this rest.
My individual body feels dissonant inside this new body that never sleeps.
I yearn for those peaceful nights of darkness that put me to rest with the stars and the graceful mornings of gentle light and song that woke me.
I yearn to hug the mother tree, a moment where I can feel the heartbeat of the dance, and I wonder if I can learn to dance here without Gaia.
In design I hope I can be grounding and grounded while also drifting in uncertainty. I wonder how to design (or not design) as Gaia has taught me to dance. How do I embody cycles, interconnectedness, and most radically – rest – inside of this constant state of seizure?
So I ask myself; what does it mean for myself,
this knowledge,
and these designs
to be situated here?
– cg
Sources
[1] Boehnert, Joanna, and Dimeji Onafuwa. Design as Symbolic Violence: Reproducing the “Isms” + a Framework for Allies.
[2] Johnson, Steven. Emergence : The Connected Lives of Ants, Brains, Cities, and Software, Scribner, 2002. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.libproxy.newschool.edu/lib/newschool/detail.action?docID=5653897. p.106
[3] Wright, Diana, and Donella H. Meadows. Thinking in Systems : A Primer, Taylor & Francis Group, 2009. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.libproxy.newschool.edu/lib/newschool/detail.action?docID=430143. p. 170
[4] Wright, Diana, and Donella H. Meadows. Thinking in Systems : A Primer, Taylor & Francis Group, 2009. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.libproxy.newschool.edu/lib/newschool/detail.action?docID=430143. p. 96