I feel I can only express my experiences in profound and poetic (read: borderline pretentious) words.
We sat on the ground and listened to the world around us. We hummed in the midst of the city, making the world know that we too, existed; we too played a part in the intricate structure of life. I know it sounds so mystic, but in truth, it's the very feeling that resonated throughout my body.
A sort of harmony with myself and the space around me surfaced during my time at the workshop. I found myself being strangely vulnerable while performing; unveiling parts of me that never got a chance to be expressed. I also found myself being okay with that sort of exposure, a feeling that empowered me, to a large extent. It made me think a lot, every night I went to bed after an exhausting day. Think about how amazing it felt to express the real version of yourself to the world in a medium so intimate, so raw; your own body.
My organs were reliving my previous traumas, my skin grieving, and my bones writhing whilst I performed a piece on struggle. I could feel myself exposing a trauma that I never really talked about. It was exhaustive, but the nice kind. Because after that wordless expression, that channeling of grief and pain simply through the act of reliving it, I found myself owning all shades of my experiences. Black, white, grey. I found the self hatred simmering down to a calm acceptance, the grief solidifying into strength. It felt great, I felt invincible. I felt that you can take the depressions underneath your eyes and turn them into wells. You can empty the wells, and gift it's contents to the space you occupy.