A rhythmic world
Marisa:
This week Yatharth and I are thinking about rhythm. I remember a time about fifteen years ago when I'd spend hours in a rehearsal studio conducting myself with my arms. Hours. Using my arm to conduct (very basic conducting) in four, in three, in two, in six. I reminded myself to relax extraneous tension in my body, and not to hold my breath while feeling the rhythmic pulses move through my body. The idea was to conduct in one meter for long enough that I could then stop and really feel the impact on my entire system. What does 4 feel like? How about 3? How are they different, not just mathematically, but as embodied experiences? What about when you accent different beats? (I had a lot of patience for this and it was delightful! Try it for yourself if you can!)
I wrote this to Yatharth:
Marisa:
Our world is rhythmic. Our bodies are rhythm. We are made of music. It seems to me this is more than a metaphor - it’s tangible. Rhythm is in our bodies as we move through the world.
Rhythm has an audible, visible, and energetic component. Whether we are aware of it or not, the grid is always happening underneath… infinitely!
The rhythm we make is literal, not a metaphor. We might perceive something like the rhythms running through our bodies if we tune to the music our feet make as we walk down the street. The meter of our bodies is related to our structure, our limbs, our proportions - having two legs (instead of four!) can shift our experience of our own internal rhythm. Or walking with a cane, or with crutches, or in a wheelchair.
When we practice music, we connect our minds and hearts (hopefully!) and bodies to the cosmic rhythmic grid. I used to conduct myself in the meter I'd be singing in - I'd do this for hours (literally!). I'd notice my own tendencies to rush or slow down. I'd notice how that tendency shifted depending on how much sleep I got or anything else impacting the state of my nervous system. So, attending to music in an embodied way has taught me about my own Self - my habits and patterns. What got me activated and what slowed me down, what happened to my rhythmic pulse when I felt excited, or uneasy or relaxed… That’s song as embodiment practice, but you do have to slow down long enough and take the time to practice in a way that attends to such magical things.
(If you look at learning the rhythm of a piece only through a lens of counting in your mind, but you're holding your breath and not attending to your body, you might not really notice what's happening in there. Singing is a direct experience happening in the present moment. Literal! Not a metaphor:-)
Yatharth:
Fascinating. There’s something about you saying that, “it’s not a metaphor,” that inspired me to think about how song is not a —ing metaphor. It’s a literal experience.
It’s so tempting to relate to everything like it’s a metaphor for some lesson, or truth, and forget, there is a literal thing happening there.
The birds are not metaphor for freedom.
The flowers are not metaphors for beauty.
The birds are busy actually being free.
The hummingbirds are busy singing while I was thinking of them as metaphor
There is a something it is like to be free, and sometimes we elude that experience entirely, and only speak of it in language, as if it was just metaphor.
Rhythm is not a metaphor. It tangibly exists in the real world as vibrations.
It’s possible to speak of rhythm, and forget its literalness.