A small book of dreams
Fragments, images, and notes from the practice. Turn the pages slowly. There is nothing to arrive at.
Dream stream
An archive of dreams and words from bodies who have moved through this work. You may leave a dream fragment, an image, or a testimonial. Every submission is read intentionally before it joins the stream.
From those who have come through
Listening…
Dream fragments
Contribute
Anonymously if you like. A pseudonym or first initial is enough. Submissions are held privately until reviewed.
Journal entries
I dreamt the fascia was a night sky, and every place I had ever been touched was a small, distant lamp.
When I woke I understood something about why the body remembers — not as record, but as constellation. A geometry of attention.
— page 01 —
Water does not push back. It arrives around you. Perhaps this is why the nervous system, cradled, gives up its long argument with gravity.
In the pool today, a client wept for ten minutes without moving. Afterward she said: 'I remembered I was a person before I was a project.'
— page 02 —
In Butoh we do not dance movements. We dance images. An eye opening in the palm. A moth crossing the sternum. Ash arriving from below.
The body, given an image, knows what to do. It has been waiting to be asked.
— page 03 —
The medicine is a door. It is not the room. The room is built slowly, later, in the body — by walking, by sleeping, by eating with attention, by being held.
Integration is not thinking about the journey. It is metabolizing it, the way the body metabolizes a large meal: slowly, and by many small quiet organs.
— page 04 —
