Dancing rituals, momentous dramatic configurations. At the edge of chaos and yet fully contained.

Eleusinian Bacchanalian Saturnalian.

Dervish tarantula tango.

The intentions were not accidental.  Still, the work was open.

There seemed to be a quintessential word, a single missing word, a lost word, that unified–a descriptor that would not form in my mind or among all the participants who appeared.

Though at the edge of frenzy, all were conjoined in an ethereal choreography, appearing mostly in modes of dancing shadows.

There was an awareness of fullness. There was ample energy, more than ample energy, for the harrowing work.

Vast art. Still, very concrete. More life-and-death enactment than art form.

Waking up all night long, I was consoled and grateful for the imagining.