The thinking process is aligned of the brain’s desire to eliminate the unknown. As I am improvising, if I allow language to arise from a thinking place it is a Band-Aid that blocks the mystery of the unknown. In the process of improvising, my brain’s desire for stability will constantly label the physical experience with a narrative. By doing so, it creates a stable platform that the unknown temporarily rests upon as something that is known. If I continue to focus on the words without a musicality, without form, I am separated from the movement and permitting the stability of language to win over my awareness of its physical experience. As a result, I am speaking in my normal voice. There is no, or little modulation, of the voice as it rides over the movement on a disconnected plane; two layers of the same moment but neither one of them affecting the other beyond a punctuation of breath.

As an improviser, I cannot allow movement to exist without having it affect my voice. If I do so, then I am wasting a great potential. To speak with a normal voice, my habitual voice, while moving is to discredit the somatic experience of the movement. I must allow the somatic experience of the movement to influence my speech. I must allow it to connect and create correlation with my vocal cords, lips, tongue and teeth. If I do not do so, then I am failing to recognize a great beauty directly in front of me, begging to be exposed, expressed. The magic of the language’s somatic experience cannot and should not be ignored nor dominated by syntax, grammar and the brain’s desperate desire to block out my awareness of the event.