“There are tensions in modernity, and what we're witnessing now is this eruption of other intelligences, and it's what gives rise to the questions that I'm stumbling into.”

The wonderful Bayo Akomolafe joined carla for a rhizomatic conversation that moved across landscapes and into the cosmos, where they covered a myriad of topics, passions, and, yes, questions! Bayo weaves together beauty, insight, and contemplation, as he poetically evokes us to hold onto the trouble as we dance with the monstrous and create sanctuary. Plus so much more!

www.bayoakomolafe.net

www.emergencenetwork.org

Supporting the show

Show music by: AwareNess

Tech and Show Art: Listening House Media (Chris Bergman)

carla joy bergman

transcripts

Thanks for listening!

Speakers: carla joy bergman and Bayo Akomolafe

carla 0:16

Hello everyone. Thank you for tuning in to the late summer episode of Walking With Change before we get to the show, I wanted to acknowledge how incredibly intense September can feel and be for so many folks. Phew, right? And so I just want to send out big snail energy and a lot of extra love to you all, yeah, and just please keep care. And speaking of snail energy, I have decided to do the show seasonally, so about four times a year, we'll see what happens. I'm doing this because it feels like the right pace for this show, but also for myself. And I just really appreciate you all being here and thank you so much. Love to hear from you anytime. If you want to send suggestions or thoughts about the episodes, I really do love hearing how the conversations felt, or what you were more inspired by. As many of you know, I'm not on social media, so this is a way to connect. You can do this over at my Patreon, forward slash walking with change. And you can join for free and join the conversation. There. You can also, if you want to support financially, which helps me do the show, with the goal of sharing that outwardly and creating more webs and mutuality you can also donate directly to the show on that page, or if you prefer and want to support all my creative works, you can head over to I have a "buy me a coffee", and it's /carlajoybergman, basically, just if you want to hang out and talk about the show or send me messages, the Patreon might be the best place. And yeah. So now on to this most wonderful conversation. Gosh, I was so incredibly honoured to have this conversation, and around late August, I talked with the brilliant and poetic public intellectual, father, partner and writer, Bayo Akomolafe. Be ready to feel deeply moved and inspired. And yeah, just click the show notes for all the information and see you in the late autumn. Peace.

Bayo, thank you for being here and joining me on walking with change. I'm just so delighted to meet you. I am a big fan of your work, and it brings, well, it just brings a surprise when it comes into my mailbox, but it also brings a type of curiosity for me to follow a new way of thinking, and I just really appreciate that. So thank you for being here. And what I find most energizing, and I would say grounding about your work is that you're always trying to reframe what's happening, and that's to use your term, you articulate it as reframing. And I adore that. And you don't just fall into line to ask the same old questions over and over again. And you wrote once, "there's a path to take that has nothing to do with victory or defeat, a place we do not yet know the coordinates to a question we do not yet know how to ask." And it's kind of slow knowing. And so with that, I'm curious to hear of times when you've stumbled across the new question, or unearthed the new question, where it's just cracked you wide open and went Aha! This is the question that's going to guide us on these more than human landscapes that we're in, and maybe you could share some of those stories with us.

Bayo 4:05

Well, questions are technologies of frameworks. They're not ours to ask, or rather I should say they're not exclusively ours. We are constantly swimming in these intensities and thresholds and intelligences, and I don't want to reduce questions to what humans do, like we can unilaterally come up with questions. I feel the kinds of questions I'm speaking about are signifiers or markers of stranger vocations. And by that, I mean to say, there's a way that we are positioned within modernity, within this monoculture of mind that people have different names for. I think about it in many ways, as white modernity, as neurotypicality, as a monoculture of mind that is spreading itself like globalization, a form of capture, settlement. There's a way that we are embedded and conscripted in preserving this place making ritual that is white modernity. We keep on doing this over time. But alongside our rituals, live other, stranger gestures that have no names. They are like tensions that travel within the space of coloniality that is not reducible to that plantation or to that field, and yet is present there. For instance, I just told you a while ago that my glass got broken by some creature. I don't know what broke my window, but it's shattered into pieces. I like to think about a shattering as not just some random thing that happens. It's like how the glass shatters, it shatters along the lines of tensions that are inherent to its property, right? In the same way, there are tensions in modernity, and what we're witnessing now is this eruption of other intelligences, and it's what gives rise to the questions that I'm stumbling into. For instance, what if the way we address the crisis is part of the crisis? What if justice is getting in the way of transformation? Which is not a popular question to ask. We want to get to justice. We want to find unassailable ground upon which we can mount a thesis of justification. But I really think that the more we address crises in a particular way, the more we become imbricated in its materiality. So that's just a long way of saying that I don't have these questions per se. I think we're swimming in the air in the field, and we are all in touch with it in some way. In some way. Language is not always available for framing that question. But I get a lot of people telling me, I've always been asking this question, I just didn't know the words to it. I just didn't have the language for it. So we are all encased in this in some sense, yeah.

carla 7:42

Thank you. That's a beautiful response. And I'm just feeling the wind bringing me questions without language, but that I'm encased in, that's beautiful. Part of what I love hearing about is people's journeying to their thinking feelings, particularly in a reaction to our response to our departure from modernity. But I'd like to hear a bit about like.... I'm curious if you could maybe speak on what got you to the kind of this idea of being a post humanist thinker or a post activist creator, you know, the ideas and the notions and that, you know, the situated knowledges if you will, that kind of spurred up and that got you on this path and beyond it. I think sometimes, as writers and communicators and creators and educators, it's like we're always, there's a assumption that we've always been here, you know, but we're always, course, becoming and so I'd love to hear a little bit of your story about that, if you're willing to share,

Bayo 8:45

Yeah! I don't know how to think about origin stories per se, like a green meteor crashed and enhanced me with superpowers, or something and from that point on, I became super something, super villain or whatever. But it might be helpful to bring attention to my interactions with healers, Yoruba healers, practitioners of the Ifa tradition and my vocations, my engagements with them. You know, I had multiple conversations with these Ifa priests. They're called Baba Laos. They're all men, and they taught me about my discipline. I was a researching clinical psychologist doing a PhD, and they kind of exposed me to a world that was larger than my training, than my Western biases, and the ways that I thought about healing. You know? I'd already got a sense that healing and well being and pathology were very political concepts, essentially contested, culturally closed concepts. But they kind of introduced me to a larger vocation, that trees, ecologies must be included in how we think about intergenerational trauma. That somehow led me along the path to thinkers like Jack, then Judith Halberstam, exploring the queer art of failure. Frédérique Apffel-Marglin's work on subversive spiritualities, Karen Barad's work exploring meeting the universe halfway, representation, and performativism, you know, these material feminisms mixed with Yoruba insights... I don't want to say mixed. It's not that. It's not, but defractively interacting with my indigenous insights helped me articulate a post humanism that wants to address politics, not a post humanism that is of no consequence, that is only good for academic posturing, but a post humanism that knows that sometimes our paradigm of real action might just be the trouble, and that is what engages, haunts, and interrupts my work constantly. My work.

It was just beautifully grounded and showed that it's like an ongoing process, especially when you bring in that idea of working with healers and traditions. And I think it's part of the undoing of colonial hegemonic thought, but without ignoring it entirely. And I really appreciate your framing and your work like it's not even framing, it's just what you embody and share with the world. You've offered your course "Dancing with Mountains" since 2015, correct? Something like that? I would first love to know about the history of the name and where it came from, if you're willing to share. But I'm also really curious about if you've noticed themes or threads that run through the... it's almost a decade of encountering folks with this, this course that you offer, this offering, and also connected, what has changed, what is moving? Yeah, I'd like to hear your insight on that.

So that's the problem with history. It's never linear or already done with. Every time I look back, specifically, as you've invited me to, on the history of We Will Dancing with Mountains, it changes. Right? This is not to dismiss facts. It's just to say facts are more promiscuous than we think so. At some level, I understand that the name We Will Dance with Mountains and its ethos was around engaging a more than human world. Hence the "dancing with" right? And maybe that's the story that I want to stick with for now, in sharing with you. At first glance the obvious would educate us and tell us that mountains are stable. They're done, you know? But in many senses, mountains are fleeting, temporal dances, and they move, and they migrate, and they do all these things. They just don't do this at a time scale that we're used to. But they are no less relational, right? They're ecologically alive. The invitation to dance with mountains is to turn away from the highways, hitherto defined by either progress or regress, the conservative or the progressive. I feel politics is impoverished in this dynamic. That it can only go one way, and it really is one way. It's either backwards or forwards. It's, it feels like the highway is maintained. And so the question that I keep on asking in these offerings that I've been privileged to host alongside others is, are there other ways to conceive of politics that goes beyond the highway. Are there other interesting things beyond a politics of protest, you know, an intra-politics of the subaltern? Is there a way of thinking about politics that really does other kinds of interesting, albeit strange things in the world.? And so when you ask the question that you just asked, How do we wrestle with coloniality? That is the persistent inquiry that I'm not offering answers to, but offering experimental spaces of holding the trouble of with others, thousands of others. And I have different ideas and understandings of that. But to answer your question directly. That's the history of We Will Dance with Mountains. It's a politics that wants to open up space for post activism, which I think of as an eruption of ethics, and maybe I should take one minute to say what I mean by an eruption and ethics. I think morality is material. I think it's not just good or right, bad or wrong, or good or evil. Rather, I think it's how things come together. That my phone is a moral structure. This stone here is morality. Morality is not after the fact of objects or subjects or matter, it is embedded in how matter comes to become itself. Capitalism is a moral structure. Whiteness is a moral structure. And morality can be a carceral place. It can imprison us in ways of behaving, in rituals that are deadening and no longer generative or life affirming. And this is how I differentiate from ethics, which is less viscous than morality. Ethics is the open ended promiscuity and erotic emergence of a universe or multiverse or indeterminaverse that is still seeking and understanding itself. And sometimes the way it travels through morality is as those tensions that I speak about, and when those tensions erupt and explode, they give birth to monsters. So a persistent theme that we explore in We Will Dance with Mountains is, how do we make sanctuary with monsters? With a monstrous. Maybe that's a politics.

Yes, beautiful, beautifully said. I haven't actually heard morality as material. I don't think I've come across that, or I haven't really heard it before, and so I'm just sitting with that. I'm pausing with that for the moment. And I really appreciate that distinction. And I like the term of it erupting and dancing with the mountains as they erupt,and our ideas are wrapped in. Thank you. There's a few different directions I want to go. I really like this idea of questions sort of being emergent or coming from each other or the ether or the wind or whatever. But I also, you know, I think back, something that informs my work is I think about how Kropotkin decided to ask a question, basically, is the cosmos cooperative? I feel like that's what he brought to his work, like he didn't start with a place of, I wouldn't even call it negation. It's more like a place of lack, like there is definitely negation in there, but, like, affirming. And I am curious about how, I think Einstein comes to mind. He thought it was really important that we all ask, is the universe friendly? Like, I just think that these kinds of interruptions... they can be so powerful. And I'm wondering if you have any, I don't know, like any questions that are new or bubbling up for you that you're just starting to chew on, or ideas or new thoughts that you would.... part of Walking With change is thinking about and sharing when we're kind of in the muck, this is sort of an invitation to share some of the ways that you maybe you haven't fleshed it out yet, or that you're, you know, that's new work that you want to share about too, maybe ways you're feeling uncomfortable.

Yes, yes, yes. Um, okay, there's several. I'm running through a train station, a rhizomatic train station of some of my darlings that I stay with day and night, and I've been thinking about... I've been thinking about whiteness and how it conscripts and enlists and prescribes, and how it feels like the air we breathe. Right? So maybe this may not come across as a question, but if you can hear between the lines there's a question here, and maybe the way that I want to do this is to distinguish between white people and white bodies. And I know there is a very long, prestigious conversation about racial dynamics, what Justice might look like, reparations that has taken a disciplinary form in, you know, in form of Black Studies. However, I'm and this isn't new but, but this is how I want to frame it, that whiteness is not a colour, it's a shape, and it's a posture. Now when we look at a white person for identitarian purposes, cultural purposes, we might want to designate that person as a white person, phenotypic traits, visual markers, this is a white person, but white bodies. I want to distinguish from “white person”, because I think most of us are white bodies, even myself. Because I want to use that term to designate the ways that we are enlisted in a terraforming project that values the world in particular ways that form some kind of corporeal, somatic imperative, so that the way we know ourselves, the way we know others, the way we know ancestry, the knowing, the way we know ecologies, the way we understand monetary compensation and recognition, the way we pay the bills, the way we understand time and space and morality. That all of this kind of makes us bodies in colonial projects, right? So maybe, if there's a question here that I might tease out, it's: how are we participating in colonial spaces? How is even resistance a form of colonial perpetuity, continuity? How are we sustaining these kinds of worlds?

Yeah, thank you for just being here with me on this more passion path of new thinking, I really like this idea of bodies and colonial, did you say spaces?

Yeah, colonial spaces. Colonial algorithms.

Yeah. And how whiteness is the white body… I think it is the work right now. We can keep up in ideas and theories and be like, oh, we're just gonna undo the colonial systems and institutions. But then we come back to our bodies, the body, you know what a body can be, and do, the collective body. Well, I look forward to seeing what you create and unearth with that.

Yeah. Maybe I can add this very quickly as an addendum to this sentiment, but I don't think we can undo coloniality. And I know that sometimes we kind of bring it down to choice. Choice is a very sacred myth making technology in modernity, if we choose to if we act against it, then it will come down to something like that, and maybe that's part of the story, but it dangerously excludes and obscures the ways we are embedded in these systems. Right? We kind of think along the pathways of individuals acting upon the world, but we forget that individuals are systemic excretions. We don't come into the world as individuals. You know, individualism is a practice, a performance. So we're really speaking about systemic tendencies. I don't think we can unilaterally snap our fingers, go to a workshop, attend some anti racist training, and just become decolonial or end coloniality. We are by and large captive to life, to biopolitics, to uneven circumstances and that is a difficult thing to convey, because it takes nuance and patience to share that, especially when our politics is just geared towards getting even.

Thank you for that. That's really important. I'm curious, like, I mean, within that, there's also, to use some of your words, the fault lines or the cracks where we can be otherwise and we always are. And I'm curious, like, how you weave that knowing experience into this idea. Because I call the whole system: empire, it's really important that we believe we can never get out. Or, if there is an out, it's one way, with the hegemony, and so within that, and maybe I'm just going to bring it right down to children, because most of my work is around undoing adult supremacy and youth liberation and youth autonomy. And a lot of years doing that work and thinking about autonomy as a way that those cracks can grow immediately. It's not forever. It's never complete. We never get to the end. But it's part of that beauty of becoming more together. I'm wondering if you could speak to some of that, and like maybe some stories about it, if you have any.

I'm wondering about your term adult supremacy, and how you're particularly using it. I've spoken about adultisms, but of course, every concept is limited and does limited work. But maybe you want to say more about adult supremacy.

Sure. So just really briefly, for many years, and it came through parenting, I started on a path of noticing that the world is structured in a way that adults are superior over children, and that children overall, in the circumstances in the world I orbit, are seen as less than or empty vessels, and are preparing for some life in some future, and need to be therefore dominated from, and there needs to be a hierarchy, and we can call it schooling or pedagogy, or whatever. But it's also beyond school. So much of the work has really been stuck in school, the conversation of school or not school, and which really reduces kids' lives down to a really small experience. And so I definitely have a long history within the unschooling community or non schooling, or alternative to schooling. I was part of an alternative to school, after school, youth run space where we got to practice these notions of what it truly means to have experiences together as a collective of some use of power, youth autonomy. So yeah, all that to say that I really focused on the children and the youth and their liberation, and it wasn't really going anywhere. It was like 20 years of this work, and then I flipped it to talk as an invitation into adults to work with each other on undoing our supremacy. And it was one of those, it might have been a timing thing, but the conversation leapfrogged and got bigger than it ever had been from in my orbit with that frame. And so that's why I shifted it, because it's kind of like... it reminds me of bell hooks around feminism. And she was like: we need to talk about patriarchy. You know? Similarly, we can keep talking about women's liberation, but we need to actually look at the system that's oppressing us and talk about that. And so it's kind of in that, I would put it in that framework. Does that help?

It helps. And it just so happens we are, my wife and I, consider ourselves in that line of work as well. And this work isn't prestigious. It's not romantic. We think about parenting as a biopolitics, right? Which is a way of stressing the idea that parents naturally come before your children. And that might be very startling for folks to hear. We think about these things as the natural order of things, right? But there are cultures that presuppose that children give birth to their parents. So we should be very careful about how we think about nature as stabilizing certain relations and relationality. So when I hear you speak about adult supremacy, I wanted to be sure that it's dancing with the sentiments that we're playing with as well, which is that, how we parent and how children show up in the world, are manufactured. Children don't just emerge ahistorically. They are marked. They're tattooed with certain ideas and presumptions, and they are boxed into neurotypical linearities. This is how to behave. This is how to be a good kid. Sit down, as we say in India, sit down correctly. That correctness of posture, it's the manufacturing of bodies, and it almost jives with the idea of the plantation and how it manufactures proper bodies. So we also practice a form of non schooling, or unschooling, without thinking about school as a monolith. That's also a danger, like school is this giant villainous enterprise. And, you know, I think it's possible to say that there are dominant educational paradigms that can call for critique and playful query without thinking in terms of an exhausted binary of villains versus superheroes. So we play with that as well, our children engage schooling in different ways. Up until she was seven, my daughter Alethia wasn't available for school. She reads books, she writes her own poetry, and then she decided, you know what, I like this to have this experience, and we're very careful not to say "school is bad". We said, think about this as a playground. You go into it, you can play there, but don't get lost in there. We will play with you and hold space for you to come out anytime you want. Right? My son is not available for that trope. He's autistic. He's not available for sitting down and learning in that way. The way he learns is to run, is to paint and scribble, is to name things, and to diffract time. It doesn't live in clock time, which is essential for school. So I think of that as adultism, as not that adults are bad people, you know? But that a certain biopolitical curriculum manufactures the relationships that might seem ordinary but are deeply political, between parents and their children, between educators and authority figures and those racialized as children needing correction.

Oh, that's wonderful.I just love when I see that happening everywhere, and it just seems to be growing more and more. And it's all part of the eruption, right? Of these the ethics of eruption. And I do say it's hard not to see the dots where so much of the patterns are happening to those little bodies. And I agree it's not about adults as such being a bad thing or the wrong thing. And this is why my work specifically really wanted to get out of the binary of school or not school, and why I created alternatives to school. And it was a similar story. Like school, and we called it odd schooling, any type of schooling. We saw ourselves as facilitators. Our kids are quite a bit older now, but yeah, because we all want to engage and be, I like the idea of calling it bio politics, because that's exactly what it is. So, yeah I like this idea. I've been thinking a lot about feelings of like, right now we have so much anxiety orbiting around. And everyone's writing either about despair or hope, and these binaries are flashing up everywhere. You're either this or that. And there's more and more work coming out that's talking about despair or quitting and/or desertion or leaving. And so I'm curious, in your work, and what you're called to do and participate in, how do these ideas of despair and hope and futurisms all kind of orbit and intertwine with your praxis?

Well, the story of Pandora and Pandora's Box comes to mind. I've read several accounts of that myth. The most compelling one to me is, of course, noticing that hope was in that monstrous box, not as a palliative, but also as a participant in monstrosity. Which is an intriguing proposition, because it's a suggestion that hope may be cruel. In the language of Lauren Berlant, is like a blessed memory, that hope can constitute some kind of cruel optimism, right? That hope can sustain particular narrative tropes and ways of being in the world where persistence becomes pathological. Just keep swimming, it is motivational talk, and I know lots of people can do that, and we do need persistence sometimes, but sometimes persistence becomes materially problematic, and then we turn to hopelessness. I think neither exist apart. I think hope and hopelessness need each other, hope and despair, and there's something violent about the effective bifurcation that modernity enacts like. Let's have more hope, let's push towards happiness, and let's do away with despair. But despair has a lot to teach us when there's no more roads to travel, maybe that is an invitation to get lost. As my people say, in order to find your way, you must get lost. So I kind of sense that my work is around sensitizing people to sites of failure, to places that may not look like success and victory. There's the quote, right? It may not look like a trophy, it may not look like a rival, but in those places, there are hidden vocations that might offer new kinds of worlds, new kinds of futures, if we know how to tend to them. I tell the story often of this disease that invaded the Aztecs and their corn. And at some point they called this disease, which was ugly to behold, it was this fungal thing that invaded corn. They called it a sleeping excrescence, which sounds about right. That's the name you give to a disease. And I think what that means, that's a direct, I think, but not exactly, absolute translation, no translation is absolute, of the word huitlacoche. And instead of pathologizing it further, I think they experimented with the idea of this as disease. Some new relations started to emerge, and they started to eat the damn thing. And now it's a delicacy. This fungal disease huitlacoche is, I hope I'm pronouncing that right. I'm not sure I definitely am not, but huitlacoche is a disease that has become a delicacy. Maybe there's something carnal and cannibalistic about presence and sometimes despair calls for a feast of some kind that we're being invited to eat differently or be eaten by something else, the presupposition that we ought to live in eternal continuity. Maybe it's the refusal to be eaten. And maybe this is the condition of our despair. Maybe despair asks us to be eaten, to make ourselves available for a world that exists and exceeds us.

Wow. Despair calls us to a feast. I mean, it kind of comes back to what you were saying at the beginning about us being implicated in, like we are a part of we are it. And so there's a good chance that that relation. I won't even try to pronounce that word with my speech impediment. But there's, you know, the humans, that they were part of that creation of that disease, and so, what an incredible, it's a concrete material example of, I think, what you were saying earlier. So thank you. I am definitely someone who's not scared of the word despair. I think I would see despair as where embers are. You know? Sadness. Sadness as a passion, is kind of what whiteness, colonialism kind of wants us to stay in a state. Despair is where I think we can ignite the ethics, erupt it. And I would like to see more of us walk towards it or be with it.Despair calls us to a feast. How beautiful... Thank you so much. I get asked this all the time, and I was like, I'm never gonna ask that on my show, but I feel like it's okay if you don't want to answer it. But what do you feel truly changes people's hearts and minds like that are kind of… I don't like using the term conscious or unconscious, because I think it's all part of modernity's neurotypicalness. But like, what lights people up?

Well, that is a question of change and ontology and how we come to know, and aesthetics, and what's valuable and truthful and beautiful. That is a complicated question, a complex one to wrestle, but it also brings us to consider how, and I think I've already mentioned this, how change happens. How does change occur? One thing that I'm becoming increasingly comfortable in saying is change is not a human product. It doesn't come down to the eloquence. It's not reducible to eloquence, to pedagogy, to the force of argument, right? Because if it did, that might lend itself to interpretations that humans are outside of what we rudely call nature. But we are nature. We are nature. We are microbial, viral, fungal, ecological. We're furniture like and so it's the interstitial, liminal vocations of the world in its poetics of relations that makes change possible. Like the ground of change is change itself. It's not that there is ground and then it changes. I feel that we start with change. We start with chaos. Stabilities only come from change. It's not the other way around. Just like I don't believe that reality is composed of objects that now enter into relations. I feel that reality is relations that secretes objects. It's the other way around. So when you ask what lights people up, I think it depends. I'm not going to ease away from that question, but I want to say context lights people up, it always is contextual. What's in the room, what's the flavour, what's the blessing there, who's present, who's absent, what technologies are available? We are contextual beings, and it's context, which is more than human that makes possibilities possible,

Beautiful. Thanks for taking on that. I'm always just, context, yeah, exactly. But I think it's really beautiful to... you know, it's interesting, like back in the 90s, when I was in college, like I was in a philosophy class, and I wrote in a paper that, because it was all about the Enlightenment era, and I ended my paper and said, but I don't really agree with any of this, because humans exist in nature. And I didn't even say that humans are nature, like I didn't go that far. I was scared. And I got a big red X through that line. It said, I'm wrong. I like to remind people that this is getting more of a commonality of knowing that humans exist in nature at least, or that you but so much of modernity and colonial thought is not that. So I really appreciate you bringing that question to that because I think it is so foundational or cosmic for us to really embrace.

It is beautiful.

I'm curious, because in your bio right up front, you say you're a poet, and I'm wondering if you'd be willing to share a poem, one of your poems, with us, with me, as the listener, here with you right now, but for the future listeners?

Oh, you know, people call me a poet, and sometimes I succumb to that designation. I don't consider myself a poet. Because I think poetry is too smooth... poetry is too smooth for that kind of classificatory thing. I don't think it's an identity I can take on, like "I'm a poet, and what I produce is poetry." You know? I just feel... I don't think I can say that I'm an oxygen producer or carbon producer, I'm just enlisted in the world in particular ways of speaking that are too strange. Someone said, and I know this is not a poem, I don't have one to share with you sister, but someone said, poetry, this is how I feel, poetry is prose becoming autistic, and that is how I think about poetry. It's that poetry is not a form of language. It's the very condition of expression and expressibility. It's not rhyme and metre. It's the strangeness of the world. It is gesturing for itself. It's, maybe that's a poem I just shared

You did. And I mean, you are poetic in your way of sharing your feeling/thinkings about what you experience. It's very poetic. I think that's probably what you mean in your bio. And I'm just, I don't know, like, well, maybe I'll just take this section out, but I welcome to the nuance of Walking with Change. I wanted to just share briefly that, this show is about slowness. I'm only doing them seasonally, and this is my second one, and I'm so delighted to have you here. And the name came because of my youngest, who is often told that they're not good with transition. And I learned to articulate to support him by telling the world that they walk with change. They're very present with change, and it can look different to what is expected as a response, and so that's where the name comes from. Is the discomfort, the beauty, the joy, the eruption, all of it with presence. And when you walk alongside it, a lot to be. So thank you for joining me, because I felt like we did that. Is there anything that I didn't touch upon or that you would like to share in the context of this?

Not at all just a hug and appreciation. I rush to other locations now, but I'm grateful for this slowing down, which is not a function of Chronos, but Kairos, time promiscuous, so thank you.

Thank you so much.