1extracted Pages From Everyday Eurythmy - Sivan Karnieli
1extracted Pages From Everyday Eurythmy - Sivan Karnieli
1extracted Pages From Everyday Eurythmy - Sivan Karnieli
The word ‘upright’ also contains the sense of ‘moral uprightness’ or honesty.
A person who stands upright is potentially authentic in his own and others’
eyes. This ‘upright’ position is the starting position for all eurythmy
exercises. Eurythmy counteracts mendacity, said Rudolf Steiner. Someone
who is upright cannot easily lie.
Let us speak of the I, the authentic I. Let us try. What I call the I is the
movement, the impulse that enables me to employ the four elements of this
earth on which I live, but also my intelligence and the motions of my
sensibility, even my dreams. It is, in fact, a strength that lends me the
power nothing else gives me: that is, the power of not having to wait for
outward life to approach me before I live. The ego needs things, the
greatest possible number of them (whether these be money, status,
authority, acclaim or gratification). The I does not seek these. When it is
present, at work, active, then it sets its own work against this other world
of things. The I is wealth in the midst of poverty; it is interest when
everything around us is tedium. It is hope even if all objective means of
hope have faded. From it arises humankind's whole world of inventiveness.
And ultimately it is what we retain when all else is denied, when nothing
more approaches us from without, and yet our powers are still great
enough to overcome this emptiness.3
These words are by Jacques Lusseyran, who was blinded age four. He also
said:’... real blindness was the inability to love any more, or to grieve; it was
not the loss of sight.’4
To raise oneself into the upright, to love, to see, even if not with one's eyes,
to feel and engender the future within us now: all the substance of a world
that is growing all the time. A world of growing, that is what eurythmy is,
and this becomes life: a world that is founded on the human I, on the strength
that can face the void even, since someone—my I—is still there and
perceives it.
The following little exercise helps to come to oneself in the middle of the
daily rush. You don’t have to do the whole of it; sometimes it is enough to
feel my head consciously in the pillar of light, and perceive my backspace. I
can do this while waiting at a train station, while walking in town in a large
throng of people, or when my little boy has a tantrum. Our frontspace absorbs
our attention (and in seeing we often immediately form ideas) while the
backspace releases us. Here we can listen in to openness. Our frontspace is
defined, earthly, material; our backspace is not yet determined (we ourselves
determine it as we enter into the world before us). It is spiritual, invisible.
The frontspace takes myself from me while the backspace gives me myself.