when saris speak to your sleep

This evening, I was rehearsing with the saris we use in the show on Friday. Each movement with them has to be clean, distinct, intentional. The last few weeks have been so focussed on technique and mechanics, blocking out and memorizing movement, that I'd stopped seeing and feeling the saris. I'd forgotten how Migritude began - a suitcase filled with untold stories and unseen beauty.

Tonight they came alive for me again. Instead of me going through the motions to make the sari tell the story, they began to tell me. I revelled again in the smell and feel of them, the pure sensual delight of playing with silk. As I got ready for bed, I suddenly wanted them with me tonight. As if they would tell me in my sleep exactly what I need to do on Friday - and what to drop away. And why not? If I can have a lap-desk, a notebook, 3 books, 2 pens, and an assortment of hairpins and earplugs in my bed, there's enough room for a few saris.