When I came to the computer this morning to post, I had remembered that a friend of mine used to give out poems of a poet during the sixties. She would stand in Sausalito at the ferry and hand them out as people went on and off the boat. My memory is that Michael McClure was the poet so I went to his book, Specks, and opened to this poem. The magic of performance is in the air.
Houdini gave an object to the audience. While he was not looking, it was hidden. Houdini then walked, without hesitation to the individual concealing the object. Looking into the auditorium, it had been clear to him where the object was, as the center of a rose is obvious when we look at the petals.
The postures of those who turned away from the object, and the unintentional empathy of those who leaned toward it, were visible to Houdini. He read bodies.
May we all live with that kind of sensitivity of today, moving ever more clearly toward the center of the rose, the center of our purpose, and letting the petals of worry, hesitation and distraction fall gently away.