The Warping of Time and Space. Tai Chi Tango, pt. 2.

My hunch is that Einstein’s thinking, certainly his imagination, was affected more by his musicianship than his experiments. In truth, his theory of special relativity, that time and space are not absolute but relative to one’s perspective, was imagined long before it could ever be proven, perhaps while playing his violin or out on his morning stroll. 

Every musician knows, as does every dancer and martial artist, that time and space can be shaped, stretched and condensed through our interaction with them. A musician who does not stretch time is as entertaining as the tic-toc of a metronome. A dancer who does not energetically engage with space is simply flailing their arms and legs about nonsensically. A martial artist whose intention extends no further than to the end of their fist or foot is powerless. Meaning, power, and engagement all depend upon our conviction that time and space can be stretched, reshaped, and condensed through motion and intention.

In my solo practice of Tai Chi, the space in which I move is shaped by the energy and intensity with which I infuse each movement and moment. I slow down or speed up. I pause, I breathe, I relax, I tense up. It is as if I am playing with taffy, pushing and pulling, stretching, punching, kicking. 

Similarly, in Tango. Except that Tango is not a solo practice. It takes two to Tango. I need to be attentive not only to my own balance, positioning, tension, and responsiveness, but also to my partner’s. And then there is the music, others on the dance floor, the embrace, the sensualness of touch, sights, sounds, smells. 

How can I possibly keep all of this in my attention? I use the same techniques I use in Tai Chi. 

I play with time and space. 

I slow everything down – or speed it up. 

I adjust my embrace with my partner to create more or less space between us. 

I turn my focus away from step sequences and fall into the infinite expanse of the moment.