We Will Dance With Mountains - Into the Cracks!


Some multi-media harvests have been created out of the We Will Dance with Mountains: Into the Cracks! live sessions.
This is a space to share these libations.

If you wish to share a libation created during or inspired by a live session, please send an uploadable file to Aerin.

WWDWM V - Live Session Playlist

The playlist from live sessions can be found right here. This list may include songs that were or were not actually played during the live session; but all were selected with the spirit of this course in mind.

Session 1 | 12 September


april's notes
- april griefsong



Safety and trust as a crack.
- Simone Johnson



This is a co-creation.
- Laura Cook



Foot bath water.
- Susan Barney



Godhunt (audio recording of a reflections on session 1 post).
- Craig Slee



Weaving into crooks and crannies. Canyon Blanco Utuado, Puerto Rico.
- Karen Langevin



My foot water in the cracks below. Growing downwards... “descendance.”
- Kay



Faliin to Earth (a song inspired by session 1).
- Rob Howarth



Death is Safe.
- Jeannine Tidwell



Emi's toes.
- Emi Tanaka

This photo was accompanied by these words (rough translation from Portuguese):
“Humanity will learn to deal with water when it has learned to deal with sacrifice, renunciation and surrender. To handle water well, we need to have a relationship with it beyond what we naturally have. Water, among the Kingdoms, is one of the most sacrificed, it is one of the most renounced. For it renounces the wonders it could do, renounces what could be, to be able to serve humans in the simplest things, in the most rustic things." - Trigueirinho



"Notes" from session 1.
- Emma Julaud

Session 2 | 26 September


Dear cleaned feet; cracking, zigzaging dancing people in the mycelium soup
invaded by ants and other monsters flirting with the mountain... here are my notes of our session 2.
Painted on an old hand fires clay tile.
- Azul Thomé



A fugitive tale inspired by Irina's dream.
- Fabrice Dubosc



Something is seeping out. A spillage oozing from the cracks and watering the cracks, widening them in its overflowing.
- Yasmine Yu



A Poem for When Things Don’t Go As Planned


has the plan fractured?

quick! freeze!

then fold in two,
fold in two again

become origami,
bend into any shape,
you decide:
-a star?
-a heart?
-a dragon on a bike?

go globular! pixilate!
just split! into 8-bit!

here’s a chance to
swim small
within the larger static

go! leap in!
lurch into this frothy, teeming
of the pause, unpaused…

the glitch has been pitched!
so hit that switch!
switch that click!

here you can turn yourself off
and back on again,


and carry on hand-holding
The Plan, the same as before,
and also totally different.

- Julie Johnson



Presenting an image of free me! (Drawn as part of the tracing ourselves exercise in Session 2 led by Geci.)
- Lorena Gaibor




The Slave Ship became the Shore.......
- Annabelle Potvin



Cueva de las Manos (mentioned by Bayo in the second session).
This portal into deep time in Patagonia that stopped me in my tracks when I met it.
Suspended, mid-time, mid-place. No other piece of art has met me like this.
And sometimes, it still comes for a visit.
In a perspective of 9000 years, why am I here?
- Evelin Grauen



'Moon Meets the Sun' - A song by Our Native Daughters that felt resonant with the course and live session II.
- Molly Brown



Disturbing the flatness of mode.
- Catarina Fontura

Session 3 | 10 October

Just one kaleidoscopic view of our family of Abayomis.






Orientation Shaping

Cloth into meaning

A Black mother of Black sons

My Monsters play peekaboo

My Vulture eyes see what needs to be picked over

I see new Cracks

I see a desire to close these Cracks QUICKLY

Today the Cracks are my salvation

Today the Cracks are my Resurrection

Today the CRACKS are a place

to breathe

to feel anger

to allow for grief

- Gina LaRoche



Maybe the world is also seeking us, as we seek it...
- Sofia Smith Hale



Yamantaka, the blue monster and Mahakala, the red monster, did an interpretive dance during the first Vunja Party tea time with monsters.
- Tsukina Blessing



Feeding Corpses. Listen to the audio version of live session III reflections that accompany this rendering of Abayomi here.
- Craig Slee



I re-situate in ecological possibility, hidden and in plain sight, preparing for an encounter...
- Annabelle Berríos



"the enemy would have prevailed but God did not allow it," or
"they thought they buried me and won, bit did not realize i was a seed."
Beautiful song and drums and laughing from Johanna Rivera.


Session 4 | 24 October


A collage inspired by our fourth live session.
- Mutima Imani



A drawing I thought of as a gift to Kyah Jayden Abayomi and also as my reaction to session four - belonging as longing to be: what if erased alphabets were a glitch moving us from rectitude to inclination? Also a diffracting Afrocene mask of sort: a spillover of all that identity cannot contain and a madelaine of re-connection to deep time memories.
- fabrice dubosc



- Curtis Robertson Jr.




- vee sampson



Descending, with easeful glide and fluid membranes to excavate an unknown thing until it is uncovered
Into the Earth, the cracks, the roots, The RootCracks!
- Cathy L.



God is change we are changing we are God
down in this crack together
celebrating our distinguishable differences
We change
We must name and recognize our unique identities that keep us fighting and fussing and collapsing in together
we must arrive in ways that leave no part of us behind.
(Excerpt of a poem by Chiara and Omari following fourth session. Full post here.)
- Chiari Libaratore & Omari



Although we are not sure, the Course Team and others (Annabelle Berrios) have a sneaking suspicion that this poem was written by adrienne maree brown shortly after our last live session and may have been inspired by our time together. "not busy, focused; not busy, full"


Session 5 | 7 November


 From this weekend's crack (digital collage).
- Bee Uytiepo



Whispers of my tea cup


Wash me in soapy water in your sink.
Dry me with a soft dishtowel. Take your time
to imagine the reddish clay silicious,
aluminous, bones & worms, ashes & star
essence. Remember hands that shaped me,
operated machines. Remember sorrow & joy. Slow

way down. Come closer & dance with me.
The slow dance. And wonder
who you haven’t invited to your table. Wonder
who you haven’t served. Wonder
who/what you haven’t loved.

Sit on the ground & drink slowly.
- Claudia Frick



" 'I was too dense to hear the prayer.' That stayed with me."
- Penélope Baquero



In the invitation to entangle with my most yellow of orange letters H, and in the invitation to bring material for making, I was called to the loom. Like Bayo, the loom and I wanted to know how to pray for a child.

My child who has confessed that she no longer sees the point of being alive. I asked the loom to show me how to make a bayomi material that could hold this most painful of failures.

My prayers are too long to paste in this space. They can be visited here.

- Sonya Jones



Click on the following images to enlarge:

A collection of sketches produced inspired by the fifth live session and our time with Nega Duda.
- polina stoynova aka pol parrhesia

Session 6 | 21 November

"polina stoynova shared the sketch of this some days ago [see pol's sketches on the libations from session 5 above]
I hadn't thought too much about my ancestry, especially the ones gone and the non human, until this course. The sketch stuck in my head and I knew I wanted to stay with it, feel it. I immediately knew I wanted to use threads even though the last time I embroidered was back in school.

'my ancestors sit on my shoulders'

I am sitting with that.

Thank you pol!"
- Devanshi Srivastava




















The emotions that have led me to this crack.
This experience, two days before the sixth live session felt like a premonition for the journey around the question: "What hurts?"
- Jessica Land



Reclaiming Wisdom.
- Emilio Mula



- Aparna Bakhle


Where Does it Hurt?


The site of the wound

hurts less

than the urge

to scratch the itch or pick the scab.

The site of the wound

is hot gold

searing the flesh

sealing the gap with alien.

The site of the wound is the

sight of the womb.

The site is a graveyard

where old bones are

swallowed by the earth

composted into new (b)earths.

The site of the wound

minds the gap

as something

more than empty.

The site of the wound

minds the agency

of what sprouts

in this crack.

Is it love that sprouts in this crack?

Does joy sprout in this crack?


 Fear and grief live here too

 but that’s not new.

I’m familiar with where it hurts because its

Everywhere, everywhere!

But the quality of the hurt can mean something

if I listen.

- Austen Smith



Death Be Not Proud
But why not?
- Signe Ruddy

Session 7 | 5 December


I had a dream the night after the live session.

I had to meet my partner who was with the person who introduced us at a park. I think we were in another town as there were lots of hills.  I finally made it there after a few weird encounters and detours. When I arrived there were 2 huge lightening bolts. I remember feeling terrified and yet not surprised... and wondering if it would ever stop as usually the flash only lasts for seconds... but this kept going...

I woke up to no power in the house and it had snowed for the first time. I was also very exhausted.

I shared this with a few people who said ah ha the reason for the power out... dreams are real, are they not? thank you for all the sharing and caring...who ever thought you could get struck by lightening immersed in cracks.

- Sandy Buck



This course is a way to create common memory, which is the only way to have true community. We all try to share from our beautiful and broken perspectives. We hurt and we hurt each other, and yet, we must continue the effort of suspending judgement and turning to wonder and the shattering joy of being whole together somehow in the midst of our brokenness.

- Byron McMillan


On Being Cooked
(Rumi's chickpea reprise)


The middle of my chest is ground meat.
Dancing with the meat hammer of love
I am tenderized.
Don't tense up. Don't resist.
It's best if you come quietly.

Hey you sadistic madman,
Don't you think this torture is enough?
Allah loves creation
more than a mother loves her child,
But did I ever put my kids through
This. Much. Bullshit?


I can tell you old tales
About the man who, sleeping,
Swallowed a snake.
Or I can purge the poison,
save your lifestyle now.
Choose quick, there's only
a generation left, if that.


Or maybe there's another
10,000 years
of featherless bipeds.
Walking, dancing, cooking, singing,
eating, and being eaten.
No worries.


This is not being ground to flour,
Tsukina. You will not be cake.
This is just a kiss with teeth.
You never said this to your babies?
"You're so sweet I could just

- Tsukina Blessing



The glyph in the center is of the zodiac sign Pisces, a mutable water sign, possessed of the virtues of dissolution and union and ecstasy, below the ocean a lightning bundle of roots to hold to the ground, to anchor in the ocean floor. Above, a single point of light spiraling down energy to electrify those waters. It seems to show an anchor in the above and below, and in between, a vast and infinite middle. It feels like it's something to do with what we are all trying to do.
- Jason Lay



Headlong Rush (a song inspired by live session 7).
- Rob Howarth


A Trickster's Prayer for our Times


I bow to those who continue to defy the onslaught of modern industrial Civilisation
I bow to the dirty underwear and those who don’t wear underwear,
I bow to the fools, misfits and the comedians who invite us into spaces of silliness and into laughing at ourselves,
I bow to those who graciously lick each and every finger after eating with their hands,
I bow to the uncontrollable farts, hiccups and burps which remind us of our playful and loving ancestors,
I bow to the deep and profound darkness who defies being lit up,
I bow to those beings who queer boundaries, transcend labels and confuse brilliant utopian plans,
I bow to the voices who continue to sing out of tune,
I bow to the children who resist schooling and love walking barefoot in the healing mud,
I bow to those who choose not to use deodorants and perfumes to hide their natural body odor and sweat,
I bow to those who are constantly late and operate with non-linear notions of time,
I bow to those who daydream during zoom calls,
I bow to the mountains, rivers, forests, deserts who struggle to remain wild and undeveloped,
I bow to those beings who don’t care about speaking English,
I bow to the sacred and sacrilegious which remind us that 'being normal' is not really normal,
I bow to the grandmothers who remind us that genuine hospitality and happiness has nothing to do with money,
I bow to those failures and imperfections who remind us that life is a sensuous and mysterious gift,
I bow to those who aren't afraid to be lost and dance with the unknown,
I bow to those who continue to defy the onslaught of modern industrial Civilisation.

- Manish Jain


(This piece was posted on social media by Manish Jain, one of our unpanelists, the day after our seventh live session.)

Session 8 | 12 December



Banana peel delicacies!

- Zdenka Ljubic




Bakhita's Bones

Written and spoken by Claudia Frick with music and sound design by Marianthe Loucataris.



- Shea Witzo
To purchase prints or for commercial permissions, please contact the artist at sheawitzo@gmail.com



An exploration in shit.
- Juno Lamb



Went out to the cove in search of shameless shit and this is what I found:
- three torn plastic bags entwined with nylon rope laced with dead fish stink
- one beer can
- one Sprite can
- an orange plastic straw
- one twist tie
- a moldy plastic water bottle
- Lorie Dechar



Emerging out of the Haunted Glossary experiment and inspired by Kristen Mathis, our dear Julie Johnson created this set of cards that can be used as a kind of Haunted Glossary oracle deck. You can find the full (and hopefully growing) set of downloadable cards here.

Session 9 | 19 December


The light pink doily that forms the base of the monstrous flower sprouting from my head (remember those ants Bayo told us about, something to do with cordyceps maybe?) was one my great grandmother made. I decided to play with this thread in my ancestral story and crochet strange new growth, new beginnings from what had seemed like the end – a doily she “completed” decades ago – during our final session at "the end" yesterday. As I pierced through and looped around the tensions of the older pink thread with my crochet hook, I stitched wordless prayer, prayer that flowed like water.

May this wordless doily-prayer flow through the cracks as my blessing of thanks and gratitude to all of you.

- Danielle Nagle



"de-centre the human"

A beautiful audio-visual journey inspired by this year's course-festival and all those who participated here, along with the wider burgeoning animist culture – including the creative cultural musings/work/play of Dare Sohei & Larissa Kaul of Animist Arts, Tada Hozumi, Sofie Strand, Shante Zenith, Azul Thome, Tricky Singer, Craig Slee, Claudia Frick, Robyn Fila, Aerin Dunford, Randy Jones, Rhawn Jones and all that moves through me and the forests, rivers and sea where I live.
There is a longer audio-only version (called "Death is Safe") available here.

- Marianthe Loucataris



I’m once again in deep bowing gratitude for all the generative strangeness of this festival-place. Thank you each and everyone in the team and participants, the visible and invisible, the fabulated and the real, the imaginary and the hidden, to all the melodies even the silent ones. To each and every breath together. With our knees and hearts in the ground we’ve opened wounds, cried and laughed, creating fractal places of being. In reverence for our throbbing hearts we will meet again on the other side.

- Sofia Batalha



The Invitation of Monsters
(In preparation for our monstrous Closing Ceremony.)

- Annette Magdalene Kaye



A meeting of crack-dancers with Lorena Gaibor, T. Carlis Roberts, Lodi Siefer and many beings in Colorado, United States following our final live session on December 19th.



I consider it a great privilege to be have been in this Ceremonial Crack with such constancy. For the second time I have Danced with Mountains and let my life become a crack, or reveal itself to already be one. And still, I know it is a rare thing to gather around emerging principles of postactivism and rituals of decapitating the colonial head, let alone gather internationally and with such decentralized contributions. I was often frustrated with the impatience, critique, and resistance that made itself known, though I understand that is part of the process. But I am so overwhelmed with gratitude and humility to be alive and available at such a time as this for the rarity of a public practice such as this, that I feel so strongly about rejecting grasps at control or disappointments at the lack of "perfection". It's sneaky shit, I get it. I just don't remember seamless, ultimately smooth, ultra luxe comfort being part of the premises for our time together. I know that by sharing my own frustrations I am doing the same thing in a different way, LOL. I hope my attempts to articulate the depth of my respect and reverence for what has been done here, is being done here, and will never be finished here are louder. Like the way our dancing, literal and multidimensional, is louder than the irritation at  zoom glitches and abrupt reorientations.

As someone who has been in various ritualistic spaces, pedagogical experiences, and decolonial praxis for at least a decade, if we are not to include my Unschooled education or being raised by a Liberation Technician (aka my mother who educates people on how colonialism functions), I know exactly how complex the threads that are being woven here are. As someone who has educated and facilitated myself, I simultaneously know and can only imagine the vigorous integrity, resilient bravery, and devotion like the ocean that is required to hold this container, let alone participate in it.

✨ritualistic intelligence✨energetic integrity✨spiritual humility✨praxis, not theory✨practice, not aesthetic✨care, not control✨honesty, not arrogance✨love as the reason why✨

For the fractal and encompassing embodiment of all of the above and more on the part of Bayo Akomolafe, the Team, the transient Teachers, and Those who Prayed on our behalf, Those who Danced for/with us, I am grateful.

I urge you, if you haven't yet, to deeply contemplate how remarkable what we just co-created is. How rare and hard to find it is, even if you've been one of the few fortunate ones to become accustomed to communal ritual making around different iterations of apocalypse. How could we be anything else but grateful to have received so much earnestness, sincerity, and love in what was offered to us? How could we be anything but proud at the bravery, the trust, the willingness to ✨stay with the trouble✨ with which we received the offerings? How could we be in anything but awe for what we gave to each other?

 - Ari Felix