I'm sitting at a lecture taking notes. It's interesting and I have to really concentrate on keeping up with what is being said, but a little while later the lecturer is reading from a text we have copies of and there are no notes to be taken at this point.
And then I feel it: my hand, still holding the pen, wants to dance.
It moves to the margin of the page and goes up-up-up, and circles back down, and back up twice and down again just a little wider now. One half of me is listening to how Zarathustra is carrying the Spirit of Gravity up a mountain and the other is drawing a funny bunny.
What is going on here? You have done this, haven't you? Listening to someone on the phone you are filling in the little pre-printed squares on a page of a notepad. Or drawing ever-expanding rectangles or stick figures. Or, indeed, funny bunnies. Or a spider creature eating babies.
They say these doodles - that's what those scribblings are called - have meaning. That they can reveal some hidden truths about your mood or personality. That might be true, but that's not what I'm interested in at the moment.
What I'm interested in, is that initial feeling. That urge you feel to make those scribbles. Something that wants to move, that wants to loop and hatch and criss-cross. It's not about meaning at that point, it's about rhythm. It's about repeating the same little movement over and over again and then changing it to something else and repeating that. And go back and forth between the two.
And maybe then you suddenly see the beginning of the funny bunny. It emerges from the circles and spiky-forms you made. Maybe someone else would have seen a rocket ship in those shapes - that's where the "meaning" might come in.
But first, there is the dance...