A solo dancer moves in slow motion, arms and upper legs visible but black-clad torso, ankles and feet disappearing against a void-black stage. Shoulders twist in their sockets; spines bends backwards; thighs lift. A fast-pace ticking sound works in counterpoint to the elongated movements.
Another dancer appears, his chest bare, the muscles of his contracting-stretching shoulders visible, paraded before us, around and around.
Three more dancers arrive in the mix. All are splendid. The pace builds as staccato choreographies overtake the creeping slowness. Creators Sharon Eyal and Gai Behar have layered bemusing complexity at every snap of head or shake of hand. For the most part, each performer moves independently, incorporating increasingly recognisable dance vocabulary and occassionally sudden, tiny gestures of the everyday.
Burgeoning frustration that any meaning is obscure dissolves as the sheer persistence of movement becomes the thing that matters. The driving beat of DJ Ori Lichtik's musical score and the relentlessly shifting bodies provoke a physical reaction, drawing this viewer into the neverending rhythms that tantalisingly promise peace, but always burst away again.
Pressure grows over 55 minutes. Even the curtain closes on bodies that won't rest. The titular suggestion of a mind that won't let up is thoroughly embodied. A companion piece, Love Chapter 2, which continues along the thematic thread with the come-down from the frantic high, is also playing at this year's Edinburgh International Festival.