Ann Louise Edison was on the stage at the Whistlepunk Café with her hula hoop. Nobody had thought to limit open mic participants to those reading, reciting, singing, playing, or in some fashion making noise. 

I suppose it could be argued that Ann Louise was making noise. The rhythm of the shoop shoop of the BBs inside the hoop creates a beat when she abruptly changes direction.  Her hips circumnavigating the globe of her aura.  Ann Louise was an ecstatic performer if mostly silent. If nothing else, it was a dance.

Ann Marie gyrated and tossed her hair, those hips going round and round, first in one direction and then the other.  Periodically, she would shimmy the hoop from her hips to her ankles, stopping for a moment to concentrate on her knees.  Round and round the hoop went.  Halfway through her performance, someone offstage threw her another hula hoop.  Soon it was circumnavigating the world of her arms, her neck.  Ann Marie was blissed out, entranced, in union with the divine.  The rhythm of the BBs, the beat of the directional changes, the journey from her waist to her feet, her wrists to her shoulders, her shoulder to her neck.  Ann Marie was in motion while standing mostly still. She redoubled her effort and found strength in the kundalini of her spine.