2020- 10- 27
Seasonal changes, life changes.
What do I care
about.
What do I release.
We talk, and then we
dance. One by one, sharing. Mostly nothing blatant. Everything
expressive, simple, murky yet clear.
I feel your hands
cupping, opening wide, then letting go. Gazing out over the abyss.
Fear. Death. Infinite possibility.
We release, release,
release.
It’s easier to
notice what we care about and hold tight, than what we release.
Changing seasons,
political chaos, wildfires, pandemic.
Hanging upside down,
cocooned in an aerial yoga hammock, “I wonder how often do they
wash these silks” then, “I hope I don’t get sick.”
Japanese maples en
route to work. I rejoice as they start turning red, then watch, week
after week, as more red leaves pile up on the sidewalk. I imagine
their crunch as I drive by, remembering crunching as many as I could
walking to school as a kid, then creating huge Connecticut red
crunchy leaf piles with other folks’ kids as a wilderness awareness
mentor, as an adult. Every so often, I stop to pick a tick off
myself, off a child.
Self versus non
self. Immune system, most complex system of our bodies. Boundaries,
weaving and navigating internal and external webs of protection. When
to speak up. How to verbalize something colorful, complex,
uncomfortable. How to hold integrity with lightness and joy.
天地人.
Sky, Human, Earth. Such power in the center of the circle. Such
humbleness. Each choice minute yet integral.
Yoga by the Ocean
yesterday. Red flag wind warning. Choppy waves. Large, yet formless.
Unsurfable. I balance, falling, then standing. I bow, and bow, and
bow, and bow.
2020- 10- 28
We are moving. January, New Zealand. A flurry of activity from now
until then.
I have moved. From the deserts and coasts of California to the
forests and hills of Connecticut, I have moved. Across the seas to
lands known and unknown, slowly across the Earth and quickly through
the Sky, I have moved.
I know movement. From the small sacred stillness of heart beating
under tight dry skin to the big rawdy movement of thumbing across the
country coast to coast, I know movement. Dancing with strangers in
studios large and small, sunlight streaming in through windows, rain
battering our bodies dancing in the mud at Standing Rock, darkness
igniting wild dances in Los Angeles, I know movement.
We are moving. Across the sea once more. Now, with a license to
practice in one country, and nothing for another country, beyond
experience. So many precious experiences. We are moving.
Hands open, heart shuddering yet tenacious, I step forward.
2020- 11- 01
I’ve been experiencing election nightmares. My patients share
similar elections nightmares. We bunch our bodies into knots around
this great unknown, with a sense of mixed impending doom, and hope.
Meanwhile, full moon. Flying bats. Changing seasons. Ocean lapping
against shore, wearing it down, moving closer inland. Fires continue
devouring ancient forests. Our rivers dry, then refill. I find new
old maps. We trace the trails with our fingers, then go walk them,
mile after mile of sunburning foot-blistering bliss.
Much that is unknown, yet much that is known. Embrace simplicity. Do
the work, then step back. Step forward as needed, but do not live in
a constant state of tightened painful over-responsiveness, histamines
jumping at things both significant and not, cells autophaging on
overdrive.
May the pinkening dawn and dusk remind you of your own internal pinks
and pastels. That which oxidizes in the air, but remains soft and
nourished within the tenacious yet tenuous outer wrapping of skin.
Emotions intangible yet oh-so-felt, be gentle. Nourish. Rest. Find
that which is delicious, and enjoy it. One foot after another, stop
every once in a while, poising and balancing in the great in-between.
Wavering, quivering in the wind, dance.
