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Another cloudy morning and I’m making my own sunshine here in my body. #whatyoucannotsee: how sweet, simple movements are grounding me. How winding my way through all of the joints in my body gives me a deeper sense and sensation of my whole, body. As a whole, system. Moving, breathing, together, everyone heard and accounted for, everyone seen and valued. You can’t see how my eyes popped open when I remembered something that needed to be done, and how I laughed at how instantaneously my mind had left my body here by itself on the floor. It happens that fast. You cannot see how full this day-to-come feels, and how that brings a habitual edge of overwhelm, until I remember it contains work and play - until I remember how I planned it that way, clients, friends, movement, time outside and right now, time with myself.

#whatyoucannotsee

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#fivethingsfriday Human questions: 1. What are your rituals of celebration/gratitude? How do you do this with the people interwoven in your experience? Can celebration be a healing? I want to know. 2. For myself: What's the longing? What needs healing? What needs celebrating? Why is this important? What needs to be shared? Who do I need to tell, 'Thank you'? What do I need to tell my self? 3. I'm coming up on 5 years of working for myself, 1/3 of my prior corporate life. 5 years of walking straight on into my daily fears, trying to hold to my own integrity while doing something good and true and useful in the world - this has been harder than I thought it could be. I've fallen on my face a lot. I have doubted myself in almost every way while learning my body's sense of what calling feels like. I've kept walking. I would love to pat myself on the back for this, and there are things I struggle to give myself credit for - but I'm not sure that courage is one of them even though my prey-animal self quakes and quivers. Seems like it takes more courage to be a kid and walk into a school these days. Or be a parent. Or brown or black. Or trans. Or a million ors. 4. Which all makes me wonder, is it worth it? Can I do more? And I know my answers. I have asked a million times and I will keep asking even though I’ve always come back to the same place. I can do no better than use the gifts I've been given (& pray I'm not deluded or making excuses). To use my love of learning and love of people and love of the body to do connective, healing work. To build sustainable structures that make space for more of this. To keep trying to open my eyes wider than my privilege would have me see. 5. My friend @debcooperman asks, for journaling during hard times, what's still here? What's still here? What's worth celebrating? I'm turning this back to you now, even as I'm asking myself.

#fivethingsfriday

The longing that arises: more spaciousness. A lingering morning/day to move slow, walk in the woods, commune with the birds, write. ... This is a need for deep connection - to my self, to my environment. How can I fill this, in the time that I have? ... I stare out the window at the light moving slowly down the trunks of the trees, the smoke from a nearby chimney, the flash-of-red cardinal, flowers from the weekend of teaching reminding me of the beauty and the work and the learning, candle flame refracted through the water. ... I write a bit more, ‘How do I connect with a sense of community now?’ ... Inner connection / outer connection, they are tied. And in this moment, even with a half hour instead of a whole morning, I feel nourished, and ready. ... Wishing you connection today, in whatever amount of time you have, wherever you find yourself.

Sick day/snow day, I haven’t seen snow like this, here, since the year we moved to North Carolina from New Hampshire, 17 years ago. The 12-ish inches so far piled up as unexpectedly as the congestion in my chest, the normal and expected progression of cold symptoms subverted. That deep desire for more space? Wish, granted. Thank you snow, and body, for the slowdown. ❄️💙❄️

39/#40daysofstillness Between sessions. Letting my weight drop into the back of my body, into the table, and counting breaths, slow and steady. Being in the sensations of expansion and release. Bodywork is a two-way thing. We don’t talk about this alot, but it’s real. The client's body receives information from my hands, and responds to that information. My hands receive information from the client's body, and respond. This happens on a more subtle level also, but this basic example would be enough all on its own. 'Touch is a reciprocal sense; we cannot touch, without being touched.' (These are not my words; I'm unsure of the original source. I do know it to be true.) Experiencing this with my clients always leaves me in awe. And it makes it incredibly important for me to take a few minutes between clients to be in my own skin, to regulate my nervous system, to check in with physical sensation, and to clear, so that I am as fresh for every client as I am for the first. 💛

#40daysofstillness

38/#40daysofstillness It’s notable how much of this stillness has been in bed this year. This annual practice is about rest as much as it is about stillness (perhaps next year I'll shift the hashtag.) and some things are becoming clear as I approach day 40. However much I think I am done, want to be done with the more difficult aspects of last year, they are not yet done with me - or more clearly, my body is not done processing and integrating. I can push ahead, I have felt that inclination in moments, and then the tired feeling surfaces and I know, if I push, I will end up right here all over again. The good news is, I've reached the part of the cycle where I can start to enjoy it, can begin to laugh at myself, can see the tender new growth stretching to establish itself, can feel how far I've come. The impact of lots of ambient light and city noise on my sleep for theses past years is becoming apparent. We still have traffic noise, but it is so much darker and quieter here. I am sleeping more deeply than I have in ages, and I still feel like my body is coming down from the stimulus. So here I am in bed again. Soaking it up. As much as I need. As much as it takes.

#40daysofstillness

#fivethingsfriday 1. Beets & sweet potatoes. Onion, garlic, ginger. Coconut milk, broth, lime. Blended. and cilantro, of course. Kitchen collaborations, off-the-cuff, what-do-we-have alchemy. Making things with people I love is a favorite state. 2. Rain, rain. I realize, I have not been in this house yet, when it has rained like this. And I remember how new this is, what a short time ago it seemed like things would not change even though I knew they would, they always do. Timelines may be short or long, but everything moves, eventually. 3. I lowered every expectation I had of myself today. Best strategy ever for feeling satisfied, getting more done, a measured pace, and connection with others. 4. Things are trying to speed up and I'm not ready. More time for rest and reflection please, my body is clearly not done processing yet. I decided my new year doesn't actually start until next weeks new moon. 💛🌑 At least. 5. Some things I do not have words for. Still. Maybe ever.

#fivethingsfriday

37/#40daysofstillness My lungs were craving some space and ribs longing to expand and shoulders wanting to remember there’s another way to be than curled in. And, on this dark morning, I wanted some sweetness, some joy. I went for it, this bodily strategy, knowing my general tolerances and mobility and what my structure sometimes likes (see second photo.) and it was too. much. My heart rate started kicking up, and I stayed with it. Am I ok? Yes. Is everybody* safe? Literally, yes. There is no danger here. And I waited. To see if calm would come. It didn't. My brain moved with my heart, picture memories today, one after another, a surprise to my mostly verbal imagination. And after just a few minutes, it was clear. Thank you body, for feeling it out, and no, we don't have to stay here. Yes, we can keep learning about what's too much and what's too little, and how to move into an intention without pushing. I got up and carefully repositioned the blanket under my ribs, smoothing and folding for a softer opening. Gentle, gentle. This. Yes. Every part of me sank, my heart cradled in its contractions rather than jumping about, my breath easier, my shoulders and neck and low back able to widen. An easy contentment rose up with my easier heart. My original intent, to make my own sunshine on this cloudy, balmy day, fulfilled. *I talk to my body like a community; joints and tissues as people. They talk back too, just not always in words. 😉

#40daysofstillness

35/#40daysofstillness My morning dose went undocumented. This was one of those days that felt like a week, not because it was a slog, but because so much happened. This morning was so long ago, and I was so fidgety. I landed in one position and stayed for maybe a minute, and rolled to another - and felt the urge to move again a few breaths later. There wasn’t any edge to it, no frustration, my body just wasn’t done moving quite yet. That seems to have been addressed by the movement of the day and now I don’t want to move at all. Feeling my breathing, the weight of the covers, the comfort of my pillow against my cheek, feeling the sense of not-moving, until sleep comes. 😴

#40daysofstillness

34/#40daysofstillness I'm starting to feel the pull to write about movement practice again. I think this is a direct result of getting more rest, and my body drinking it in. This sweet post-movement flop brought me deeply in touch with my abdominal pulse, with length and space in my lumbar spine - and with an awareness of how much my body is still in process of assimilation, where I thought perhaps I had passed already to Integration. So much more to chew on, to process. Our bodies transmute: Food. Oxygen. Experiences. Given time and space, these become cells, skills, wisdom. Don’t rush the process.

#40daysofstillness

#32-33/40daysofstillness 32. It’s not that there was no stillness yesterday, it’s that the day was full, by choice. In the midst of creative somatic inquiry with a group of fellow explorers, there were moments of stillness, listening. And whether in motion or rest, in focus on my own body or in contact with others, many moments of confusion. I see the confused part of me, (am I hearing what I think I’m hearing, in sensation, in sound, in words or gesture?) and try not to color it with anything other than curiosity, and maybe, instead of feeling lost or unsure, an opportunity for delight. 33. Here I go again with someone else’s words 😉 I must be careful or I’ll make a habit of it. “Most sacraments are acts of breathtaking simplicity.” Thank you, Mark Nepo 💛 Enjoying the simplicity of stillness & a gentle focus on my breath, this basic exchange between inner and outer that ties us so deeply to our environment, atmosphere, and each other. I don’t use words like sacrament. But if I did, I might direct it toward this simple, astounding act of taking in air and breathing it out.

#32

31/#40daysofstillness Here's something interesting about the cycles of my energy. The moment I feel a flicker of energy returning, my mind begins to bound ahead. I slip from slow-moving contentment right to running at the football (one of my teacher's metaphors for enthusiasm - Charlie Brown always running, and Lucy always pulling the football away.) I'm not sure I know how *not* to throw my whole self into things. I'm not sure I know how to consider that I may land flat on my back yet again. My history says although I have examples of enjoying the excitement without losing myself, there are many more of skidding into the end of the cycle/season/year exhausted and a little stunned by my stubborn refusal to consider things might not go as planned, or that the effort might take more resources than are available, that it might not even work, or worse, be damaging because my passion has blinded me to some basic truth. Some of it is sheer, pure enthusiasm. And the darker side is built on and perpetuated by this very cycle. It's a lack of trust that I have the stamina to see the thing through. On an even deeper level, it's a fear of my mortality. With these bigger visions, do I have enough years left to build what I intend to leave? At least I now know there are cycles, and when I arrive in a natural need for rest or an overexerted depletion, I trust that the energy will return. But something in the early excitement fears the lull. I wonder if there's a way that myself in every part of the cycle can know and respect the self that is coming or going, in order to run more carefully and steadily, in order to feel the opportunity to pause and evaluate, to change course if necessary? I wonder if it's possible not to lose the excitement or enjoyment in the process? (I've asked myself this question before, and I've answered it positively. And my need to ask it again means I am still learning.) This is not what I was thinking about, lying in rest this morning. This musing was the result of the feeling the spark of energy returning, and watching my mind leaping to all the incredible uses for a body that's alive and ready and willing to work. #iampracticing

#40daysofstillness #iampracticing

30/#40daysofstillness “Rest is the conversation between what we love to do, and how we love to be.” Thank you David Whyte. I’ve always resisted pairing a photo of my personal practice with someone else’s words. Even those I feel as truth, like these. I love David Whyte, but what does he or anyone else know about what’s really going on in my body and my mind at this moment, when this photo was taken? It feels disingenuous. But then, there is the pull, in this moment, of the work I love that drew me today, on what’s supposed to be a day off, when I am trying to draw good boundaries around downtime and rest. And there is the knowing opposite tug, from the part of me that knows I am at my best in this work I love, I am how and who I love to be, when I am rested. And so here I am, trying to rest, and thinking about work, noticing facial muscles attempt to make an expression that goes with a thought, other muscles too, rushing to engagement from mere words in my head. So what does David Whyte know? Probably a lot actually. Belly down is one my my most favorite ways to rest, something about it lulls my active mind into submission more quickly and reliably. Needed tonight.

#40daysofstillness

29/#40daysofstillness A glimpse of the still-present moving-house chaos just out of frame - so like the frequent feeling looming just at the edges of my focus, just at the border of my skill, just at the bottom of the ever-expanding lists. This time is for not-counting or wishing. For acknowledging the chaos, and releasing it of its weight. Chaos or calm, same-same? That's equanimity, and I so rarely achieve it. But these moments make it feel possible, to love the mess, to welcome the sound of the washing machine (and the spinning sheets, as a massage therapist, always washing sheets!) and oh, now that it's stopped, easier to welcome the sound of the wind chimes. To be able to hear, to differentiate, to have a body with opinions! And a body that still feels the residual sensation of movement and play, the low hum along my spine and ribs, the heaviness of arms and legs, the ease of a fuller breath and the widening at my back. A body that contains and holds crunchy knee and sweet breath and capability and possibility and enjoyment and disappointment all. Thank you body. 💛✨

#40daysofstillness

And then there was this also at the tail end of 2014, in future plans: “Create a cooperative of healers/teachers” The roots of @durhambodywork. To the humans who heard of this in it’s earliest soft-focus dream stages, my old mastermind crew @saralehoullier, @kyliewriteshere, @katselvocki, @eirheartyoga, friends and fellow creatives @eyeofthemagpie, @alliemullin @elkbio & so many others; to the women who built this with me, @meganebj, @hayleybooterbaugh, and @gabeesland, and to @thaddeushunt from behind the scenes, Thank you for holding me in the dreaming and visioning, the learning and the leading, thank you for sharing your perspectives and skills, thank you for building with me, growing with me. @durhambodywork became a living thing in part because you are who you are. 💛✨

Reflections from Unravel Your Year (an annual ritual, thanks to @alliemullin for introducing me, and to @susannahconway for making & gifting this every year) At the end of 2014, I wrote this to the me of right now: "Dear Love, You are on the right track, and you know it. By this time, you also know that much of this journey is cyclical, and I probably don't need to say you will continue to meet your humanity again and again over these next years. But be assured, just as you've released a measure of your attachments to outcomes and approval, you can and will begin to shed other addictions over time. They will lighten their hold with continued attention, awareness, and commitment. You are mutable. The most important thing you can do is make space to be present with yourself, resuming your regular practices and journaling, and managing your mood by getting enough rest, getting outside, and monitoring your energy levels. Trust your heart. Trust what enlivens and excites you, and trust that calm, stable, true center. This, you know, is the most important work you can do. By making more space for yourself, you can soften your needs for stimulus and distraction. By trusting and creating space, you can spend more time in that calm center - gain tolerance for the times when it feels inaccessible - and do more of what enlivens you. By creating supportive structures, you'll create even more space, for success in your stated missions, a stable income, and continued growth (inner&outer). In three years time, once again you'll be in awe of how far you've come and all that has brought you here. You'll have the community you seek and a solid sense of your responsibility; a stable, grounded humility from which to serve; and an impact that comes largely from allowing people to witness who you are. Keep up the good work. Keep practicing. Create the space you need. All is coming. Love, Me" If ever I doubt myself, the me of 3 years ago has proven wise. 2017 has been hard in some deep, heart wrenching ways. And this IS practice. Messy. Human. Showing up, even when I *know* I am stumbling - this is the only way to learn. We cannot avoid all the damage we do, to ourselves an

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25/#40daysofstillness Waning coals, waxing moon above. Beginnings and endings all wrapped up together, always. Love to all of us, for all of it. 🎶Rosie Thomas, Tired. The sensory report: the radiating, flickering warmth reaches everywhere but my toes; still the cold compresses this circle from the outside in. The occasional shift in air current throws a blast of heat in my face and I turn my cheek for a moment until it passes. My skin smells like smoke. I sing a bit, absentmindedly, these songs that are a part of our cells after so long. I bend and place a gloved hand on the rocks, soaking it in. My thigh bones feel like long charred logs, and the parts of my body that face away start to call for their own time facing the coals. My mind is quiet: I’m all body, all sensing, all enjoyment, for a few sweet moments.

#40daysofstillness

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