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The pagans timed this holiday well, and in Seattle most everything is blooming or leafing open now.The rhodies and azaleas splash reds and purples through the neighborhoods, blue bells intersperse in all the grasses along sidewalks and medians, dense constellations of pink dogwood flowers are following the big, white Kousa dogwood blooms. Salmon berry flowers have taken after the white Indian Plum flower procession and dot the woods in fuscia. Tulip fields paint rainbows on the country fields up north, and finally the white apple and pear tree blossoms have caught up with the cherry trees.
These fragrant, sweet smells waft in the morning air beckoning us like street vendors at an open air market.We celebrate the fertility of spring in many ways, and each day I notice some of the wildlife around me acting in peculiar ways.
A few days ago, I saw a crow holding some kind of white morsel in his mouth while he was flying over my head among a little gang of crows.High in the air, he dropped the morsel in flight and did a back flip and deftly caught it again. He appeared so pleased with himself, that he looked left and right afterward as if to see if his friends noticed his stunt.While flying with this object in his beak, he was so busy looking for his crow friends with turning his head, that he dropped his morsel and had to abandon it in order to stay with his gang. I could of sworn I saw him grimace.
The next day on my neighborhood walk, I saw another crow hanging upside down by his feet from the power lines with his wings closed and dead still.Other crows were busy flying around the area and gathering bread crumbs on a sidewalk nearby.I stopped, horrified that the odd bird was electrocuted and apparently dead and noticed he had a piece of bread still in his mouth. Perhaps he had been poisoned and dropped dead like that.
As I approached his hanging body to get a closer look, the crow came to life and dropped the object from his beak, let go of the powerline with his feet and snapped open his wings like a bat.Like a gymnast, he flipped over airborne while simultaneously catching the object and then flew toward his fellow crows!The whole time my mouth hung open.A perfect flip and catch.I hope his friends saw his cool trick.
Then a strange surprise.Earlier yesterday morning, on my hunt to find the lone bachelor mallard who has been sleeping in the tiny pool of Thorton Creek, I entered the narrow pathway toward the creek.The maple and cottonwood trees were half-way leafed out but allowed a view through the woods.Ahead of me about forty feet off the ground, I noticed two round clumps on a thin branch near a high crook of a spindly, big-leaf maple tree.At first I thought the tree had an abnormal growth clumps on it.But a grey color stood out against the mossy bark, and I realized those clumps were animals perched up there.
Not only were the round clumps fastened on a branch not much more than the diameter of broomstick, but their thin perch was directly over the shallow creek below.It would be a nasty fall to one’s death if those animals lost their balance.I crept closer.Their motionless bodies resembled fat Koala bears that passed out miraculously on a tight-rope.I imagined when they awakened they would have quite a thrill ahead of them getting down.
The higher one’s bulging belly eclipsed the little branch as well as her feet and somehow balanced with her curled tail underneath.She was precipitously flopped over the branch like a roasted marshmallow oozing on its stick with her head hanging over in the air.Her black eye mask revealed her to be an enormous raccoon.Her companion was a few feet downward on the same branch, with his wide grey back facing me, leaning back and draped into the crook angle of the branch and trunk like a swollen waterballoon. They both looked as if they were recovering from gorging an entire birthday cake after a big bag of catfood.The lower racoon definitely had a safer spot with a place to lean his back.Their disproportioned size and impeccable balance on such a narrow branch reminded me of the vervet monkeys I played with in South Africa. A vervet would pick a spot just like this that would be too difficult for a big predator to climb and curl up to sleep.Monkeys, however, were considerably smaller and lighter than these raccoons.
Were they really comfortable there?Did they get chased up there by a dog and decided to “just make do” with the situation and then fell asleep?How did they pull themselves up there?
Looking at their cramped positions, I remembered my survival walkabout trip two years ago with a small band of mostly men (one of the instructors was a woman).We made our own debris huts out of leaves and tree boughs.The first few nights were really cold and uncomfortable because we didn’t know how to make proper shelter.I remember lying and not sleeping on pokey tree roots and frosty ground until we learned to value of collecting lots of debris.It’s amazing how comfortable and warm a good, thick bed of leaves with some windbreak is in contrast to sleeping over a bare knobby tree root.I admire these raccoons in being comfortable enough anywhere that he or she can sleep soundly on a little dowel.
There is a Feldenkrais lesson where you lie on your back on a hard foam roller with your knees bent, much like lying on a log or tree.Eventually, as you get more adept at balancing and softening your spine, the roller feels comfortable to people.Some people actually become so at ease, they fall asleep and snore!After today’s exhibition, I wonder if I need to elevate my Feldenkrais lessons in comfort and balance to greater heights.
Happy May Day.
("Monkee" (vervet monkey) playing with me in South Africa.)
(Vervets "helping" me with sweeping chores at the nature preserve in South Africa)
Each morning, I look and listen in my neighborhood for spring developments.These are some highlights of what I’ve found:
First of all, in the past week or two - if you live in the Northwest, the birds have begun singing their dawn greetings as if finally, the full choir of members has arrived. Some folks in my neighborhood are all a twitter from the arrival of the merlins, (not the Wizards, but the rare kestral birds) who have been spotted mating just blocks from where I live. I saw and heard the pair this morning crying a rapid, high “KeeKeeKeeKeeKee” sound that reminded me of a flicker with a machine gun.I suppose the little neighboring birds might feel that way about the merlin, too.The merlins like to roost on top of the 120-foot Douglas fir trees.
At home, a pair of house finches has built a small, woven nest on top of the clematis vine on our porch, under the eaves with the red headed male finch making frequent trips to the nest.Our cats take turns standing guard underneath, with rapt eyes as if trying to hypnotize the roosting female to lose her balance or for the male to stumble and fall out into their paws.
One of my favorite birds, the rufous-sided towhees, have turned up in the neighborhood and are busy in the low-lying bushes.I saw a surly towhee this morning perched on the side-mirror of a parked volkswagen.He jumped and pecked wildly at the driver’s window, fighting his own reflection and territory in little fits.
And perhaps the sweetest sight for me this week has been watching a bachelor mallard duck in Thorton Creek, all alone, swimming and clucking by himself in a 10-foot pool along the narrow stream, sometimes sleeping on water-worn stump in the middle of the stream.I’d been wondering all week how a big duck like him could maneuver into such a tight spot flanked by tall trees and brush on either side with only a narrow opening.This morning, I saw him soaring over the treetops toward the creek, then tottering through towering big leaf maples and cottonwoods like a plane that’s lost its engine and then swerve precipitously down into such a dense forest.If I were on his back, I would have closed my eyes and tore a few feathers off his back with that descent. After seeing his flight, I’m convinced that mallard must be a goofy teenager. I'm wondering how he'll do with courting and hope he's thought of a more accessible spot to woo the lady mallards.
Spring is a time where so much of the world around us is waking up.I find that the dreams we’ve had over the past seasons can now begin their budding. Though, some seeds can lie dormant for many years before the right spring comes along. If we look around, spring's arousal from the long winter can inspire us to appreciate the new life, new cycles, new opportunities that nature reminds through the songs of the birds and the sweet and pungent scents of the flowers.Spring is our alarm clock to attend this season’s crop.Whether you know it or not, you’ve been dreaming of things you’d like to do, to know and to receive.The seeds of your dreams are sprouting, and now you can watch and tend this garden of yours.
In my work with the Feldenkrais Method, the awareness you bring to your life will amplify whatever you are paying to attention to.
Human beings have a tremendous gift of awareness and of creativity with our art, technology and society.We can heal and we can destroy life.The gift each of has is our attention.How we listen.How we sense and feel.How we look at the world and ourselves.Spring is the time to wake up: hear, smell, look, feel the life around you stirring.
This week in particular, I’ve noticed the return of more insects and bugs that are flying and crawling everywhere.The insects, after a long, cold sleep are hatching and as the Native Americans say, “they are following their original instructions.”They are tending to the flowers, trees, and waters. More and more flower and leaf buds emerge from their long wait, like party guests being announced at a gala ball. Swollen tulips are relieved to finally take off their green cloaks and reveal yellow and red dazzling dresses.The streets and windshields of cars are covered in golden dust from thousands of catkin flowers in the trees.There is so much for us to notice and the insects can help us pay attention.
The reflection of what you notice often reveals what your own state of mind and condition.The more you hear the alarm clock of spring, rise and greet the world, the more you may remember and find what you were dreaming about.
While I’m sure there are many wise elders who can answer the question of “What are the original instructions for the human being?” The answer I’ve heard lately from my clients surprises and fills me with joy:
I am watching the last hues of red disperse over the ocean though the warmth remains in the night air here in Mexico. The light breeze, good surfing and 82 degrees Farenheight makes for a lovely vacation in Sayulita, Mexico.
Today, I ventured near Puerta Vallerta to swim with the dolphins. I’ve encountered dolphins in the wild but I’ve always wanted to be closer to them, touch them and swim with them.This has been a dream for me for many years.Oddly enough, as soon as I stepped off the airplane, I was offered this opportunity by an eager Mexican salesman. After wheeling and dealing with me, he finally gave me a greatly reduced fee to have a "signature swim" with the dolphins for the price of enduring an afternoon of a condo sales pitch.
Despite desperate attempts by all the condo sales staff, I managed not to buy a condo and got my prized dolphin ticket. The morning of the event, I discovered my camera was broken but hoped something good might come after all this “work” to swim with these dolphins, and maybe someone would take my picture.
After a long bus ride and a ride from a sweet Mexican man who pitied me on the long walk to the facility, I arrived.
While I managed to get there early, I went to the baby dolphin viewing area and missed the boat taking that went to the special dolphin swim pool.Feeling pretty glum, I went back to the check-in and the lady assured me another boat would come for me.
After ten minutes, another boat appeared with a 400-pound sea-lion that barked happily and leapt out onto the dock right toward me, bounding like a “best-in-show” Labrador retriever with forked backed legs. I´ve never had an enormous sea-lion lumbering at me before, though he reminded me of a black bear that barged into my campsite once in the Sierras. Nor have I been so close to a sea-lion that I could smell his fishy breath. Such an experience, I was pleased I missed the earlier boat!
The dolphin swim facility was comprised of a series of deep pools with one very large pool the size of a double-wide Olympic pool. Dolphins were rolling with one another, jumping and splashing.These were the largest specie of dolphin: 8-9 feet long, bottlenose dolphins. Once we were oriented, showered and donned on our life vests, we jumped in the largest pool.Our group had two dolphins that circled and weaved in between us, letting us pet and massage them. Their skin was silky and delicate.For being so huge, they moved gently and deftly.
It’s one thing to see a dolphin jump out of the water from a distance.Close-up and at water-level, it’s a challenge to keep your mouth closed.Having a nine-foot dolphin swim under my feet and then leap out of the water one foot front of my face, fly ten feet over my head and splash land a foot away made me swallow lots of water (“Wowwwww !ughwww…gh gh gh…”).
They squealed, barked and made all kinds of sounds for us, gave me a kiss, flew out of the water in backward and forward flips, spins, stood on their back fin and swam backwards, raced in circles right past our bodies, and let the trainers “surf” on their backs or noses around the pool.
For the finale, I felt lucky to be the last to actually ride on the dolphin myself. The dolphins rolled on their backs as I held their two fins and laid stomach to stomach as we swam together around the pool. Undulating on top, I felt the true “dophin kick”!
Moshe Feldenkrais, the founder of the Feldenkrais Method often talked about his work helping people live their vowed and unavowed dreams.I find each day, as I give my unavowed dreams more and more attention, they do manifest in the wildest ways.Oddly after the swim, someone stole some money from me at the facility. The management bought me lunch and provided me with pictures of my swim for consolation for the small theft and unbeknownst to them, for my broken camera.How interesting and wonderful the way dreams turn out!
May beauty and light come to you in your dreams and may you discover what it is you have always dreamed of.
Recently, I was standing on the sidewalk with two dear friends, a husband and wife whom I’ve known for nearly 25 years.They were talking about a household issue and I watched them, noticing how their voices, faces and posture evoked a flood of memories of knowing them in different places and times.I noticed their familiar features now with a few more wrinkles and grey hairs.I wanted to shout, “Hey, here we are after all these years!Isn’t it incredible?”
But I didn’t.I just smiled and listened.I watched the memories of the three of us form like constellations that got brighter as the night sky took over.I wondered if this is what memory is:the contrast of light made by darkness, and the relationships of patterns between the points of light.
The Native Americans say that all the information we need to know in life is contained in the stars.The stars have some reservoir of all the knowledge and stories from all time.These brilliant suns, millions of light years away, are the most constant force in our existence, though they too move and die.Even the thought of a dying star is remarkable.I wondering how stars grieve for one another’s passing.When I sit outside, I often imagine what it must be like to see from a star’s perspective.
I watched my two friends and remembered them younger, living and working in different homes and cities.I remembered old clothes and fashions, diets, music, therapies and news of those times.I thought of the elephants I had seen in Africa, how they stay together in communities for their whole lives- 75 years, and imagined us as elephants. Elephants have impeccable memories.I’ve always wondered why.Perhaps because elephants need to remember where the good plants and watering holes are located, since they eat so much every day (up to five hundred pounds per day) and need to stay moving for grazing.They walk so gingerly for something that weighs more than a car, with oval, wrinkled tracks that look like an old lady’s moon face.I’ve read that elephants listen to the vibrations of the earth with their delicate feet and take nearly as long as humans do to mature into adulthood.
Perhaps I thought of the elephants because the three of us are fairly tall and the experience of looking through time is a bit like climbing a tall tree or seeing through the eyes of an elephant.I also know that the Feldenkrais Method is always fishing around with the brain and rearranging the memories I have in time.Because my body and brain changes with each new movement I explore, I look upon my entire past from a different place.And somehow, that new perspective or awareness of myself alters time.
I look back at myself twenty-five years ago and see light traveling through space.I am the same, but I have traveled—like my two friends.And here we are again, miraculously standing together again, after all that experience.Like elephants reunited after going on different journeys in the bush.
The constancy of the stars in my life is such a wonderful reminder of the memories I have.On a clear night, the sparkle and depth of the Milky Way and the millions of twinkling suns is truly remarkable.I find as I sit more quietly and settle to a still place, the light brightens and bank of memories is more visible.I know the stars have more information about time.Like a star, in miniature form, I can feel my position in the constellations of friends, family, people and all other life that share the memories and hold the awareness of one another through all time.
Another primary teacher of time for me is the stones.Every time I notice a rock on the ground, I am reminded of time and how long that stone has been alive—sometimes the stone is noticed, sometimes touched and sometimes moved.The weather, the seasons, the movement of animals and growing of plants are witnessed and recorded in that stone for hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of years.When I hold a stone in my hand, it holds a greater chip of information than all the computers on this planet combined.
Well, my time is up—at least for writing about time for now.I hope you find yourself enjoying the view and memories that you find in your position in life.And I look forward to visiting with you, wherever we meet in time.
With Feldenkrais work, I often work with people who have suffered a loss-- loss from injuries, loss of movement, loss of activities and other losses that affect people deeply.For instance losing the ability to walk is challenging and sometimes devastating.People with these losses come to work with me to learn to move again.
I had a client who has been living with so much pain that it’s painful for him to smile.The very act of smiling causes him more pain, so he grieves the loss of smiling.He hopes I can help him smile again without pain.When I see such pain and loss, I wonder where to begin.My heart aches imagining the loss of smiling.My client’s confidence in my work with the Feldenkrais Method humbles me.
And so I write about grief.
Like a good Scandinavian, grief is one of those feelings I’ve dealt with often using avoidance or distraction. I’ve studied grief, worked with people who were dying and had lots of therapy for my own losses. I have found the losses during life seem even worse than facing my own death. In an attempt to outsmart grief, I discovered early on in life that if you didn’t attach completely, you don’t feel as much loss. Though this may have seemed clever, there was certainly an inherent problem with detachment.
I remember being asked as a kid whether I could give everything up in my life- my schooling, job, family, partner, accomplishments and possessions to follow Jesus.I was told if I couldn’t do this, I wasn’t really a disciple of Christ and would go to hell.I grappled with this question for decades.At the time, even though I had practiced detachment, I couldn’t let go of everything- there was always something I needed to cling to. Even though the Buddhists and Christians seemed to advocate detachment, I was skeptical. I wondered if attachment was actually a better path.
As I sit here, I still wonder about attachment.Many studies in psychology show that children who are neglected or who don’t form adequate attachment to their mothers (or primary care providers), may suffer personality or psychological disorders as they grow up.They can heal, but it may take time to establish a healthy attachment and a sense of self.
I’ve wondered about children who are forced to let go of some “crutch” before they are ready-- such as a blanket or teddy bear, or pushed to perform something prematurely like walk or sing in public.These children may not have gotten what they needed from experiencing a solid relationship before asked to let go.The memory of these solid relationships can carry over to self-esteem and confidence, even when the physical counterpart is gone.I wonder what happens when we let ourselves fully attach and connect.In the world of Feldenkrais, we spend a lot of time feeling the deep, physical support of our bones to feel this connection with the ground and with our environment.This physical connection is essential for ease, coordination and balance. When a person is physically secure, connected and balanced, the brain is more available for more complex and creative thought. Studies have showed that for children who have been abused and in a state of insecurity and trauma, that the brain actually shuts down and shrinks.
My interest in attachment led me to a special meditation practice seven years ago with the Wilderness Awareness School called a “sit spot.” I sat outside in the same spot everyday and watched and connected with the natural world using guided instructions.As I sat outside, I discovered how to attach to the natural world. As a Feldenkrais Practitioner, I felt my brain waking up and expanding with all kinds of sensory input- sounds, smells, colors and feelings.
For someone who was an outdoors person, I was shocked to hear bird songs for the first time in my life as well as discover new plants and animals. More importantly, I felt intimately attached to everything. EE Cummings wrote about this experience,
“…i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of the trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
…now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.” (from Poem 95)
Without this vital connection to life, I could see how easily our culture had slipped into detached neglect of our water, air, land, birds, animals and people. Our culture tends to detach or forget our connections to one another.
I once visited a lecture on movement where the teacher was talking about experiments with rabbits where they spun the rabbits in a centrifuge to damage their vestibular system to see if they could learn to balance without their inner ear.One of the students raised her hand and said, “This is horrible.This is cruel and mean.”The teacher shrugged and smiled saying, “It’s just a bunny.”
Even though this is a sad story, I related to the teacher’s detachment and remember being taught to think and act in a detached way about animals, birds and plants. In my high school how our science teacher showed us the most effective way to kill a mouse with our bare hands so we could dissect it. All the students were required to kill mice and also perform a rudimentary kidney surgery on live mice. The same kind of detachment occurs when we pour toxic chemicals down our drains or clear cut a habitat that has been home for many species for centuries. I recognize this detachment in many of the psychology textbooks, even those who write about trauma and attachment.One well-respected book on trauma includes numerous citations of experiments where animals were actually tortured in order to study trauma.Imagine the detachment of the scientists and psychologists to do this.Imagine what kind of experiments these scientists would come up with if they felt vitally attached to the animals and environment they lived in.
The more I sit and connect to all life, I keep discovering many unexplored and detached areas of my life: places, people and things I have walled off from feeling.In the world of trauma, the body survives by encapsulating pain.In extreme cases of trauma, there is dissociation and detachment from feeling.To feel so much pain or trauma would be overwhelming and injurious.Many people are numb from feeling pain.
It’s sad how detachment can condone cruelty and neglect to our precious children, animals, birds, plants, sea life, fellow human beings and earth. When we are ready to connect with and attach ourselves to life, little by little, the Band-Aids can come off.With proper care, the capsules of pain and trauma can dissolve.We can heal the rawness of separation and grow our new skin.
Grieving may be the shedding and regrowing of skin.Some Native Americans say we need to grow seven layers of skin.I know I have a grown a few layers since I started my sit spot six years ago.Interestingly, the act of feeling and connecting is what heals our grief.Like the sacred nettle plant, if we look carefully, the very thing that soothes us often lives right next to whatever stung us.
So while I still feel intimidated by grief, I know there are seeds of life and vitality in the loss.Just like the giant nurse logs that lie on the floor of the Olympic Rain Forests…
“…….
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.
A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
Live with the beetle, and the wind.
This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.”
In a Feldenkrais lesson, there are moments where a small movement which is completely unfamiliar can feel terrifying. Simply placing your foot a millimeter to the left can feel like hanging on a cliff. It's hard to explain but most people have experiences of being so rooted in a habit or a pattern, that to move away from that comfortable landmark or pathway is like taking away their teddybear. Of course, this should not deter you from having a Feldenkrais lesson. I won't take away your teddybear, but perhaps because of what is learned in a Feldenkrais lesson, you may feel more confident in the event that you find yourself outside your comfort zone.
I was thinking about this the other night when I went rock climbing in the dark in bitter cold January. Now, while I'm an adventurous soul, I'm not an experienced climber. In fact, I have only climbed indoors 3 times before this adventure in the dark. This was my first outdoor climbing experience and there's nothing like doing it "in the dark."
There is something quite special about climbing on a wall straight up, enveloped in murky blackness, and just feeling the weight of gravity pulling on my chilled fingers and toes. I noticed how quickly I held my breath in response to this heavy nagging of my fingers, and had lots of despairing thoughts about my harness and the invisible rope that hopefully was firmly attached above me. The darkness seemed to make my body feel so much heavier. I couldn't believe I had gained that much weight from all the deserts I had been eating lately. I realized how faith is quite a ridiculous ambition. I mean, did I have faith in this equipment and my muscular strength? Like many times in life, there isn't a lot of choice about believing-- you just have to hope. And pray. And as Mary Oliver says, "I don't know what a prayer is, but I do know how to pay attention." I don't think I could take credit for having faith in my equipment that night.
Somehow, on two previous experiences where I climbed in the light, I trusted (somewhat) my equipment, the rope, the rock wall much better than in the dark. I noticed, in fact, that I seemed to have lost my humor as I clung there, against a half-inch bump in the 40 degree cold night. Being half-way up and clinging to a cold stone was sobering and somewhat lonely. I thought what kind of bad dream this would resemble if I was doing this without a rope.
I had vague memories of scuba diving in the dark while I clung there. I've done that too and found it comparably creepy. Night diving is probably similar to the feeling of walking into a lion's cage while looking through binoculars. The little beam of light you have under tons of water shows just a slice of the nightlife with sharks and eels and other things with big teeth that may be circling out of your sight. During my night dive, I saw big clouds of sand, boiling ten feet below from an eel slapping and jabbing near some poor sleeping fish under archway of coral. You want to keep your elbows and fingers close to you during a night dive, just in case.
A flood of memories of night-time excursions surfaced in my mind while while I noticed the numbness and weakness creeping into my muscles and bones. I experienced so many dangerous athletic feats with my family in the dark, it's remarkable we survived. Somehow we lived, mostly unscathed, and years later, all the feelings of anxiety, terror, and even dissociation came back in full color as I clung to the rock wall to assess my finger strength and sanity.
Ignorance surely can be blissful. Somehow, I had to forget those fears and memories and just find that careful, vigilant, alert self that has survived before. I returned to the solid feelings of my bones, the connection with the rock, the sense of the rope (though not trusting it entirely), and the will to be like a lizard. Somehow, these solid sensations made me shift from fear to action. I managed to feel my way up the rock face, with maybe a bit more effort than necessary, though with more connection and feeling than I expected.
I had a martial arts teacher who told me that he was terrified of the dark as a child. Somehow, he decided to conquer his fear and decided to meet the darkness every night, little by little. The first night he just opened the door and looked out for several seconds. The second night, he took a step outside and stood for a few seconds and went in. Each night, he would take one more step exploring a little bit more until he was comfortable enough to run around outside in the dark. He's never been afraid of the dark since.
This is the approach I hope to take: to meet the unknown in a way that is thrilling but not terrifying. To navigate well enough in the darkness that you know where you are and how to return to the light.
As I was sitting in the fog this morning, looking out at the crispy silver blades of grass, I marveled at how tough and resilient the grass is with all the changes of temperature, snows, rains, floods, and frosts it has endured in the past month or two here in Seattle. How does grass survive so well? What is it like to stand there, erect like that, day after day, year after year-- its roots sewn in a thick carpet in the soil? Incredible really.
I listened to the boistrous chirps of the black-masked juncos as they hopped in the bare trees, and the piercing cries of the big flickers roosted on the top of a nearby spruce and wondered if I will ever be able to see more of the invisible forces that influence my decisions and direction. What forces influence a whole flock of starlings to turn north in an instant and land on the same spruce?
Somehow, maybe the grass told me, that if I could see what was "invisible", I would know everything. And the thought of really knowing everything, seeing everything, hearing everything, sensing everything felt comparable to a child being told the truth about Santa Claus. What would happen to me? Who would I be then, if I somehow was privy to the knowledge of everything?
I'm pretty sure, the mysteries of life would be over and I'm not sure living would be very much fun or interesting at all. What would happen to curiosity? to play? to creativity? I can't imagine anyone would want to be my friend if I knew Everything. I must admit, I did try to learn Everything for quite a while in college and post-college studies. Of course, I had a few peak a-ha's now and then, but have found myself at the foot of the mountains these days.
I was thinking how special it is to receive love, to receive beauty, to receive every moment of what comes to me. Would there be any sense of time or space without this mystery?
Perhaps the best gift of all is embracing the unknown. Very different experience than conquering it. It's the difference of floating or fighting the water.
The other day during a Feldenkrais lesson I had an insight while I was touching a client. I felt clear that I truly did not know what they are doing and let myself just be curious. I often do this, but that day was different. While being in the unknown is what I've been taught to do, somehow, when you are taught something, you begin to believe you Know Something. But this day, I was aware that I truly didn't know and may never quite know- on a very basic level. I let my curiosity take over, just as I would visiting a foreign country. I felt how touching them is an honor to visit them and experience with them how they move their leg, their arm. My interest and genuine appreciation of their body made a shift in bringing more of themselves into their movement. I watched and marveled at how they could involve so many areas of themselves into a movement. My curiosity grew as I wondered about various functions and movements and kept the exploration going in this way with my client. It's a mystery to me, after all these years, how we learn to move.
Like the birds in their flock, suddenly turning north or east, in response to some invisible force and connection, I am reminded of how I feel when I am "doing Feldenkrais work."
I don't know how to teach this way of connecting with our curiosity and wonder if the attempt of teaching at all takes us further from the experience that Feldenkrais fosters. That original play that Fred Donaldson fosters. They both take us out of the known and throw us into the big ocean of discovery.
I recently attended Fred Donaldson's workshop, "Original Play" in Seattle during our first sunny weekend in many, many weeks. Mr. Donaldson has spent 30 years playing with children and wild animals in a way that enforces safety, love and deeper connection with all life. Despite spending the weekend indoors, I found myself engrossed in playing with adults and children on mats and inspired by stories about playing with wolves, lions, bears, rhinos and dolphins.
One of my clients compared Donaldson's work to that of Moshe Feldenkrais. I believe this is a true comparison. Authentic Play connects people of all ages and all walks of life at their deepest level of awareness. We connect through play to life and curiosity. It takes tremendous presence to stay in the place of curiosity and love and Fred does this elegantly and simply. His actions demonstrate his expertise. He has rules which help maintain safety and a quality of love throughout the play: no hitting, kicking, tickling, biting or grabbing. Generally, no talking other than laughing or fun play noises. Men and big people need to stay on the bottom and low to the ground for safety, especially when playing with children. His martial arts background in Aikido is added bonus in his work, but he attributes the children and animals in his life as his main teachers. Since I also have a background in Aikido and other martial arts, I can see the application of Aikido, but his work goes way beyond any schools of Aikido.
There was a point in the workshop where we were all playing on the mats and one of the participants was playing too aggressively for me. I felt unsafe around her and actually left the mat. I even felt angry that I felt unsafe. I watched Fred and when he saw this participant acting too roughly, he patted her once to point it out to her and stroked her lovingly. She nodded and tried to play softer. I wasn't sure I could play with this participant at the time and waited until she left the mat before I re-entered.
After reflecting for a while, I realized that I didn't know how to relate to this participant's aggression without feeling aggressive myself. I didn't know I could act loving toward her, because I couldn't "love" the aggression she mirrored in me. I had worked hard to hide the aggression or repress it, and now, I felt aggression-- even if I wasn't acting on it. After a little while, I realized how beautiful it was that this person was showing something I didn't want to see in myself-- that I felt aggressive just like they did. And then, I could forgive myself for feeling aggressive and remember all the times I had been aggressive.... Watching Fred, I felt the love that sees myself there struggling with aggression, trying hard to play. I knew I was no better or worse than any other aggressive person out there. And Fred's embrace of this person was healing to watch. I could see the possibility of myself at some point authentically embracing those parts of myself I saw in others with a firm love and tenderness. Without judgment or trying to change them. With a true understanding of how it feels to feel aggression or anger, and how it is to love oneself anyway-- in that very situation. This love an amazing and revolutionary thing to witness. Fred's message is that children teach us and remind us how to love like this and how to connect to love through playing like this.
For several decades now I have studied healing of all sorts. This kind of play that Fred was doing was more disarming and unraveling than any therapy I had experienced. He was mentoring loving connection through touch.
At one point, after I decided to get on the mat, I hoped to open myself to the children there as a "safe" playmate to connect with. I slowly crawled out into the middle of the mat. I thought to myself, "it would be such a sign if one of these kids felt safe enough to play with me like they do with Fred." Not more than a few seconds later, a little boy jumped on my back and sat there, leaning a little left and right and I swayed with him. We both giggled as we crawled, wobbled and weaved through the other bodies around us. I was honored with his trust and received more love and affection in those few minutes than I ever dreamed possible.
I'm still savoring that feeling of connection and looking forward to many more experiences.
There is a practice within the Feldenkrais Method where you follow a movement pattern a person has to know it well before attempting to go off into a new direction. If their leg rolls easist to the right, you explore in detail how that pathway feels to the right before going to the left. The purpose is to be clear to recognize what habitual pattern you are doing and who you have been before you go off and make something new. With a clear comparison, you can discern whether the new exploration is better than the old habit.
Many people are making their New Year's Resolutions.
How do we know what we are deciding to change will be better for the future? Some of our decisions may impact us for a long time. How can we know we are acting with the highest good in mind?
The question of "Who are You and What are you doing?" is pretty darn big when you start referencing who you are with everything around you. The larger you extend your awareness, the more you will act with greater influence and hopefully, positive influence.
If you sit still outside and try to find who you are and how you connect to the trees, the stars, the air, the earth, the little plants, the insects, the birds, and the animals something happens. You can somehow locate yourself and how you fit into the enormous jigsaw puzzle of creation all around you. And how every little movement, every little breath, every little thought and feeling makes a ripple into that puzzle. And you can begin to notice, to feel every wisp of air moving toward you, feel the sun peaking out of the clouds, hear the song of robin making its way into your ears, smell the wet grass after a melting snow wafting into your nose, and feel the softness of the soaked earth under the weight of your sitting bones..
Receiving these sensory ripples of everything outside your body is the gateway between "you" and "that". The more you feel this magical connection between "you" and "that", the more you will act in a harmonious and healing way with world around you.
If we experience only our thoughts without feeling the ripples outside us, how do we know who we are? How can we know?
I'm grateful to use the Feldenkrais work to amplify the experiences of living in a human body, with the enormous gift of imagination and creativity that we have been given. As humans, our brains can put a "spin" on the sensory input and ripples we are feeling from the outside. Sometimes our imagination can go crazy. We can get a bit overdramatic and downright neurotic with fear, worry, and obsession.
Coming back to the ground is humbling but also the beginning of sanity. Literally sensing these basic essentials of what life is about and where we came from can be the best therapy I know. (Not to say that other therapies aren't helpful, too!) I read the newspaper and think our people often forget the common ground we live in. If we just sat still and felt, really felt, all those pieces of the puzzle that define us, that support us, that nourish us and give us everything we have ever had, wouldn't we act with a bit more appreciation for any gift we receive? Every breath. Every step. Every bite. Every smile. Every handshake. Every hug.
Blessings to you all for being part of the immense puzzle and for the ripples you make. I look forward to the beauty I see from you and all our relations in the coming year.
Greetings to all and Thanks, One of my clients brought me a Thanksgiving present today and shared her gratitude for our work together. I was so touched and reminded that this holiday which is often about mass consumption for many in our culture, is such an opportunity to reflect over the many blessings that we have. With the economy going into a downward spiral, people are in a state of fear over losing their quality of life and security. I'm thankful in the midst of these uncertain times that there is so much beauty, love and companionship in the world. The Wilderness Awareness School has an awareness practice called the Thanksgiving Address which is something they take time to do everyday, in meetings and events in order to remind ourselves of who and where we are, and to be grateful for everything that is around us. The sunshine, the moon, the earth, the stars, the rain, the mountains, the grass, the birds, fellow human beings- our families, friends, co-workers, neighbors, ancestors. So many animals who teach us how to live and survive in different ways. There are many invisible forces that guide us with intuition and other ways, often saving us from harm or death. As a Feldenkrais Practitioner, I am in gratitude for all the intelligence the human body has been given- with our enormous cerebral cortex and capacity to think and problem-solve abstractly. The creative genius and marvels of our species to design technology and make incredible art and music. These miracles of creation and capacity for learning really inspires awe in me and gratitude. When I watch a client learn an easier way to move that is lighter and elegant, I am touched. I hope any who read this receives the full blessings of this human existance and also rises to your full capacity to love and share your gratitude to all your relations.
In peace and gratitude, Annie (a little gift below... from the Glacier Peak area- in the Cascades) (cool tracks, can you guess what the middle circular track is between the foot prints? Do you know what animal this is? Can you imagine how big he or she is?)
Annie Thoe is Feldenkrais® Practitioner and Assistant Trainer in the Feldenkrais Method®. She has 23 years of bodywork experience and has her Feldenkrais practice in Woodinville and Seattle, WA. Ms. Thoe provides functional movement lessons to people of all ages: children with disabilities and injuries, adults, athletes and performers. She has an extensive background with applying the Feldenkrais Method for clinical and sports injuries, chronic pain, and many years experience teaching clinical massage, numerous modalities of bodywork and kinesiology. She teaches Feldenkrais® seminars, clinics, consults for businesses with ergonomics, and mentors Feldenkrais Practitioners and students. She is also on the Board of Directors for the Wilderness Awareness School in Duvall, Washington. She has an extensive background in martial arts, sports and music. Her naturalist study combined with the Feldenkrais Method brings a global application of awareness and movement to higher action.
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