threshold of possibility
Anya peered over the loft edge, wild auburn curls just beginning to sport grey wisps at each temple. Roommates for the long weekend at Wilbur. Me on the yoga deck, her chef-ing in the kitchen. Within 15 minutes we were sisters, her compelling Ukranian accent luring me close to my roots. Within 24 hours I was booked to share a day of rolling and dancing with 14 women coming to her Ashland farm for a four day retreat. This is what I want to say about my feet lately. I trust them like never before. They seem to know what my heart desires more than my head does. And I am following.
It was incredible to land on this self-sustaining farm, picking greens and flowers, feeding chickens and bunnies. I was even down to clean the goat head butchered and boiled for the goat tacos we had for dinner. Eyes, tongue, brains…it was all incorporated. Some of the women were living on the land Russian immigrants. I was randomly immersed in the exotic language and heart aching songs. I was the lone elder and though this role is slowly feeling more innate, it still requires a bit of adjustment on my part. The adjustment being letting go of feeling like I am 20.
Since seeing 85 year old Judy Collins at the Crest last week, Who Knows Where the Time Goes has been a constant earworm: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJeLguRecYc
The days were ceremonial. Glimpses: the dark of a teepee, tub at center….bathed, danced, shed, laughed, cried, witnessed, held, slept. Sweat lodge, created from scratch, layer of cedar over dirt floor, hauling ancestral stones to the expert fire tender, flame created from thin air, four rounds of song and prayer, call and response, tears, more laughter, ending at midnight.
And then the day I facilitated: ritual of grounding and rolling and sounding and breathing and releasing and dancing and surrendering. Didn’t sleep much, there is magic that comes with unpacking like this, an exhaustion that feels positive, an emptying that eliminates any shred of resistance.
And tonight I land at Clara to hold us in the gateways. Simply five body parts that invite us to slide into each of the rhythms. Gravity and pulse and release and ease and settling. Yes to the physical. And how the body leads us to the meaning-making mythical. This poem fell out of me this morning:
My feet walk on instinct,
stand on a threshold of possibility.
They glide into the flow: en route to what?
And how ‘bout my hips?
Where are they drawn when rhythm seduces?
Where does the pulse point them?
When my head releases into cosmic enormity,
when intuition casts a spell,
where does this fatal surrender drop me?
I take delight in my hands, divining rods,
they twitch toward truth,
pilot me on wings of destiny.
I bow to my deepest ally, the breath,
portal to the eternal,
holy gateway to the united kingdom.
I trust my feet. They have been guiding my heart with astounding clarity. How about your feet, your hips, your head, your hands....your breath? Let's move together soon. ❤️Bella