The year was 2003. I returned to Esalen exactly a year after my one hour random 5Rhythms experience there at Huxley.  An hour that flung me head on to a year of Tuesday night practice in Sacramento.

Holding dance space in tumultuous times is a sensitive endeavor. And I learned  long ago that I cannot please everybody. 

To tell you the truth I’m really struggling with reality these days.  A certain amount of my perception stems from how my brain interprets information.  Data it receives from the outside world. The balance of my understanding comes from direct experience, messages from my internal world.  My inner compass.  Feet on the ground, breath in the belly, visceral impressions.  Instinct.  Intuition.  An inside job.

The other night, in a closing circle of 30 students, I asked for a show of hands.  “Raise your hand if right now you are experiencing an absolutely pain free body.” Not one hand rose up. 

Sometimes I fantasize about being blissfully unaware. But once the cat is out of the bag, there’s no turning back. We start to listen to the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and why we behave the way we do. 

It was a hard week for me.   Maybe it was for you, as well.  The literal weight of the world was dragging me down.  But for me, engaging in practice offers a guaranteed prescription for deliverance. And I was full weighted on Sunday.

When I returned to Sacramento there was a Tuesday night 5R class to attend.  My week began to emotionally organize itself around Tuesday.  My body, heart and mind continued to treat patients at Dreizler Physical Therapy and, on a subterranean level, my soul and spirit began to integrate the rhythms into every facet of my being. 

Fast forward to the watershed moment that happens in the fourth decade for so very many of us.  That moment we wake up and realize that we are mortal. 

Last Sunday was the Black Dance, which has been a thing here in Sac at least 15 years.  Maybe more.  The room was draped in darkness and Meaghan Williams was laying down the beats.

Two days in a row, two patients with the oh-so-common complaint of foot pain. In treatment we always begin with the loudest complaining body part.  And feet were the screamers. 

Last week on retreat at Green Gulch I heard this oft told dharma tale.  The story goes like this: before Buddha was Buddha he was a Nepalese prince.  A privileged young man who stepped from a life of ease into full on spiritual practice.

The bed is so warm.  My heart feels so chill.  Not a single bone wants to rise and meet this day. Eventually I drag my butt onto pillow, set timer, sit upright. 

That mystery was a non-negotiable signal: time to let go.  Let go of any harbored agenda about what needed to happen.  Let go of any particular practices to teach.  Let go of any and all expectations.  Because by now I know this one thing to be true: there are certain times I need to land in the space, feel what is needed, offer that and only that.  And this was one of those times.

I knew Gabrielle had mapped the path of the wounded healer.  I had read about it but this past week I had the opportunity to dance it.  To embody it.  To feel into the utter truth of it. 

Life imitates art imitates life imitates art.  And I absolutely count on that.

The word "cure" came from the Latin "cura," meaning "care" or "concern."  When the French incorporated cura into their lexicon, it morphed into "curer," which meant "to care for" or "to heal."  That leap---from concern to heal---feels like a philosophical  bridge I’ve negotiated over a lifetime in the healing arts.

It was a Palm Springs conference in the 90’s when anthropologist Angeles Arrien, spoke directly to my soul. Her lecture topic:  commonalities across indigenous cultures in the art of healing.  There was one custom that connected several cultures.  A person seeking medical attention would go to the village shaman who opened the healing session with this inquiry:

Insight sometimes materializes in chapters.  Know what I mean?  Themes show up this way and that.  Connective threads emerge in your face.  Sometimes it takes several aha moments to anchor insight into reality.  Today, with gratitude, I write about a wisdom kernel received from you, my physical therapy patients. A recurrent theme all summer long.

This is a month dedicated to stopping. I have been very quiet, mostly at home or camping. It is not my usual state of being. And it feels good. Feels right. Feels needed. And this emerged today:

Back in 2020-22, with Covid raging away, I taught “not your standard” yoga weekly on line.  An interesting interlude we were grateful to share.  The final 55 classes, became an ambitious dive into experiential anatomy.