Movement, home, alone?

The land for miles around where we live is littered with my graves. 

The tree I danced underneath last year, showered with blossom; the hill where I sang to the rising sun; the dark ground I pawed at in anguish; the cliff edge where I wept and rocked myself back into connection; the favourite bit of woodland, far from any houses and good for when I need to shout aloud; the copper beech I sit with so often that it feels like a mentor.

They feel like grave sites because every time I go through something in movement practice, it seems a part of me dies. Even when something new is born. I pass by those places, and see the ghost of an Adam who lived before. I’ve changed.

But our living room is an on-going prayer garden, where I die and resurrect over and over. I have Maria-Carin to dance with, or the occasional friend, where we learn again how to love. The whole spectrum is there, from relatively inconsequential micro-practices that pass by like butterfly wings to desperate-or-devotional dances that turn me right around. 

Home movement practice has been a vital part of my life for thirty years. I don’t know where I would be without it. 

You? What’s true for you? 

Are you still waiting for someone to tell you what to do, or are you using the tools you already have? 

Are you loving your own company, or waiting until you have someone else to feed you a morsel?

What gets in the way of those brighter options? 

These are emergent times. That may be cause for quiet panic or steady moves. What’s your choice? 

Adam

If you’re stuck, can I help you see how to take a step? I’ve developed a coaching practice designed to help you use movement practice to specifically tackle what’s going on in your life, on your own two feet. More info here, or drop me a line if you have a question. 

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