A couple of weeks ago, I held a singing bowl relaxation for a local charity at this beautiful retreat centre. It was so good to be there to help support an amazing group of women. It was also amazing on another level.
A dozen or so years ago, my life completely shifted direction right here in this room. In fact, the spot it happened is just to the left of the stack of cushions in the foreground.
I was training to be a massage therapist and we came to this retreat centre for a long weekend residential. One night, we were encouraged to join in a movement session. I wasn’t keen. Not because I don’t like dancing (I love it) but because I was scared. Why scared? I hadn’t ever been very good at exposing myself to the unknown. I liked to know what was coming or if I’d be any good at it (I’d only take part if I thought I wouldn’t get it wrong). Now I know it’s because I'd built safety measures into my life in a wonky handed way of trying to keep ‘safe’ but back then I didn’t understand that.
So I avoided the session by eating too much supper and deciding I wouldn’t go. The friend leading the session asked me to come anyway, and somewhat inevitably, my need to please her overrode my need to avoid something I didn’t know. So I relented.
I knew I’d hate it. My head was pretty noisy with all the reasons why this was a ridiculous thing to do. I knew it was going to make me cringe and my poor little nervous system was on alert. But then it started. The curtains were drawn, the room was dark, we were invited to close our eyes, clear out our thinking with a Breath of Fire breathing technique, and then the beat dropped in. That was it. Something shifted.
Over the next couple of hours I became my own guide. With the rhythm and the beat driving us all forward, eyes closed, in the dark, I realised how loud my head was and for the first time ever in my life I found a flicker of compassion for it. I followed the instruction of my friend; noticed my thoughts and put the feeling into movement. I got indigestion from all of the food I’d shoved down to avoid this moment and I managed to laugh at my self sabotage. I noticed where feelings were in my body and I explored them. I stomped, shook, and got lost in the driving beat. I launched into other worlds of place, time, memory, and dreaming. All that I struggled with, I just let it unwind into the music. Once I’d moved, I noticed I’d become really, really still and in the stillness of the driving beats, I found a massive reserve of love, compassion, and relief.
We dropped to the floor to rest as the singing bowls helped us come back into ourselves, and as we settled, I sobbed right on that bit of carpet by the stack of cushions in the photograph. For a girl who would rather have imploded rather than cry in public, I just wept and wept. I quietly wept with relief. I wept because for the first time in my life, I knew I was totally fine. I really was just fine as I was. I didn’t need changing. I wasn’t lacking. I saw I had just had a lot to deal with and that I hadn’t yet found a way to process it, or move it, transmute it, clear, or even feel any of it properly until that night in that room next to the river, the massive tress, and the huge night sky.
That night I decided that this thing I’d just done (whatever it was) was the path for my life and I needed to do it all of the time.
Later I learned I had stumbled into somatic movement- connecting inside, to the inner senses, becoming aware of sensations in the body, exploring, allowing the body to move as it needs to, encouraging the body to rediscover it’s innate wisdom. A way of being in the body without moving in the direction of any particular outcome- just allowing whatever needs to arise to come through and be expressed. That could be memories, struggles, pain, confusion, trauma, grief, loss, inertia, overwhelm, burnout, hope, creativity, playfulness, celebration, possibility, questions, emotions- just anything that needs to be seen, explored, or asked about. This process could look like lots of movement, or it can be imperceptible to someone watching. It might look like utter stillness whilst the person is in fact travelling at light speed through their own inner universes. Just trusting the body to show us the way and letting our imaginations create new paths for us, all centred and seated in our newly discovered compassionate hearts. This is what we do on a Friday morning at Clear Space. Fridays at 10am: Moving Meditation is a women only session. I do run open sessions too- so keep an eye out for those too.
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