i have not written here in FOREVER. there is my perception of time for ya. a few days/weeks/months all might equate to my mental timeline of forever. lately my mind has been reliving and reliving and reliving - right in the middle of the moment. i have been far and away. i spend the NOW regretting, replaying, and regurgitating the PAST while simultaneously lamenting what seems to be the most certain and fated FUTURE. and where am I? i have tuned out - unable to be present because i am multi-tasking in the past and future with such whole-hearted commitment. ahhhh enough.
BUT, i have not written in this bloglette in FOREVER because i have not had any epiphanies while running these days. i have not experienced "everything making sense" at the time. what i have experienced is the absolute relief and bliss of clearing my head. i have been willing to wake up and run, run sans sleep, run sans sun, run in the rain, run in thick mud - because of the ease with which i can NOT think.
my mind stops focusing, fixing, and negotiating with my imaginary conversation partners and i just run... i am not thinking of anything. it is like respite care for the compulsive thinker. it is a break. my mind goes empty and i feel present and altogether whole, present, and FULL.
that's why i haven't written for so long. there was, delightfully enough, nothing to say. thank gOd.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
what we in our bones
The other day I went swimming, in order to live into New Years commitment to get back into the water. I was raised swimming, competitively. I was one of those kids who had a permanent tan line all year round because I think the suit and the chlorine just stains your skin, even more than the sun. That's just my theory. I am totally comfortable in the water. I swim without having to think about what I am doing. I can speed up, slow down, breathe, change strokes, flip over, without having to consciously plan it out in advance. I am grateful for my ease in the water because I know that many people are actually frightened in the water and it takes an enormous amount of menal energy to get their body to float.
I taught swimming lessons in high school. The youngest kids, as always, were the most open to anything. And the older you got, the more anxiety was associated with simply being in water, to say nothing of putting your head in the water.
Back to my swimming the other day. I am in my customary active conversation with myself while swimming when I noticed a huge German Shepherd walk on the pool deck. No, not the Pope, an actual canine. And there was a person attached to the dog. A woman who appeared to be in her 40's, who appeared to be totally blind. Another woman, unattached to anyone, casually came around and tied the brilliant dog to the lifeguard chair at the edge of the pool and slowly took it's place as the protective and loving guide for this woman, blind. Very slowly the two humans slid into the water, physically unattached. Despite the woman's blindness I did not want to stare...but my mind began to gawk, stare, and focus my imagination on what a surreal experience it must be for this blind woman to be unattached -- completely. Her feet not grounding her and attached by gravity, her vision not grounded by the dog and attached by her hand and absolute trust and loyalty. She was weightless in water and attached only to the pressure of the water that held her up all around...the assurance that the water would protect and keep her, as long as she trusted it's purpose and function - she floats. And she did. The other woman, who "sees" did not hold her hand or guide her. She seemed to just talk to her acting as a boundary of sound, and I imagine, a loving set of eyes to make sure she was okay.
It was amazing to think about. I have a hunch there is much for me to learn from it as I can hardly stop thinking about it. Makes want to get back in the water, shut my eyes, and FEEL what it means to float, to be attached to all this glorious water all around, holding and keeping me.
Honestly, that one sappy guy is right -- our body in a wonderland.
I taught swimming lessons in high school. The youngest kids, as always, were the most open to anything. And the older you got, the more anxiety was associated with simply being in water, to say nothing of putting your head in the water.
Back to my swimming the other day. I am in my customary active conversation with myself while swimming when I noticed a huge German Shepherd walk on the pool deck. No, not the Pope, an actual canine. And there was a person attached to the dog. A woman who appeared to be in her 40's, who appeared to be totally blind. Another woman, unattached to anyone, casually came around and tied the brilliant dog to the lifeguard chair at the edge of the pool and slowly took it's place as the protective and loving guide for this woman, blind. Very slowly the two humans slid into the water, physically unattached. Despite the woman's blindness I did not want to stare...but my mind began to gawk, stare, and focus my imagination on what a surreal experience it must be for this blind woman to be unattached -- completely. Her feet not grounding her and attached by gravity, her vision not grounded by the dog and attached by her hand and absolute trust and loyalty. She was weightless in water and attached only to the pressure of the water that held her up all around...the assurance that the water would protect and keep her, as long as she trusted it's purpose and function - she floats. And she did. The other woman, who "sees" did not hold her hand or guide her. She seemed to just talk to her acting as a boundary of sound, and I imagine, a loving set of eyes to make sure she was okay.
It was amazing to think about. I have a hunch there is much for me to learn from it as I can hardly stop thinking about it. Makes want to get back in the water, shut my eyes, and FEEL what it means to float, to be attached to all this glorious water all around, holding and keeping me.
Honestly, that one sappy guy is right -- our body in a wonderland.
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