Last Thursday I woke up at 2, after only 4 hours of sleep. Luckily I did not have any clients scheduled. By the early afternoon, I was totally loopy. I shouldn't have been driving, but I had some errands to run, and on my way home, I drove by my house but didn't turn in to park my car because I was too distracted by what I saw. Or more accurately what I did not see.
As I passed my driveway, I momentarily panicked as I thought, "Crap, where's my car?!"
And just as soon as the thought ended, I realized that I was in my car. Obviously.
I had to laugh.
And then I had to take a nap.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, September 25, 2009
death, luna breath, or just bad drivers....
Yesterday I'm driving in Seattle, and a cop car begins to pull out in front of me, causing me to slam on my breaks just inches away from hitting it. Everything on my front seat flies forward onto the floor, and I feel as though my heart has leaped out of my chest. If a car had been behind me, I would have been rear-ended. The cop car stops, allowing me to continue. After I give the cop the evil eye, I do continue. And less than two minutes later, another car pulls out in front of me. I don't need to slam on my breaks this time, but wtf? And then it happens again , and I think, "What the hell is going on here? It's as if they don't see me. Am I dead? I'm half-serious and half-laughing at myself as I ponder this. I come to the conclusion that I'm not dead, but I may have been doing the luna breath without realizing it. This is a type of breath taught my Emilie Conrad, who developed Continuum Movement. It's a type of breath that makes people less aware of your presence, and you're not supposed to use it while driving. Seriously. Apparently it's been used as a form of protection, but if used while driving, it can be dangerous. But maybe I wasn't luna breathing, and certainly I was not dead. So maybe that cop and the other two cars were just bad drivers. Plain and simple. But oh how boring of an explanation that would be!
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Last Night of My Twenties
Sitting in Johnny Picasso’s in Anacortes for Open Mic. Tonight’s the last night of my twenties.
I certainly hadn’t pictured myself here on this night. But here I am. And I’m glad. So what if I’m not out dancing the night away to say goodbye to my twenties? It’s not like I’ll never dance in my thirties. Surely I’ll be dancing even more. And sometimes what we picture isn’t meant to be. Sometimes what happens instead is even better.
Some beautiful flute music just ended. Actually a duet. Flute and keyboard. And it moved me deeply, nearly to tears.
The girl sitting near me says to the musicians, “That was beautiful; it made me want to cry.”
“Me too,” I say. “I felt like crying. In a good way.”
A couple of minutes later though and I’m almost laughing. Not from the music, but from what I see when I flip open the Clamdigger to my ad. I had been thinking I’d cut my ad out and tape it up on the wall next to my qigong brochure that Trish had taped up. But I can’t cut out my ad, because somebody’s marked it up, and I couldn’t be happier about that. There’s a star at the top of the ad, a circle around “CranioSacral Therapy,” and my phone number’s been circled and starred too. This makes me smile. Especially because of the attention given to CranioSacral Therapy.
And now, thanks to that little business-related confidence boost, and thanks to some funky keyboard music, I feel a 2nd wind coming on. So maybe I will go dance the night away up in Bellingham, or at least back in my living room.
* * *
During my walk home, I think I’m going to get in my car and drive north. But the moon catches my eye and won’t let go. Unless something obstructs my vision, I can’t take my eyes off of this moon. It’s full, or about to be tomorrow night.
I was born on a full moon. I think about this as I continue walking. Thinking back to being in the womb, ready to come out into this world.
I’m so entranced by the moon and distracted by thoughts of my birth that I almost walk past my house. When I realize this, I think “so what?” and keep walking. I walk through the courtyard of the Depot Arts Center and out to the marina.
There’s a movement in one of the forms of Qigong I teach called “Qui Er Gazing at the Moon,” in which we imagine gazing up at the moon. So that’s what I want to do.
I want to practice Kuan Yin Standing Qigong out by the water, in the actual (not imagined) moonlight. And so I do.
Instead of dancing with a bunch of sweaty drunk people at a club, I dance with the qi and the moonlight and the rocks of the beach beneath my feet. I feel free and alive. And, man, it feels good.
So this is how I say goodbye to my twenties. And if I hadn’t gone to Johnny Picasso’s for open mic, I probably wouldn’t have gone for a walk. If I hadn’t gone for a walk, it’s quite possible I wouldn’t have noticed the moon. And if I hadn’t noticed the moon, it wouldn’t have been able to call me out to the sea for this exquisite exchange of qi. So thank you, Johnny Picasso’s. And thank you, twenties; these past ten years have been quite a ride, quite a ride indeed.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I certainly hadn’t pictured myself here on this night. But here I am. And I’m glad. So what if I’m not out dancing the night away to say goodbye to my twenties? It’s not like I’ll never dance in my thirties. Surely I’ll be dancing even more. And sometimes what we picture isn’t meant to be. Sometimes what happens instead is even better.
Some beautiful flute music just ended. Actually a duet. Flute and keyboard. And it moved me deeply, nearly to tears.
The girl sitting near me says to the musicians, “That was beautiful; it made me want to cry.”
“Me too,” I say. “I felt like crying. In a good way.”
A couple of minutes later though and I’m almost laughing. Not from the music, but from what I see when I flip open the Clamdigger to my ad. I had been thinking I’d cut my ad out and tape it up on the wall next to my qigong brochure that Trish had taped up. But I can’t cut out my ad, because somebody’s marked it up, and I couldn’t be happier about that. There’s a star at the top of the ad, a circle around “CranioSacral Therapy,” and my phone number’s been circled and starred too. This makes me smile. Especially because of the attention given to CranioSacral Therapy.
And now, thanks to that little business-related confidence boost, and thanks to some funky keyboard music, I feel a 2nd wind coming on. So maybe I will go dance the night away up in Bellingham, or at least back in my living room.
* * *
During my walk home, I think I’m going to get in my car and drive north. But the moon catches my eye and won’t let go. Unless something obstructs my vision, I can’t take my eyes off of this moon. It’s full, or about to be tomorrow night.
I was born on a full moon. I think about this as I continue walking. Thinking back to being in the womb, ready to come out into this world.
I’m so entranced by the moon and distracted by thoughts of my birth that I almost walk past my house. When I realize this, I think “so what?” and keep walking. I walk through the courtyard of the Depot Arts Center and out to the marina.
There’s a movement in one of the forms of Qigong I teach called “Qui Er Gazing at the Moon,” in which we imagine gazing up at the moon. So that’s what I want to do.
I want to practice Kuan Yin Standing Qigong out by the water, in the actual (not imagined) moonlight. And so I do.
Instead of dancing with a bunch of sweaty drunk people at a club, I dance with the qi and the moonlight and the rocks of the beach beneath my feet. I feel free and alive. And, man, it feels good.
So this is how I say goodbye to my twenties. And if I hadn’t gone to Johnny Picasso’s for open mic, I probably wouldn’t have gone for a walk. If I hadn’t gone for a walk, it’s quite possible I wouldn’t have noticed the moon. And if I hadn’t noticed the moon, it wouldn’t have been able to call me out to the sea for this exquisite exchange of qi. So thank you, Johnny Picasso’s. And thank you, twenties; these past ten years have been quite a ride, quite a ride indeed.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Faith
After an amazing week at Esalen, I felt some sadness as I let the water drain out of the tub on Monday morning. I'd be leaving that day. And part of me wanted to stay. I couldn't bare the thought of needing to wear a bathing suit to go swimming! HA! I wondered if Heartwood was open or if I would feel comfortable at Harbin. I considered going up to the Esalen office, and asking to stay another night as a personal retreater, but no. I didn't want to. I felt very clear that I was ready to leave, ready to get back on the road, not knowing where I'd go next other than that I'd be driving north.
After lunch I thought about taking one final soak in the tubs. I'd said my goodbyes. And my bags were in my car. But I decided to hit the road. It was time to go. Time to see where the day would take me. I felt a little separation anxiety about leaving. And a little nervous about not knowing where I'd be going. And just as I was walking to my car, Faith arrived.
She worked at Esalen but had been gone all week. I knew her through a mutual friend, Word. I was planning to call him from the road to let him know I was around and to see if we could meet up. I asked her if she knew where he was, if he was in Monterey or the Bay area.
"Oh, I just saw him. He's working at Cornucopia right now in Carmel. He'll be there until 7."
"Really?!?" Carmel was just 45 minutes away. And I loved the idea of surprising him. Just showing up in this little health food store without any warning. He didn't even know I was at Esalen, unless he'd seen my Facebook status!
So I asked Faith for directions, and I was on my way.
As soon as I walked through the door, we saw each other. It was so good to see him. As we hugged, I felt so comforted by his familiar smell. My dear, dear friend. And teacher.
He said that after work he'd be going down to Esalen as Faith's guest. I wanted to be back at Esalen with Word!
He said I could go back, that he was getting off work at 4 and that Faith could probably add me to the guest list too. There was no way to contact her or know if that would work out ahead of time. But we could at least enjoy a drive together. I told Word I needed to go outside and check in with myself about whether or not I really wanted to go back. But when I went outside, instead of "checking in with myself," I found myself just making phone calls to let a few people know that I was going back.
The drive back took about an hour, and I must have been smiling the whole time. It felt so good to share my new self with an old friend.
It felt so good to not even care if I wouldn't actually be able to stay another night as a guest, to just enjoy being in the present. In the past I would have dreaded the thought of all that extra driving, especially without knowing for sure if I could stay or where I'd be staying. None of that mattered though. Being in the car with Word, with no expectation or agenda, was all that mattered.
Right before getting to Esalen, Word told me to turn left.
"We can't go on the property until tomorrow. This is where Faith lives. I guess I didn't mention that before."
I was surprised. I was surprised that I was NOT disappointed or irritated. Hallelujuah!
Faith wasn't home, but we were welcome at her place. We snuggled up, took a nap, and then sang and danced to Erykah Badu, Frank Sinatra, and Michael Jackson.
It
was
so
much
fun!
"I feel like I could live here," I told Word, feeling so at home and happy.
"You do live here. You are living here."
"Yes, that's true. I am living. Living wherever I am, in the moment. Finally!"
Eventually we went next door for a birthday party. Faith still wasn't home, and Word said that if she didn't put me on the guest list by midnight, I wouldn't be allowed on Esalen property the next day. But I wasn't worried. "Faith may not be home, but faith is right here, inside of me!" I joked with Word.
But it was true. I did have faith. I felt so much trust in the mystery and the unknown.
And when Faith showed up before midnight and asked if I wanted to spend the next day at Esalen, I said "No."
I was somewhat surprised. What had happened to my ideas about going back on property for another soak and swim and more yummy food? What had happened was that I was getting better and better at freeing myself from my ideas and thoughts. Getting better at listening to my gut. And my gut said to get back on the road in the morning, that this time near Esalen with Word and the Esalen staff was enough.
Faith asked if I was sure. For a split second I questioned myself, and then I questioned her, "Are you calling the gate now? Do you need to know now?"
"Yes, I need to know right now," she said firmly.
And looking Faith in the eyes, I firmly replied, "Yes, I'm sure. Save your guest pass for someone else."
I slept well that night, on Faith's couch. And I woke up the next day excited for the unknown adventure ahead.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
After lunch I thought about taking one final soak in the tubs. I'd said my goodbyes. And my bags were in my car. But I decided to hit the road. It was time to go. Time to see where the day would take me. I felt a little separation anxiety about leaving. And a little nervous about not knowing where I'd be going. And just as I was walking to my car, Faith arrived.
She worked at Esalen but had been gone all week. I knew her through a mutual friend, Word. I was planning to call him from the road to let him know I was around and to see if we could meet up. I asked her if she knew where he was, if he was in Monterey or the Bay area.
"Oh, I just saw him. He's working at Cornucopia right now in Carmel. He'll be there until 7."
"Really?!?" Carmel was just 45 minutes away. And I loved the idea of surprising him. Just showing up in this little health food store without any warning. He didn't even know I was at Esalen, unless he'd seen my Facebook status!
So I asked Faith for directions, and I was on my way.
As soon as I walked through the door, we saw each other. It was so good to see him. As we hugged, I felt so comforted by his familiar smell. My dear, dear friend. And teacher.
He said that after work he'd be going down to Esalen as Faith's guest. I wanted to be back at Esalen with Word!
He said I could go back, that he was getting off work at 4 and that Faith could probably add me to the guest list too. There was no way to contact her or know if that would work out ahead of time. But we could at least enjoy a drive together. I told Word I needed to go outside and check in with myself about whether or not I really wanted to go back. But when I went outside, instead of "checking in with myself," I found myself just making phone calls to let a few people know that I was going back.
The drive back took about an hour, and I must have been smiling the whole time. It felt so good to share my new self with an old friend.
It felt so good to not even care if I wouldn't actually be able to stay another night as a guest, to just enjoy being in the present. In the past I would have dreaded the thought of all that extra driving, especially without knowing for sure if I could stay or where I'd be staying. None of that mattered though. Being in the car with Word, with no expectation or agenda, was all that mattered.
Right before getting to Esalen, Word told me to turn left.
"We can't go on the property until tomorrow. This is where Faith lives. I guess I didn't mention that before."
I was surprised. I was surprised that I was NOT disappointed or irritated. Hallelujuah!
Faith wasn't home, but we were welcome at her place. We snuggled up, took a nap, and then sang and danced to Erykah Badu, Frank Sinatra, and Michael Jackson.
It
was
so
much
fun!
"I feel like I could live here," I told Word, feeling so at home and happy.
"You do live here. You are living here."
"Yes, that's true. I am living. Living wherever I am, in the moment. Finally!"
Eventually we went next door for a birthday party. Faith still wasn't home, and Word said that if she didn't put me on the guest list by midnight, I wouldn't be allowed on Esalen property the next day. But I wasn't worried. "Faith may not be home, but faith is right here, inside of me!" I joked with Word.
But it was true. I did have faith. I felt so much trust in the mystery and the unknown.
And when Faith showed up before midnight and asked if I wanted to spend the next day at Esalen, I said "No."
I was somewhat surprised. What had happened to my ideas about going back on property for another soak and swim and more yummy food? What had happened was that I was getting better and better at freeing myself from my ideas and thoughts. Getting better at listening to my gut. And my gut said to get back on the road in the morning, that this time near Esalen with Word and the Esalen staff was enough.
Faith asked if I was sure. For a split second I questioned myself, and then I questioned her, "Are you calling the gate now? Do you need to know now?"
"Yes, I need to know right now," she said firmly.
And looking Faith in the eyes, I firmly replied, "Yes, I'm sure. Save your guest pass for someone else."
I slept well that night, on Faith's couch. And I woke up the next day excited for the unknown adventure ahead.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Jumping in
I did it! I did it! I jumped into the water.
This is a big deal.
I haven't jumped in since I was 9 or 10. And jumping in again was on my list of things to do before turning 30 in September.
I'm not quite ready to cross it off my list though. I still need to FULLY jump in. I'm at a hotel in Ashland, Oregon, and I went down for a swim. Nobody was around, so I thought now might be a good time to practice jumping in.
First I just climbed up the ladder, and before getting out completely, let myself fall into the water. No problem. After a few times, I got out of the water completely and let myself fall into the water from somewhat of a squatting position. I was surprised by how easy it was. I was surprised that I did not feel any panic.
In the past, one thing that would happen was a panic response when water would get into my ears. I thought it was psychological, but my mom recently told me that it's not purely psychological, something about my anatomy and finding out that there was something going on with my left ear when I was a baby. But maybe that physical "defect" got worked out through all the CranioSacral therapy I've been receiving? Who knows; I'm just glad it didn't interfere with my experience today. And maybe it will never be a problem again.
Now, back to jumping in. So after a few more times of sort of dropping into the water. I actually stood up and jumped in.
It felt wonderful. I felt this great sense of accomplishment and liberation. Liberation from my silly fears and hesitations.
The body knows what to do. It's the mind that gets in the way.
Next, I need a deeper pool so I can REALLY jump in. And then an open body of water instead of a contained swimming pool? And then what about DIVING in? Diving was not on my list, but I would like to work up to that. Maybe it won't even take so long to "work up to." After all, I just jumped in today, and previously I had thought I'd need to take some more swimming lessons. But I didn't need that. I just needed the right time and place, and some privacy, to do it on my own.
This is a big deal.
I haven't jumped in since I was 9 or 10. And jumping in again was on my list of things to do before turning 30 in September.
I'm not quite ready to cross it off my list though. I still need to FULLY jump in. I'm at a hotel in Ashland, Oregon, and I went down for a swim. Nobody was around, so I thought now might be a good time to practice jumping in.
First I just climbed up the ladder, and before getting out completely, let myself fall into the water. No problem. After a few times, I got out of the water completely and let myself fall into the water from somewhat of a squatting position. I was surprised by how easy it was. I was surprised that I did not feel any panic.
In the past, one thing that would happen was a panic response when water would get into my ears. I thought it was psychological, but my mom recently told me that it's not purely psychological, something about my anatomy and finding out that there was something going on with my left ear when I was a baby. But maybe that physical "defect" got worked out through all the CranioSacral therapy I've been receiving? Who knows; I'm just glad it didn't interfere with my experience today. And maybe it will never be a problem again.
Now, back to jumping in. So after a few more times of sort of dropping into the water. I actually stood up and jumped in.
It felt wonderful. I felt this great sense of accomplishment and liberation. Liberation from my silly fears and hesitations.
The body knows what to do. It's the mind that gets in the way.
Next, I need a deeper pool so I can REALLY jump in. And then an open body of water instead of a contained swimming pool? And then what about DIVING in? Diving was not on my list, but I would like to work up to that. Maybe it won't even take so long to "work up to." After all, I just jumped in today, and previously I had thought I'd need to take some more swimming lessons. But I didn't need that. I just needed the right time and place, and some privacy, to do it on my own.
© 2009 Rebecca
Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, July 31, 2009
A swim to remember
Thursday afternoon at my parents' house, I walked down to the dock to test the water. It was too low to feel by letting my foot dangle in. So I climbed down the little wooden ladder to dip my toes in. The water was surprisingly warm.
Excited to go in (it had been a couple of years), I rushed back up the steps and into the freezing cold air conditioned house. Found my bathing suit, wishing I didn't need to. Called Anshu to say she could come over any time. Listened to a message from Tim but had to get a swim in before calling back. Went back upstairs and found my mom standing in the kitchen wearing a t-shirt she’d bought in Jamaica 15 years ago. It said “No problem.” I thought it was funny considering the worry she had expressed earlier about me camping alone.
I told her I was going swimming, knowing she'd probably worry a little about me swimming alone, but also knowing that she had no interest in coming outside; she doesn't like the heat.
So I went back down to the lake, walked out to the end of the dock. The wood was grey, faded from the sun. It had a neglected feel to it. Not visited enough.
I wasn't ready to jump in. But without the hesitation that I often used to feel about going in the lake, I excitedly climbed down the other cobweb-covered ladder at the deep end of the dock.
I climbed down the ladder and got in faster than ever before. Partially because of the temperature. But partially because I just felt more comfortable. Less holding back. Less fear.
It felt so good to be in the water.
I realized that never before had I felt so good swimming in the lake. Even when I was a little girl and giggling and having fun with friends, there was always a fear. I couldn’t even look under the dock or let my legs dangle straight down. My fears weren't even as much about drowning as they were about totally unrealistic things.
But today none of those silly fears got in my way. Seaweed kept wrapping itself around me, and instead of creeping me out or irritating me, I danced with it.
I enjoyed floating, bobbing up and down with the waves, rather than getting disturbed or frightened by the waves enough to stop floating. I used to try to avoid or fight the waves, move into them, rather than move with them. It felt so much better just surrendering and trusting and relaxing and enjoying the ride. Smiling. Breathing. Arms open wide.
I got out of the water, walked down to the other end of the dock, and decided to visit the shallow part of the lake, see what it felt like to walk in the water with my "new legs." I'd just come home from a CranioSacral session in which there was some major re-connecting with my legs. And walking actually did feel different, better, both on dry land and in the lake.
And then I conquered another childhood lake fear: swimming out towards the end of the dock. Why was this scary? I don't really know. I think part of it had to do with a little seaweed forest and not wanting anything touching me. But I no longer cared about that. In fact, I liked the feel of the seaweed touching me. So I did it. I swam through it, and it was great.
I also looked under the dock. No change in heart rate. No fear of sharks or sea monsters.
I smiled.
I wondered why I had always been so afraid. What was I so afraid of?
And then I saw my mom looking out from the inside the house. I waved. And I laughed as I realized that part of my fear was probably born into me. From my mother’s breathing pattern and nervous system. Part of it was from things she’d say, not about water, but just about being careful. And part of it had been from watching Jaws and other horror movies at an early age. Oh, and part of it was from getting swept under in Italy. And maybe part of it even has to do with a past life issue.
A couple of years ago, during a rolfing session, while the therapist worked on my left calf, I felt something shoot up towards my head, developed vertigo that would last for a month, and saw an image of a weight being tied to my left ankle or calf to way my body down into the water. Who knows if it was just my imagination or if there are past lives. I don't know. But as I've been saying about a lot of things lately: I'm open to the possibility.
It doesn't really matter why I was afraid though. What matters is that I'm not anymore. I was so pleasantly surprised by this swim. I will never forget it.
--> © 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Excited to go in (it had been a couple of years), I rushed back up the steps and into the freezing cold air conditioned house. Found my bathing suit, wishing I didn't need to. Called Anshu to say she could come over any time. Listened to a message from Tim but had to get a swim in before calling back. Went back upstairs and found my mom standing in the kitchen wearing a t-shirt she’d bought in Jamaica 15 years ago. It said “No problem.” I thought it was funny considering the worry she had expressed earlier about me camping alone.
I told her I was going swimming, knowing she'd probably worry a little about me swimming alone, but also knowing that she had no interest in coming outside; she doesn't like the heat.
So I went back down to the lake, walked out to the end of the dock. The wood was grey, faded from the sun. It had a neglected feel to it. Not visited enough.
I wasn't ready to jump in. But without the hesitation that I often used to feel about going in the lake, I excitedly climbed down the other cobweb-covered ladder at the deep end of the dock.
I climbed down the ladder and got in faster than ever before. Partially because of the temperature. But partially because I just felt more comfortable. Less holding back. Less fear.
It felt so good to be in the water.
I realized that never before had I felt so good swimming in the lake. Even when I was a little girl and giggling and having fun with friends, there was always a fear. I couldn’t even look under the dock or let my legs dangle straight down. My fears weren't even as much about drowning as they were about totally unrealistic things.
But today none of those silly fears got in my way. Seaweed kept wrapping itself around me, and instead of creeping me out or irritating me, I danced with it.
I enjoyed floating, bobbing up and down with the waves, rather than getting disturbed or frightened by the waves enough to stop floating. I used to try to avoid or fight the waves, move into them, rather than move with them. It felt so much better just surrendering and trusting and relaxing and enjoying the ride. Smiling. Breathing. Arms open wide.
I got out of the water, walked down to the other end of the dock, and decided to visit the shallow part of the lake, see what it felt like to walk in the water with my "new legs." I'd just come home from a CranioSacral session in which there was some major re-connecting with my legs. And walking actually did feel different, better, both on dry land and in the lake.
And then I conquered another childhood lake fear: swimming out towards the end of the dock. Why was this scary? I don't really know. I think part of it had to do with a little seaweed forest and not wanting anything touching me. But I no longer cared about that. In fact, I liked the feel of the seaweed touching me. So I did it. I swam through it, and it was great.
I also looked under the dock. No change in heart rate. No fear of sharks or sea monsters.
I smiled.
I wondered why I had always been so afraid. What was I so afraid of?
And then I saw my mom looking out from the inside the house. I waved. And I laughed as I realized that part of my fear was probably born into me. From my mother’s breathing pattern and nervous system. Part of it was from things she’d say, not about water, but just about being careful. And part of it had been from watching Jaws and other horror movies at an early age. Oh, and part of it was from getting swept under in Italy. And maybe part of it even has to do with a past life issue.
A couple of years ago, during a rolfing session, while the therapist worked on my left calf, I felt something shoot up towards my head, developed vertigo that would last for a month, and saw an image of a weight being tied to my left ankle or calf to way my body down into the water. Who knows if it was just my imagination or if there are past lives. I don't know. But as I've been saying about a lot of things lately: I'm open to the possibility.
It doesn't really matter why I was afraid though. What matters is that I'm not anymore. I was so pleasantly surprised by this swim. I will never forget it.
--> © 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Dancing on the plane
On my drive down from Anacortes to Mercer Island, I thought about the journey ahead of me, the hours of driving. On Friday I'm heading further south, back down to Esalen. I woke up yesterday morning wondering why I wasn't going. I woke up today knowing I wanted to go and deserved to go, but that a road trip was the only way I could be excited about the journey instead of stressed out about getting there and back. My only concern is physical discomfort from sitting so much in the car. So I practiced moving while driving, stretching out my arms, one arm at a time, dancing in my seat, tilting my pelvis front to back and side to side, all while still paying attention to the road and the other drivers. Just refusing to sit so still and rigid as we often do when driving. And this reminded me of a blog entry I started writing but never posted. Here it is:
I was sitting on a plane, after sitting in an airport, after sitting on a shuttle bus, after sitting on the BART, after sitting in a car, after sitting in class.
I’d say this was about 10 hours of sitting, maybe more. Definitely more, by the time I returned home from Esalen.
So on the plane, after hours of sitting, my body was dying for some movement. My plane had been delayed so I knew I wouldn’t be going out dancing. Originally I was thinking about going out dancing the minute I arrived in Seattle. However, even if the plane had been on time, I probably wouldn’t have gone out; I was so sleep deprived from getting woken up every hour at Esalen by a snoring roommate.
So on that plane, I thought about dancing. I wanted to dance. I listened to music and felt my body start to move, while still seated. I wondered what it would be like to get up and just totally let loose, dancing up and down the aisle of the plane. Would I get in trouble? Or just stared at? I wouldn’t care, either way. It would feel so good.
And then I smiled as I remembered the first time I thought of this. When I was seventeen and on a plane to Israel. At that time, only a year had passed since my car accident, only 8 months had passed since I had taken off my body jacket, and I so I was still very much in the habit of not moving, of being overly protective and self-conscious. I wouldn’t even dance in my seat. But deep within, my body knew, my soul knew, it had to move. It had to dance. So in my mind’s eye, I imagined myself dancing, though I didn’t dare move.
Twelve years later, listening to “On and On” by Missy Elliott, on a plane, dancing in my seat, I was reminded of that time. So happy that now I do move. Finding it interesting that back then some part of me felt just as moved by the music, but some other part of me stopped myself from moving. There are times that I can barely stop myself from moving now. I can barely stand or sit still if I’m tuned in to my body, with or without music.
I no longer care so much about what others might think. I don’t care as much if I’m being watched, what I look like. I just let go, let myself move and be moved.
I do stop myself from standing up to dance on the plane. But maybe someday I won’t. And as I have this thought, this someday I won’t thought, I wonder if today is that someday. So I get up.
I stand up and walk down the aisle, swaying my hips, moving my arms. Not fully dancing. But not just walking. And I go to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door. I do a little dance, smiling and laughing. Feeling so good. And thinking it’s so funny that I have to do my little dance in the bathroom. And so happy that I have a little dance to do, even if it is in an airplane bathroom.
Before exiting the bathroom, I do another little dance. Really shake it. As much as I can in that cramped space. Again, I crack myself up! Silly girl. Wise woman. All in one.
And when I exit the bathroom, nobody’s waiting for it, so I stand in the back where the flight attendant is pouring drinks. I stretch. I twist. And then I ask her, “Has anyone ever stood up on the plane and just started dancing?”
She doesn’t really look me in the eyes. She seems uncomfortable or caught off guard by my question, and she answers, “No, but people do all kinds of strange things. One time I saw an older lady in the airport doing a full-blown aerobics routine.”
She thinks this is strange.
I think this is wonderful,
And so I say, “That’s great! I think most people are so bound up, standing or sitting still too much. We really need to move more.”
She doesn’t say anything. I go back to listening to my music and walk back to my seat.
And I don’t sit down.
I stand. In front of my seat. I stand.
And then I start to move a little. Still not totally and completely dancing. But sort of dancing. Not just standing. And not really just stretching. Sort of dancing. Still holding back, but not as much as in the past. This is progress. This feels good. This could feel even better, if I weren't holding back at all. But what a long way I've come since that plane ride to Israel when I was seventeen. I think back to that time. I think about where I am now, who I am now. I take a deep breath. I smile. And I sit down, continuing to dance in my seat until we land.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I was sitting on a plane, after sitting in an airport, after sitting on a shuttle bus, after sitting on the BART, after sitting in a car, after sitting in class.
I’d say this was about 10 hours of sitting, maybe more. Definitely more, by the time I returned home from Esalen.
So on the plane, after hours of sitting, my body was dying for some movement. My plane had been delayed so I knew I wouldn’t be going out dancing. Originally I was thinking about going out dancing the minute I arrived in Seattle. However, even if the plane had been on time, I probably wouldn’t have gone out; I was so sleep deprived from getting woken up every hour at Esalen by a snoring roommate.
So on that plane, I thought about dancing. I wanted to dance. I listened to music and felt my body start to move, while still seated. I wondered what it would be like to get up and just totally let loose, dancing up and down the aisle of the plane. Would I get in trouble? Or just stared at? I wouldn’t care, either way. It would feel so good.
And then I smiled as I remembered the first time I thought of this. When I was seventeen and on a plane to Israel. At that time, only a year had passed since my car accident, only 8 months had passed since I had taken off my body jacket, and I so I was still very much in the habit of not moving, of being overly protective and self-conscious. I wouldn’t even dance in my seat. But deep within, my body knew, my soul knew, it had to move. It had to dance. So in my mind’s eye, I imagined myself dancing, though I didn’t dare move.
Twelve years later, listening to “On and On” by Missy Elliott, on a plane, dancing in my seat, I was reminded of that time. So happy that now I do move. Finding it interesting that back then some part of me felt just as moved by the music, but some other part of me stopped myself from moving. There are times that I can barely stop myself from moving now. I can barely stand or sit still if I’m tuned in to my body, with or without music.
I no longer care so much about what others might think. I don’t care as much if I’m being watched, what I look like. I just let go, let myself move and be moved.
I do stop myself from standing up to dance on the plane. But maybe someday I won’t. And as I have this thought, this someday I won’t thought, I wonder if today is that someday. So I get up.
I stand up and walk down the aisle, swaying my hips, moving my arms. Not fully dancing. But not just walking. And I go to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door. I do a little dance, smiling and laughing. Feeling so good. And thinking it’s so funny that I have to do my little dance in the bathroom. And so happy that I have a little dance to do, even if it is in an airplane bathroom.
Before exiting the bathroom, I do another little dance. Really shake it. As much as I can in that cramped space. Again, I crack myself up! Silly girl. Wise woman. All in one.
And when I exit the bathroom, nobody’s waiting for it, so I stand in the back where the flight attendant is pouring drinks. I stretch. I twist. And then I ask her, “Has anyone ever stood up on the plane and just started dancing?”
She doesn’t really look me in the eyes. She seems uncomfortable or caught off guard by my question, and she answers, “No, but people do all kinds of strange things. One time I saw an older lady in the airport doing a full-blown aerobics routine.”
She thinks this is strange.
I think this is wonderful,
And so I say, “That’s great! I think most people are so bound up, standing or sitting still too much. We really need to move more.”
She doesn’t say anything. I go back to listening to my music and walk back to my seat.
And I don’t sit down.
I stand. In front of my seat. I stand.
And then I start to move a little. Still not totally and completely dancing. But sort of dancing. Not just standing. And not really just stretching. Sort of dancing. Still holding back, but not as much as in the past. This is progress. This feels good. This could feel even better, if I weren't holding back at all. But what a long way I've come since that plane ride to Israel when I was seventeen. I think back to that time. I think about where I am now, who I am now. I take a deep breath. I smile. And I sit down, continuing to dance in my seat until we land.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)