Last year I participated in a women’s group that focused on movement and creativity. Shortly after it began, the therapist’s new office opened, and this is what I wrote of my experience on the first night there.
We spent much of the session exploring the new therapy studio, an open, airy room with satiny wood floors. We began by being aware of our space, then turning attention inward to that space, and then returning awareness outward to connect both. Afterward, we drew or wrote whatever came to mind. This experience was so good, because I so often ignore my body’s needs for movement. My leg muscles have been stiff from lack of movement, and they radiate their discomfort. This is my meditative writing:
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My thighs ached to stretch in full frontal contact on cool wood, extended and still, my blood pulsing, body heat flowing into it. My body tells me how exhausted it is, I have a home. It breathes, moves, As a child, I would lie for hours I was friends with the earth, People make love to the world. Two Everywhere, people are moving, being still, We are connected at all times. |