Feeling Forward

This morning, I looked out my window into the gray wooded landscape to watch the tiny snowflakes meander down from the sky, and wondered - where did Spring go? I quirked a smile and thought, perhaps Spring is still tired from last year? I sometimes look down at my body, groggily, swaddled in yesterday’s socks to ask the same questions. Where did my young, springy, buoyant self go? And perhaps, all quirked smiles aside, I too, am still tired from the last few years. It’s really no secret that all of us have been put through our paces - and if anything has been made more clear, the end of the “getting through it” part seems inevitably farther out than I hoped. But really, even thinking about the last few years has me yawning and wanting to crawl into bed to cover my head with sheets. In truth, with all that’s changed, I’ve welcomed the opportunity to just keep my head down and trudge along the worn path in front of me. But what happens when two roads diverge in a wood? What happens when the path becomes entrenched again with moss, twigs, and all manner of life undisturbed. What next? How do we find the energy to move forward into the unknown with grace and compassion? How do we prepare ourselves for the inevitable failures that come into forging ahead into the unknown of our lives? 

First let me just say, I don’t have the answers to these questions. I can tell you straight away that my first instinct is to trample the wood, trip, and fall flat on my face. I’ve certainly picked myself up quite a few times to, metaphorically, pluck off the brambles from the lower foliage of life.  As a bodyworker and mover, you’d think I’d know a thing or two about slowing down and sinking in - but as it turns out - I’ve been much better at harassing my body into stillness than allowing it to do anything in its own time. I have all the trappings of an embodied person - all the books on the shelf, all the methods in my mind, all the choreography memorized - but all of this information has been shadowed by the shoulds, musts, and plaguing judgment of my own inner voice. The information has lost its source of embodied energy and loving truth. For better or worse, my body and inner consciousness has decided it doesn’t believe those same old tactics of coercion and my inertia is gone.

So now - I’m in the woods, it’s gray, it’s supposed to be spring, I’m supposed to be Spring, it’s snowing, and I cannot use the same methods to get by any longer. I summon all creatures of instinct, all manner of propulsive thought, and yet, I stand still. How do I move forward?

One thing that I have found so incredibly valuable about finding myself in the Bloomington area is nature. I’m constantly surprised and delighted by the landscape with its abundance of trees, wildlife, and texture. When I walk in the woods and come upon a sink hole or a cave, I feel like an explorer discovering small secrets in nature that whisper of life and legacy. I wonder how many creatures and plants have created the bedrock under my feet and found their lives shielded and comforted in the pines. When the rain came last week I was even fascinated to watch the small rivers of water collect and move through the hills in my neighborhood - finding once farmland or forest turned briefly more marshland and swamp. It’s these tactile moments of merging with the wilderness that allows me just enough time to slow down, fall into the senses, and find some joy. 

One of my favorite quotes, now having many different permutations, is from neuroscientist Antonio Damasio who said “We are not thinking machines. We are feeling machines that think.” Sometimes, because we are the creatures that we are, we like to pretend we operate as thinking machines that on occasion feel. As a massage therapist, I see so clearly in my work the cost of this approach to life. And though nobody gets out of life unscathed, it’s true that we make every effort to protect ourselves from the intensity of the complex, feeling world that surrounds us. But when we try to remove ourselves from the dangers of a feeling life, we don’t get to choose what we don’t feel - we just don’t feel things equally. Even the good stuff. It stands to reason that a good way to come back into a life of presence is by simply starting with the senses.

Sensing encourages us to quiet our preconceived notions about what we are currently experiencing. Sensing takes time and patience. It requires tapping in rather than plowing through. If it’s been a while since we’ve attended to our world and ourselves in this way, it might even mean continually backtracking through old thought patterns and behaviors. It might take a lot of effort to override the urge to run through the brambles and allow ourselves to give way to the present moment and to feel ourselves fully being. If we have the opportunity, some great ways to tap in are by being nature, getting a massage, or practicing mindfulness. There is great research that shows mindfulness-based practices can help ease symptoms of anxiety, depression and pain. One of my favorites is the 5 Senses Grounding Technique which specifically harnesses attuning to the senses as a way of guiding the body into a greater state of ease.

It’s clear to me now that the struggle of the last few years has caused me to diverge from my energy source and capacity for presence. Certainly, we’ve all been disrupted and have had to trudge forward in less than delightful circumstances. Perhaps, I’m not the only one looking out the window wondering where my Springtime has gone. If that’s something you feel too, you can rest assured you are not alone in this. It’s quite possible that we can patiently, compassionately, feel our way forward together.