The Body Remembers
The grass was warm and dry under my bare feet. The labyrinth brought back the familiar feeling of rushing to the center, and long pausing at the middle, and dragging my feet with a desire to stretch out the departure upon leaving. So much like the projects of my life.
This trip into the labyrinth was punctuated by a small ย stone with many sharpย edges. When my left foot landed on the stone my leg reflexively went into a high stepping knee, a march born of pain and surprise. I managed to squelch my shout of dismay and with two gimpy steps regained my stride.
The body remembers. That became my mantra, displacing my chant to release and accept. As one born to be a keeper of memories it is so hard not to document, capture, photograph the moments of my life. This time I wanted to be present and to notice.
What my body told me is, “I remember…”
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Last week I was delighted to attend “Wild with Words.” The day-long workshop and retreat at Scarritt Bennett Centerย made space for using the muscles ofย ย Friday. Many thanks to Rev. Dr. Martha Brunell for leading our time together.
The dayย was like opening the flood gates from the right side of my brain and letting the creative juices flow in to the left side of my brain, that side which is always trying to make an argument or a point or convince someone of something. A balancing gift.
