I am Not My Body

How many people look in the mirror and think the reflected image is who they are? Do we ever have a perception of ourselves that is true? It is wonderfully ironic that getting in touch with the body is what enables us to see that we are not our bodies. We are so much more. In the practice of grounding and mindfulness, we quiet the mind and feel the spirit that we are. In that space we viscerally understand our connection to every other spirit on the planet.

The physical experience can be delicious whether at a favorite restaurant, playing with a beloved or zipping down a slide at Water World, but it does not define us. Our bodies are what cause us to appear separate from others. They are our containers, our temples, and yet, we are all joined by a higher purpose that is born of Love. In the stillness we experience the Love that is much bigger than anything we have felt with another person. It is not special or unique to one, but it is the great unifier of all. When author of A Course in Miracles says: “I am not a body. I am free” (Foundation of Inner Peace, 1977) she refers to the freedom we can receive from a shifted perception.

Let me back up. When our minds are in control, they organize, plan, judge, divide like rats. Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate rodents, but by only looking down at the rodent, we miss the elephant. Our

Collective Heartbreak - Is Happy Real?

photo by author

Clients occasionally arrive equipped for the journey – with appropriate gear for the long trek – aware that they are not going to get to the pinnacle or goal in a day. However, some sit on the couch with doe-eyes feeling as though they have been traveling on the rocky trail forever without an end in sight. They’ve run out of supplies. They may hope that I have a technique, a pill – something that will just make the pain go away.

In moments like those I wish I were a magician. A few weeks ago, I threw down my notebook and exclaimed: “Being a counselor sucks sometimes!” (I think my client and I were both a little surprised, but she knew I did it because I felt for her. I wanted more than anything to diminish her pain.) The only consolation I can offer clients is that things usually get better if they want it, stick with it and work at it. Change can be scary even when it is positive.

Some days a client might cover 10 miles on the trail and the next day it may start snowing and she may only travel a mile before setting up camp, but inevitably, she will arrive at her destination... or a destination. So we can’t always see the ground we’ve covered or how we’ve changed, but a year out or two we look back and feel like a different person.

People are occasionally suspicious of happiness, assuming that the happy person is faking it or just born

Where the Light Leads

I really like being in a body!  Lemon bars and enchiladas; ripe figs and Honey Crisp apples; stroking the soft coats of my big gray cats, the pink and orange of winter sunrises; the snug feel of suede half chaps and galloping pony along the back roads; slow kissing and the smell of roses; music, "This American Life" and crunching through dry fallen leaves; the little birds and plump squirrels more visible in the bare trees, the feeling in my heart on Christmas morning, my daughter’s faces… When I take time to dwell in my senses – to appreciate the detail of the world around me - I feel so alive and grateful. Knowing that my range of movement will someday be restricted inspires me to dance to capacity, to fill out space and be present every second to the process – the connection between hundredths of seconds: to be inside the movement and watching it at the same time. Anything can be done with deeper presence: cooking, sex, biking to work, massaging a friend's back or listening to our kids. Lately, I am most aware of my body while dancing - celebrating how much the collage of muscles, veins, bones, organs do all in a day.

Working with the newly bereaved through Hospice Care has only increased my sense of feeling blessed, but, too, it has confronted me with questions like: Who will be with me when I die? Who will be around to help me through it? Some of these people have lost partners who’ve been with them almost 50 years. They didn’t bargain for going it alone, and it breaks my heart to watch them grasp for hope in the confusion of grief.

  

Sure, I’ve listened to Death Cab for Cutie’s song, “What Sarah Said” that ends: “So, who’s going to watch you die?” many times, but witnessing people who have just lost their "other half" face these bigger questions, I am compelled to do the same. People can’t just drop everything, and sometimes it’s the people who we least expect who come through during hard times… or even, in the end.

Some spiritual folk say that the reason spirits hang around is because death is not that big of a transition and the spirits occasionally need guidance towards the light. Not knowing where the light will lead, sometimes it’s more comforting to remain in the attic of the beautiful home they had built. "They" suggest that when a person dies we say: “Your spirit just left your body. Go look for Aunt Shoshana” (or whomever they know who has already crossed over). Otherwise the person might hang around wondering why no one is speaking to them. I've also heard it said that death is a continuation of how we live and maybe if we die with presence, we won't need anyone pointing us to the light.

I wonder what it will feel like to dance on the other side. But, for now, I really like being in this body!

photo: Eliza Karlson

Skid in Broadside, Balls to the Wall

I am watching my 16 year old dog sleeping soundly – eyes pressed closed, her head encircled by a soft cone to keep her from gnawing on wounds. She has days, maybe weeks to live. I wish she would just go to sleep one day, outside in the sun, and never wake up, instead of slowly losing function. She’s not in a huge amount of pain yet, but there are moments like when she can’t stand in the morning and I help her up and hold her belly until I feel her legs able to carry her weight. She is still eating although she’s picky. I’ve never known Keesha to turn down anything!

Today I lay on the back porch with her and sobbed. Her imminent death brings up the people and pets I’ve lost, as well as those I will lose; my own mortality… failed relationships and missed opportunities. I let the grief grab hold and swallow me until it spits me out. It’s the only way to clear it.

The Heart will Lead Us Home, and Maybe to Italy!

My sister-in-law, Mai Ling, who is studying the principles of quantum physics, asked me if it was an accident that I won a two-week trip to Italy for two from my local radio station just by clicking on a link? Years ago I joined KBCO 97.3 as an “interactive member” online when I hoped to participate in a pre-sale for Dave Matthews tickets. I found out after the Italian drawing that I was the only one chosen out of thousands of interactive members to make it to the final 10. The other 9 where chosen out of many people who had been the ninth caller at an assigned time over the previous week. My girls and I were all on our way to eat some Mexican food. We whooped and hollered and screamed with joy when I heard

Heaven is a Belly Button Moon

This was a perfect summer evening: 75 degrees with a breeze. I walked the goats, Lily and Ramon, through the green field with the sun setting in a flair of coral clouds on one side and a gaggle of geese flying across a huge full moon – Lady Sky’s belly button – rising to the other side. I felt perfectly squeezed, like an orange been juiced or a washcloth wrung – since I’d just been to a 2.5 Core Power hot yoga class. The gifted and inspirational instructor had used an image that stuck with me. He had said to relax our butts into the matt in savasana like a cool stone dropped into honey. Never mind my butt, I want to kiss like that. I want to live that way… like a cool stone dropped into warm honey, because it requires that I slow down and appreciate the sweet surroundings. My kids used to tell me they imagined swimming in a large pool of vanilla pudding. It’s remarkable they grew up without food obsessions. I’m hoping it’s partly because I taught them moderation and that sugar isn’t evil. Well, it can be, but if you tell a kid they can’t eat sugar, they’re going to grow up and they aren’t just going to imagine a swimming pool of pudding – they’re going to build it!

But anyway, there I was with the goats, looking around at the awesome beauty and I cried with gratitude. I felt like a soft serve dipped in chocolate wonder. Life is delicious!

Last night I danced on my kitchen table on the Unitarian Universalist altar. Wait. I better back up. When I was asked by renowned polar bear artist, Barbara Stone, to create a dance with the theme of “family” for an event she was having at the church, I immediately thought of the kitchen table. Well, more specifically, I thought of how at Thanksgiving my grandma, Mutti, would pull several long tables out of storage and push them together in the living room (because she and Papa didn’t have a dining room in their little house and the kitchen only sat about five). She would set the tables with white cloths and beautiful dishes. When everyone had gone to bed I would sneak out with a blanket and pillow and sleep under the table. It felt like a tent, but too, the table seemed to be alive with anticipation of the upcoming celebration. For the purposes the dance, I flung myself around my own sturdy kitchen table that I brought to the church.

I named the piece “Memories of the Kitchen Table” because another memory dear to my heart is when my mother would return home from a long day of teaching, my aunt would return from school, my uncle was home from the Navy, my grandfather had just come home from a long day at Public Service and we would all gather at the kitchen table while Mutti served dinner. She occasionally pulled up a chair, but she liked to serve us. I was the only child present, so I didn’t want to be asked too many questions, but I loved to observe. I can’t remember much of what was said – I lived there from the ages 2-10, but I remember the camaraderie and sense of union.

While this event at the church was artistic and not religious, it was spiritual, as Barbara related the amazing tales that led to her original art works and a harpist played and Jeff Stone, Barbara’s ex-husband, recited poems and played Celtic tunes. I celebrated the memories of the table and did what connects me most to the divine: I danced.

Heaven is a cool stone, warm honey kiss, the tall grasses brushing my legs as I follow the goats, the white disc moon and burning sun disappearing behind the blue mountains. Heaven is the warm evening breeze and the magpies eating apples from the big tree that shades my front porch. Heaven is the hummingbird that mistook my red shirt for a flower this morning and buzzed in my face; it’s the last year with my old dog who helped me raise my kids; it’s the yoga instructor’s voice lulling us deeper into our hearts that expand if we let them, bigger than the moon or the sun, so big that we know for sure that war is an illusion and peace was all there ever was.

A Tail Between my Legs; A Rose Between my Teeth

What do you think when I mention: “Oneness,” “The Unknown,” or “The Other.” Spirituality? Heidegger? Perhaps, but no: Argentinean tango. There is no more sensual way to learn about how you engage with the Other than to tango. The leader indicates – with his or her heart – and the follower listens with her heart, trusting implicitly; both hearts open and willing to connect.

Yesterday I found myself telling a partner: “Why don’t you lead me straight back a while so I can feel my heart.” But he didn’t. He kept taking me again and again into the front cross step and several moments of puzzlement, I realized I liked it. I surrendered. He is not all that experienced – this is a beginner’s class after all – but he knew what he wanted, which makes him a good leader.

“Sorry,” he said at one point when he gave me a physical double message and I stumbled.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “You have the harder job.”

“What’s that?” he asked, “Making a woman happy?”

I laughed. “Yes. Good luck.” The adorable, young guy was one step ahead of me.

To the untrained eye, it might look like I go to tango just to be held in the firm arms of young and old men alike. Well, okay that’s not such a bad side benefit, but what I’m learning is it’s not about sex. I take that back. It can be about sex if you and a committed partner are seeking another way to tap the sacred, but ultimately it’s about discovering the heart of the Other in a safe environment. Yes, Heidegger, it’s about a “way of being in the world.”

Brian Dunn and Deb Sclar, our fearless leaders, explain that in Argentina, in general, people are more comfortable being physically close. When they hug it is a bear hug, a warm and solid embrace. In America people – especially relative strangers – don’t hug or, if they do, often they hug tentatively. Brian and Deb demonstrate their American version of the hug and it looks clinical, like perhaps they should be wearing turtlenecks and scrubs. They explain that each dance is an opportunity to fall in love with the stranger across from you, no matter if they are the same sex as you or not. The emphasis is on connecting – physically and emotionally – with the Other, and on taking responsibility to step into the assigned role of leader or follower. I look forward to the day when I’m not thinking as much and can flow with the process.

The first lesson, I attended with my friend, Seth. I was looking straight into his playful hazel eyes.

“I think you’re supposed to be looking at my heart,” he remarked.

Being that following comes so naturally to me, I replied: “No, I think I can look anywhere I want to.”

Within seconds Deb announced that followers are supposed to “look at the leader’s heart, no matter his height. That way the women’s neck remains unbroken and long.” It definitely improved my concentration. Then, we were asked to switch roles. Seth looked down. “Oh wow,” he teased, “You know I am not looking at your breasts.”

“Yes, I know. They happen to be close to my heart.”

Every five minutes or so, followers rotate counterclockwise, moving to a new leader and a new experience.

Yesterday was my third lesson. Dancing with a more experienced partner is wonderful. Robert’s cues are gentle but clear and we glided easily between the parallel step and cross step system. I knew exactly where to step and it was powerful. There are no words exchanged, but strong intention and connection. On my next rotation I met Saunder. It was his first time possibly doing any form of dance whatsoever, and when the music began it was as though his computer had crashed; he was frozen. My eyes drifted up to his face and I thought perhaps I would be forced to shout: “Get this man an oil can, quick!” But then, he leaned and slowly his left foot moved to replace my left foot. Creak. The instructor noticed our immobility. I was thinking, “Yes, please help the poor guy.”

But Brian, the instructor, addressed me. “Do you do other forms of ballroom?” It didn't sound like this was a compliment.

“No.” I replied.

“So you always stand like that?” There must be some mistake, I am thinking. Saunder’s the tin man.

I didn't know whether to fold my arms or put my hands on my hips. “Stand like how?”

“Upright. Like if I were to cast you in a movie, you’d be Superwoman ready to take off.” I looked at him blankly. Didn’t he know? I had to be prepared. You never knew when I might have to don my cape and kill evil villains with my spikes. “Relax!” he translated.

“Okay,” I replied with my tail between my legs. Let me tell you, it’s not easy dancing with a tail between your legs!

So Saunder and I started again. We were moving, slowly, but we were moving. Brian was watching. I relaxed.

“Wait,” he interrupted us again. “Why are you leaning back?” I leaned forward. “No. Don’t do it with your head. Lean in with your heart. It’s not about your back. You’re protecting your heart.”

How in the heck was I supposed to unravel the tightly wound fist that had been living for years inside my chest? Didn’t he know how scary strangers could be? He hadn’t gone on some of my dates! But, that’s another story. I want to remain vulnerable no matter who is standing before me. I’d spent too many years as a chameleon. It was time to unveil my soul, but how? I could sort of feel the subtle shift to which he was referring. I wanted someone to take me by the feet and shake me out over a balcony like a rug. But that seemed like asking too much. Where is Superman when you need him?

I have studied ballet, jazz, modern, African, and tap, but this has been a whole new venture. All forms of dance have taught me something valuable, and now, tango was offering me a direct reflection of how I engage with the Other.

I thought about my first lesson, when I was asked to dance "hands off,” guided only by the leader’s heart without actually being in contact. I remember my partner’s chest hairs and the top button of his shirt, and the way my heart was pounding like a lost puppy’s. “Concentrate!” I told her, when I should have been whispering: “Feel it.”