Where life is precious
A letter connecting the body, movement, and memory.
Listen to this story.
Dear relatives,
In January, around the Lunar New Year, I began reconnecting with my body by getting more movement (Yes, I am an Aries Moon!). Before that, it had been several months of mostly not moving. The first few sessions were intense. My joints ached, loudly. My body made me fully aware, creating audible crick-crack-creaking sounds—I'd say it was something akin to an old neglected door hinge, or a tired worn window pane. It felt as if the rubber band tension in my fascia was being pulled beyond its capacity. But, in a good way, I think. In a way that stretched my spirit as well as my physical body.
As we enter the plant stretching season, Grandfather Sun lingers longer in the night sky, signaling the expansion of daylight hours and warmer weather. Our great luminary has moved into the sign of the Ram, and the energy is shifting from the mutable waters of Pisces to the cardinal fire of Aries. The green-bodied relatives fire ancient synapses, reaching in all directions. Spring has officially arrived.
Adapt. Pivot. Shift form. Emerge. Everywhere, bodies lift up and out. Spill over, moisten, lubricate. Maybe, like me, something inside you wants to be reclaimed, wants to move and lengthen, and feel at full range. So, we listen for that deep beckoning, that wide expanse. There is so much to be concerned about, so much that demands our attention. Every minute, every hour, every moment pulled-pressed into something; bodies inflamed, heartbroken, joyful, aware.
I know, it’s hard to feel renewed amidst this mess we’re in, this pile of dung and decay and humus. But, that is where regeneration is born. In the beyond the end time-places, the liminal spaces where mycelial story threads abound.
I know, it takes a lot of effort to stay in the thick of it. Just today, I had a conversation about the cyclical work of healing, and how there is a tendency to promote the notion of letting go and moving on as if it were sport. Change is a lasting truth, and it can be a rather messy, meandering, and hellish endeavor. It takes a while to embody. It’s uncomfortable. Some of us spend a lifetime repeating harmful patterns, so as not to change. And, sometimes, there is a strong desire—I dare say, an obsession—to disappear the things that are hard to stay with. The illusion is that we can somehow undo the difficult, that there are chapters that remain closed once we turn away from them.
Once, in grade school, a bully smeared a juicy ripe Morus Rubra (Red mulberry) all over my favorite purple jumper. It was actually a tag-team operation, involving a brother and his paternal twin sisters. They all worked together to manipulate me into believing they wanted to be my friend. I don’t know why I trusted them, they were never very kind or friendly.
By the time I realized what had happened, the mulberry stain had set in and started bleeding through the fibers of my jumper, all the way to the skin surrounding my heart and lungs. I was mostly embarrassed by my own gullible mind, concerned I had betrayed myself. And I was furious by the thought that all this would change my relationship with a beloved fruit. How will I ever enjoy mulberry season again?, I thought.
The experience imprinted a pattern in me that continues to inform how I move in the world: Be skeptical of others. Keep your distance. Don’t express vulnerability. I will always be that young person standing in the middle of the playground, mulberry dyed and spirit bruised.
I can never disappear that story. Even though it was intensely lonely, the memory keeps me threaded to a part of myself that holds wisdom. The memory is dynamic, not frozen in time-space. I can dance with it and let it show me things. The story, as painful as it is, moves with me. It has led me back into the joy of eating wild mulberries in the lush Ohio summers.
To move through life in the face of harm requires a deep diligence. I am reminded of the seedlings who are now reaching toward the warm hands of the Sun. The soil where their bodies are becoming might be damaged, or neglected, or abused. Still, they climb. Still, they pulse in praise of life.
Equinox & Venus cazimi blessings to you.
Until the next one,
Christian
Join the conversation in the comments
What are your thoughts about the connections between the body, movement, and memory? All comments are welcome, but here are a few prompts to consider:
How has your relationship with your body influenced your relationship with movement?
What is your earliest memory of feeling free in your body?
Is there a particular movement practice that helps you connect, ground, or release?
How has the landscape where you are from, or the land where you currently live, shaped your memory?