yet another eclipse, double rainbow, full moon
Driving here I forget that it’s Friday night- sidewalks are full of barhoppers and partiers. And I choose instead to get into a tank with myself for a few hours and perhaps feel the effects of the eclipse slipping away.
My intention? Feel ease within the rawness. Allow the void/myself to teach me about the potential of being comfortable with the unknowing.
Writing seems to ask a codification of my brain that is alien, unused for the past stretch of time.
I don’t know if taking 3 dropperfuls of Bee Calm tinctures right before floating is cheating or not, but it sure helped me loosen myself. I can barely hold the pen. Whole body slipped laterally across a dimension, testing the permeability of perception.
People talking in the lobby seem too harsh to me, too bright. I get self-righteous inside- why blabber about this experience when you could sit with it afterwards and feel it continue to unfold within you? There are many ways- have to remember what is mine is not automatically the best. That’s an embarrassing thing to write. Ah well.
Deep diffusion at my edges. The stress and emotional exhaustion is further away. Body has experienced putting something down.
I move to my car to find some semblance of a bubble to write in. The eternal challenge- to be rooted enough in the excavated peace to be unfazed by nothing- loud voices being part of the easiest tier of testing.
Water chooses when to lift me up, like the moment of liftoff in a plane. There’s no choosing to defy the buoyancy when it chooses to take you.
Shift in brain waves tonight towards something that defied descriptive/verbal anchors. Curled up fetal- permission to be in the womb. Spun my orientation the other direction in the tank and felt the shifted compass freeing some calcification of my inner perspective. Fine line between orientation and judgment- thinking you know where you are and what is what leads to all sorts of hubris.
returning repeatedly to the elemental/infinite origins of movement- from that space could emerge an explosion of forms, or the subtle shifts of the amniotic dance.
No matter the collective outcome of this project, I will be grateful for the repeated opportunity to practice relinquishing all the trappings of my life and see what still shimmers pink and healthy beneath the dark surface.
In the middle of the float, a sharp clue- climbing back into the tank after a brief rinsing off, I half-shut my thumb in the door. Pain erupts, comes in waves. Cold water sharpens it. I lay back in the saltwater, accepting this as the new, unavoidable parameter of my experience. Water holds me, a container around the throbbing pain. Somehow it lessens- who knows how much time it takes. I’m disintegrating into the water, trying to accomplish nothing. A greater gift than any active choreography coming out of all this would be a clearer knowing of who the mover is, or what is pouring life into the movement.