Ephemeral Movement

Tag: mindfulness

  • Eco-Somatic Movement Lab

    This August I’ll be offering a 10-week Eco-Somatic Movement Lab based on the principles of Ephemeral Movement. This will be the first time I’ve ever offered a comprehensive experience of the epistemology of my work. Each week we will be covering a different core theme of Ephemeral Movement.

    Classes will be facilitated in a group container with guided meditations, exploratory somatic movement, and creative expressive practices to process the work. No experience is necessary to join. The aim is for each participant to walk away with not only a deeper sense of self, place, and inter-relational growth but practices and experience to keep exploring.

    Classes will be hosted outdoors in a local Fort Collins park with access via the bike trails or by car and sidewalk. It’s suggested to be prepared for outdoor work with sunscreen, water, comfortable clothes, a meditation cushion or pillow and/or blanket, a lawn chair if needed, or whatever will make the space most accessible for you.

    For more details and to register, toggle over to my Offerings page. Please, reach out with any questions.

    I look forward to practicing with you!

  • Embodied Knowledge in the Weeds

    With a digging fork, a dog, and a toddler, it’s spring and I’m haruffing and puffing my way down nearly 300 feet of dye bed rooting up dandelion in an attempt to “waste naught want naught”. Working hard against the compact soil, I’m having some full-body recognition of things I would have done differently for the dye plants and space. I would have cultivated, mulched, covered, cut back seed heads before they dispersed, harvested roots in the fall, etc etc etc. If I had less distractions and more freedom in this moment, I would have saved back the dandelion flower heads and buds for other tasty affairs, but alas, it was just about the root for me. And while I in no way got through that entire 300 ft, I did walk away with a crate of dandelion root still attached to its aerial parts to be processed and plenty of thoughts about the state of things.

    Aside from the exorbitant weeds, I was taking witness to the chaos of my unsystematic approach to being gifted such an expanse of space. And my self-talk was not so shiny. Partly, looking at the life of a plant bed in early spring will typically not be very clarifying of what’s to come as far as bounty feels. It’s easy to cling to the mess of what it looks like and not see ahead to the vibrant multiplicity of summer. Now that we are in summer and I’ve already picked my first flush of dyers chamomile while many of the transplants are growing taller than the weeds, I’m feeling both relaxed and eager to keep my wits about me this time around. I ride the train of improvement pretty hard sometimes; I’ll start seeing all the ways I could have done better. Other people will see this as being regretful. And sure, there’s some regret, but it’s mostly about how I might make better choices next time that are aligned with the outcome I want. It’s the way I’m designed. I love improving systems and my self in the process.

    After I exhaled a great deal of “this should be better” onto myself. I also gave myself some grace. Last year, I was in my first full year of motherhood. I was grateful enough just to have harvested the amount of plant material as I had AND even hosted a small class. I didn’t get to play with fermenting the indigo we grew, but I did dry back and powder a bunch to play with later. Oh yeah, and I dyed flags with the material we grew for our wedding that made hundreds of feet of flag banners (as well as 5 ties for the wedding party). I have ample amounts of plant materials to play with this year as I grow the next bulk.

    Grace has been a theme word for me this year. I’m offering this word up whenever things get tough. I offer it to myself. I offer it to others, loved ones, strangers. It feels like an exhale and a loosening and a lightening. We all have our burdens, our habits, our labors that we carry, that tangle up between us when no one is paying close enough attention. When we give grace, we give each other that attention, that recognition and witnessing that detangles the moment.

    So I offer myself this grace as I slag my way up the weedy mess of a bed and laugh at myself. I’m embodying the learning of how to grow these specific plants, how to harvest and dry them, how to make dyes and prepare the textiles. I’m learning all of this and simultaneously offering up what I learn in my classes with others. I’m learning how to be more kind to everything. I’m learning about learning and how essential it is that we literally embody the work.

    We can think about things all we want, but until we actually try them on, embody them, they are just “ideas”, not true knowledge. If there is something you want to understand better, to learn, to know, get out there and just try. Do the work. Get into the process. The process is where the magic is. I’d argue that the process is the MOST important part of anything. In food we care about the growing practices. In relationships we care about how people show up in the moment. In play it’s about skill and gamesmanship, not about who wins. In art, I’ve come to feel that it’s the consciousness with which an artist channels while they work or perform that captivates us in the end.

    In all things on earth, we should care about HOW it’s done. The final product is imbued with the process. It’s a type of magic that the capitalist mainstream culture will either have you forget or use as a strategy for your patronage. I’m not saying it’s wrong (the latter at least). I use it for my own small business because I truly believe that where and how things are sourced make up the magic of the final product and I love what I do. We vote with our dollar and I believe it should be spent as wisely as we are able. We all live in capitalism. The more we look it in the eye, the more power we have over ourselves in the mess. When we embody the knowledge of how our attention is aimed, is lured, we gain more control and have more choice. I think this also means we get more of our time back which is our most precious resource.

    And I feel like I have to recommend that anyone who enjoys the medicine of dandelion root dig up, clean, and dry their own stock of dandelion for a year. It’s such a common herb that unless you’ve processed it yourself, you may not realize the work that goes into it. If your soil is nice and loamy it should be pretty easy. In Colorado, you should save such work after the soil has been primed by the rain or a sprinkler. And while typically harvesting roots is a fall endeavor, if you are weeding a space and it’s spring, don’t hold yourself back if the root isn’t mushy.

    I harvest a full crate of dandelions. After processing down to the root, rinsing, and drying, I’ve got a quart jar of medicine to use. It’s a lot of work for a bit of material and an immense amount of embodied knowledge. This jar of root not only cultivated my capabilities but the contents are even more sacred to me because I did the work myself for my family.

    Get into your process. Embody the learning. Enjoy it all along the way or at least laugh about the hard moments once you’re able.

  • Rooting into Rest

    The current astrology (eclipse season) has been telling me (and maybe, you, too?) to rest. It’s been advising me to clear out the excess in my schedule and prepare for unexpected delays. No one would have to try very hard to convince me to take it easy. I DO know I need a lot of rest. I have worked very hard at resting more because I have come to understand my own flow of action and stillness more thoroughly. When I am in “go” mode, I can accomplish in a few hours what would take other people days. Not to say I’m the fastest in the west or anything, though who knows, maybe I am. I am, at least, sometimes the most precise-in-action in the room. And if nothing else, I can have some really fantastic bursts of creative and motivated prowess. As for the current astrological sky, I know this important rest has to do with some new offerings in the works for Ephemeral Movement (among some other channels). I’ve got a very serious creative and logistical mountain to climb and it’s one step at a time. For now, this time is for dreaming it up, laying it out, and laying myself out to go as slow as I possibly can before I take to the proverbial trails and ascend this new, uncharted territory.

    This space I’m cultivating for rest will see not only my projects, but my overall health and wellbeing through to the other side. With that, my creativity is protected so that it is able to flourish. I speak of creativity as an essential need in my life, and ultimately in yours, because it is what drives humanity to connect with the world around us. And it brings a special something to our souls. A common and untrue sentence that devalues our self-worth is, “I’m not creative”. I’ve heard plenty of people say this throughout my life. This is NEVER true. We are all innately creative. Skill-craft, dance, song, storytelling, art were all culturally entangled into the daily lives of humans before the industrial revolution. What differs is where and how we focus our creative energy. What differs is how much we have cultivated our creative skills. Problem-solving is one of the most basic creative actions, and all of us, every day, in all of our different skills have to use problem-solving to get through our work, our passions, our meals. Take creativity beyond it’s daily necessity for survival and we enter the realm of creative expression. This is the realm of open possibility. One thing holding us back is a mind closed to change, to transition, to the natural unfolding of discovery. Another thing in the way is all the do-ing.

    Why, then, can rest be suggested as a doorway to creative expression? We need to slow down and reduce stimuli to get to an integrated place where we are experiencing our mediums fluidly. In our modern culture we experience nearly constant stimuli and stressors. Having a pocket device that is an alarm clock, a planner, a computer, a camera, a phone, a game system, our social exchange, and more, means we never truly turn off. Most people I’m around have their phone ringer on at all times, and many have app notifications set to alert them as well. My husband has reminder sounds–so I have to hear that he’s gotten a text twice, if not more times, when his phone, watch, and iPad are all in the same room. Personally, that would drive me insane (and, for the record, it does). My phone is mainly (not all) just that: a phone. I have my ringer off and only accept notifications from an astro app I enjoy the mindful reminders from. But even I struggle with picking up my phone and mindlessly checking my email or social media. Supposedly, the average American spends 4.5 hours on their phone a day (I heard teenagers spend upwards of 7 hours a day).

    FOUR AND A HALF HOURS. That’s 2 movies. That’s a seminar. That’s probably meal-planning and making those meals for a week. That’s how many chapters in a good book? That’s how many hours of your vitality doing what? That’s definitely an entire sewing project making a pair of pants. Just imagine what you could accomplish if you saved up all that time for something that puts your creative brain into flow state? It’s an amazing amount of time. What if that was just four and a half hours of rest throughout the day; 5 minutes to spritz the face and do some light facial care in the morning to wake up, 10 minutes of watching the light change out the window while you drink your coffee, 20 minutes of lazy journaling, 20 minutes for an afternoon nap, 45 minutes reading a book after lunch, 20 minutes of doodling and daydreaming, 10 minutes sipping a cup of herbal tea, 30 minutes of stretching and 30 minutes of exercise, 30 minutes for a dreamy phone-call with a good friend, and 20 minutes to listen to some of your favorite music while you lay on your back in the living room. That’s 4 hours. That is a speed of life that I know so many desire. How do we get it?

    Can we really just reach out and touch a slower life if we put down our phones and stop scrolling? But, and how? When we get such an immediate dopamine high from a device and we feel we don’t have a lot of time, it’s the easiest fix. When there is always a project, chores, work, or someone vying for our attention, how do we say, “no, thank you, not today”? And if you’re a people-pleaser, this is probably exceptionally hard for you. Can we compartmentalize our people-pleasing? Maybe if we acknowledge we aren’t very pleasurable when we are feeling foul from being exhausted or we’d rather be doing something else.

    It’s simple to suggest that it would be easy to take that time we spend on our phones or completing some fantasy-of-importance task and turn it into rest. It’s an interesting experiment to attempt. I’ve read over 6 books in the last few months because I’ve been trying this out (reading is typically my right before bed practice and was replacing TV time). That’s a record for me in the last handful of years. Of course, there are seasons in life. What season are you in? Are you ready to embody a more creative life? I wonder how rest would help you do so?

    The month of April is about going slow to gather energy for the next big, life-changing to-do’s of the year. Empty the calendar where possible. Take a little off the plate. If you’re joining in this practice my only advice is to breathe into your roots and root into your resting. Whatever that means to you.

    The following is a practice to try.

    Root into Rest Practice:
    Find a comfortable position, seated or laying down and take deep, relaxed breaths until you are naturally breathing comfortably on your own. Locate and elongate your spine. Envision there is a golden thread rooting downward through your pelvis into the earth and the other end is lightly lifting you up towards the sky, the top of your head floating effortlessly. Allow your tongue to sit relaxed at the top of your mouth, release any tension in your jaw and eyes. Breathe into this space you’ve created in your body. Imagine a golden, glowing light throughout and radiating outward. Each inhale you bring up through the earth and each exhale more golden glitter puffs out around you, dancing in the air like dust particles in the sunlight. Breathe like this until you and the space around you is well-dusted and immersed in the golden, glowing, glitter and you are comfortably rooted to this restful place on the earth. Be here as long as you like. When you feel done, take a few breaths to return to a more active body and witness the space you are in. Look around at it, releasing your head and body back to a pedestrian state. Maybe some toe wiggles, shoulder rolls, head tilts. When you’re ready, you can get up and go about your day taking this restful moment with you.

  • Not-knowing

    Often, I think about the importance of “not-knowing” and considering how much we can’t conceive. It’s become common that we give away our power to scientists, doctors, politicians, influencers, friends, family. There is value in years of experience that lead to professionals being top of their field. Or to the hard-fought opinions made facts that so many preach. Visionaries continue to question whether we really have all the information. And some of the most “out-there” people, way ahead of their time, receive guffahs to their “outlandish” ideas. Most of the time, we don’t have all the information. A lot of what we take in as truths are just agreed upon results for the time being. It’s all subject to change when our capacity for understanding shifts. And it’s all subject to who has the power. How often do we believe the experts and then decades later more information to paint a fuller picture is released and so we must shift perspective? It genuinely makes me laugh at how much of what is “real” is really just made up. And it makes me ache at how many of these “truths” were designed for power and control. I used to be gullible. Now I can hardly take anyone serious when they start speaking in absolutes.

    Some would say that whatever you believe becomes true for you. If that is so, why not open to not-knowing, to having a magical sense of unknown and the potential for fantastic possibilities. This is part of what can be difficult neurologically for survivors of trauma (and anyone living under capitalism, patriarchy, and colonialism, but that’s a whole other thread, though entirely relatable). The brain is wired for survival and when something intense happens, our brains learn from and wire to respond with the previous evidence of threat. This is useful if the threat hasn’t passed, but when it’s long gone and your nervous system is constantly reacting to minor inconveniences and non-threats, it can become exhausting. When fear is what the unknown kindles in us, we can struggle to want to lean in.

    I experience this is my life more recently when I’m tagging patterns in people who have hurt me and finding evidence to prove my feelings right about how this person is wrong. I’m thinking I can’t forgive them unless I lay it all out and explain the rage, detail their missteps, and find some vindication through their acknowledgement. But, I struggle to find the courage to even mention to them how it hurts and instead continue my internal narrative. Unable to really forgive and too cowardly to hurt their feelings with my truth, I walk a fence-line of discomfort and feel invisible. Unable to change the person as they are or my feelings about them, I repeat my frustrations to myself and sometimes other willing ears. Being witnessed helps me understand myself better and while it may not change the situation or my feelings, it helps to release the pressure building up within me. It allows me to rewrite what is happening from a more realistic viewpoint, less vindictive, more understanding for the other and myself. While my authentic feelings may be difficult they are not static. I can go from the rage of disbelief that aims to protect me to a calm understanding of why those feelings have arisen. This is powerful witnessing; whether with a journal or a friend, reflecting on the how and why helps me move past the what and who, transforming fear of the unknown into possibility.

    Luckily, our brains are malleable and trainable. Thoughts and words repeated alchemize into truths. “I am loved and safe” might not feel true for awhile, but eventually the somatic tuning of the body shifts and one day, it’s not only true, but it feels true. I may repeat to myself, “I can uphold boundaries and build clarity with a kind firmness” many times before I actually speak anything into being. I have to rewire my self-talk around being a push-over or being unable to speak my truth. “I can be kind and firm”. “Being authentic helps others be authentic, too”. “Conflict does not equal endings”.

    Through simple thought practices, we titrate our way to healthful self-talk, healthy habits, and more connectivity to ourselves and the world around us. When we are not in a amygdala-based, reactive fight-or-flight-or-fawn state, we can open up to the vitality of nature–within, outside-of, and all around us. We expand our capacity for engagement through practice. Capacity to sense our physiological needs, capacity for interacting with loved ones and the larger community, and capacity to sense beyond ourselves into our nature-self, the interconnected life-force of the world.

    Anyone who works with plants will tell you how they communicate telepathically or how moon phases effect agriculture. There is so much that we can’t see. Have you ever slowly walked towards a tree in an “open” state and felt the moment you’ve entered it’s bubble? Try it. A few times if you have to. The same can be done with a partner or friend. Walk towards each other from 30 feet away. Pause when you need to. Retreat if that feels good. Go slow or fast but pay attention to the subtle energies at play. Aim to meet at least a few feet together. It’s a lot of fun and kinda intimidating at times. An excellent “ice-breaker” for groups, too. It takes practice to truly witness, to consciously participate and respond, and to remain non-judgemental. All space is shared space.

    In shared space there’s a softness to hold and be held. There’s a magic in the witnessing, something about the other set of eyes, the nervous system and experience of the other individual(s) in the room that helps to bring meaning out of seemingly simple or even mundane moments. Being witnessed is no small thing. When we live or create without ever connecting or giving away or being acknowledged our work, thoughts, feelings, etc., remain in a vacuum. We are designed to share and be seen.

    In Ephemeral Movement, not-knowing is key. The practice of showing up without judgement and the conscious agreement to participate, witness, and collaborate with anything that catches. Guiding through following and holding the not-knowing for the possibility of discovery. In essence; opening to not-knowing and moving through that opening into a more full and connected way of being. It is a practice, a skill, an ongoing effort to be and feel connected, vital, and collaborative.

    Sending warmth and blessings on this time of spring equinox! May we all have the courage, tenacity, and compassion to move towards what helps us grow in this time of new beginnings.

  • Empty Space: A Meditation

    Empty Space: A Meditation

    When you read “empty space” what comes to the forefront of your mind? Is there a value set upon it? An emotional response? Disinterest? Curiosity?

    I sit with “empty space” now and my experience is expansive. A deep inhale and a long, natural exhale brings me into my seat, the living room, at home. I begin to float and pour out of myself while simultaneously allowing the environment I’m in to fill me. Layers of buzzing in my ears from within and without. Light and shadows are more stark. Time expands and contracts. A dance of sensations and information about my current state and the space around. I feel tired. I feel calm. A scintilla of my responsibilities tug my chest downward. Another deep breath. Joy in my chest, and sorrow beneath my eyelids. Tears are just beneath the surface. My fingertips feel electric and my knuckles heavy. My sacrum glows yellow and my tummy aches. An interruption tangles up my chest with frustration. A momentary lament of the slow uncovering I had been in. I grasp at it. Anger rises. As a mother I get so little time alone; a choice I make consciously. Even still, it can be grating when you find yourself in a spare moment of solitude and are yanked from perceived peace. As the space settles again, another deep breath helps me return to this practice. I sit silently for a few minutes focused more on the space around me than the sensations of my body. Everything, while not “put away” seems to be in its right place. A plush mushroom in the walkway, house slippers astray, blocks scattered, an empty tea cup and a barely read book. An urge to get up and rearrange some plants in the window passes. I remain sitting here, computer in lap, leaned back on the couch, legs crossed and folded. I find myself at a pivot. I get up and go outside.

    Like a blank canvas or page, an empty vase, or a task-free moment, space can open up to us with an invitation to fill it however we please. There’s a powerful moment of unknown–what will unfold? What will I do next? Rest? What do we want? What do we need? What does your body tell you to do right now? Maybe your body tells you to go outside or eat a snack or take a drink of water or lay on the floor and space out or to simply just be where you are. Oblige. Acknowledge and appreciate your inherent knowing. When we are able to connect to this, every place is right where we need to be.

    Empty space is a contemplative practice, something that can be done at any juncture for any length of time. It’s basically meditation, it’s also not meditation if you need it not to be. It’s a somatic practice. It’s the practice of returning, letting the new moment take hold, and participating in that magnetism that draws us forward. It can be a single breath; the inhale rejuvenating and the bottom of the exhale spacious. Or the inhale a keying in to our physiological needs and the exhale an acceptance. I write this and my eyes glaze into peripheral seeing. I could take a nap. I’m also energized by just being. Thanking all grace given to this moment of “nothing” when it truly is something just to be, here, noticing what I notice; my needs met enough to pause for the unfolding. Does some part of your body call out to be acknowledged? Is there a color to it? Does it pulsate, flicker, glow? Does it change as you listen. Follow what grabs hold with a curiosity and sense of awe; there is an opportunity to witness without judgement.

    Empty space and awe are partners. Awe is a key tool in participation. Does the spaciousness, the dancing sunlight, your heart pumping and lungs working not inspire you and bring you to your knees? Is it not painfully pleasurable? Every atom of ourselves mix with every other particle of the space around us. Allow space to fill you through your cells. Exhale yourself into the world with that unified awareness. All the hurt and joy in the world wrapped up in one mundane moment; empty space is never truly empty.

    There’s going to be pain no matter what you do in life, whether through your own personal experience or from the experience of empathy and compassion as witness to the world. We must witness ourselves and each other. A dance of turning inward and outward again to cyclically anchor us to life, the realities whether harsh and unfair or privileged and soft. If not, we lose a very visceral and alive piece of our humanity. We are not as solid and separate as mainstream culture might suggest or train us to think. Do not go numb. Do not sever your heart so that it won’t hurt. Grief and sorrow are catalysts for change and beauty. Reach into the cavernous deep and discover how it can transport us to better beginnings.

    Empty yourself into the ocean and let it fill you up again. Exhale yourself completely into the trees and let them fill you up again. Lean deeply into an embrace with someone and hold each other up. Be empty so that you may be full.

    It’s March! Go outside and catch some sun before we get the last snows of the season.

    Thank you for joining. If you haven’t yet and feel inspired, please subscribe! I am now offering individually tailored sessions in Fort Collins, CO on a limited basis. My facilitation style is meant to meet you where you’re at and help you build mindfulness skills to tune into your body and find support within and in the natural world. Stay tuned for group movement classes coming soon, hopefully *fingers crossed*.

  • Momentum

    On a hike this winter in Northern Colorado, I was considering whether the human ear can perceive light. It is a wavelength after all. The trail had dipped into the shadow of the mountain and the snow beneath our feet crunched beneath our weight. Yet, it seemed so quiet and still. Of course, it’s likely that most mobile beings like insects and animals would prefer the warm sunshine in winter than the shadowy side of a mountain, creating the silence of the darkness, like the void of space where, at least to human understanding, there’s nothing alive and breathing.

    What of other senses perceiving light? When I am in the sunshine, I feel heavy. Is it the pressure of the speed at which light travels pushing against me? Light doesn’t seem to weigh anything, but does something that moves 186,000 miles per second really have no force? Modern science claims that the eye is the fastest perceiving organ in the human body. This makes sense considering how fast light moves. Only, I’m not convinced. How can we simplify the power of human perception when I feel the force of the sunshine on my body when I walk outside. Is it my skin that perceives first the sensation of my environment? My ears hearing the click of a stick down by the creek, my whole body responds to the possible threat or eager sighting of wildlife. And I feel wild in response; a tender, fleshy and fluid soft sack of sentience that in the case of being stalked may not be able to defend myself.

    As Crooke’s radiometer (that little science object that looks like a lightbulb and has the little kite-shaped plates and spins in the light) displays, light can make the plates spin. The actual science behind it has to do with thermal gas pressure, but the idea that light creates movement is spectacular. Sunflower heads following the sun, houseplants reaching towards the window-light, the edges of the day ripe with the busy activity of birdsong, the pull of the moon and stars on our gaze.

    Being outdoors orients me to time and space in a way that places me honestly in the web of life. Our current lifestyles are dishonest; we rarely perceive the truth of our place on Earth. When we isolate our senses, like we so often do in our day-to-day, the unfocused direction of doing, we are robbing ourselves of our totality and the potentiality of experience. We live so heavily in one sense at a time. What would it feel like to open up more the perceptions of our full somatic experience? To the push and pull of the light of the cosmos, the cleansing wind, the clarity and peace of rivers and oceans. The summer sun beckons a reprieve in the shade of a tree; an invitation to rest and witness the world through opening up our sense-perception and allowing ourselves to be moved.

    What would it feel like to follow our intuition, our gut instinct? Would we all open our front doors and disappear into the wilderness? Or wander until we found ourselves at the doorstep of a dear friend or family member and fall into a deep embrace? Would we stand in city centers and weep? How have we come here?

    The earth is calling us back. How will you respond?