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The earth is spinning. On it’s own and around the sun, in a beautiful spinning dance in sync with our galaxy and the milky way, taking its place  in space among other        galaxies, more space, and who knows……

Here on the ground the spinning craziness of spring is slowing down. Into a lush greenness padding under feet, plants lazily splaying in the sun with the fruit of their bodies slowly gorging ever bigger, proof the rampaging of spring has paid off.

Deepening into oneself, there comes a time or times of shedding expectations of the rushing world, and tuning in to the slowness of our natural world and inner bodies. Of acknowledging the anxiety that often drives us and tuning in to the slower wisdom that is always there, in the background.

Of acknowledging that we are held together, our hearts keep on beating, the seasons keep turning. Of allowing ourselves to be pulled to a slower pace and sinking to the ground amidst the hot air, thick with moisture and the slow breath of rainforest. Noting woodpeckers, flat wide bodies sweeping their black capes, looking out from pointed crimson heads. The lazy hum of insects and trickling water, thick moss underneath our bodies.

Feeling the breath of our body, the breath of the forest, the breath flowing through everything at once and at once individually. Sensations of nature allowing us to sense ourselves.

Sometimes I move through life quickly, sometimes slowly. I’ve noted how when our bodies heal in a wholistic body/emotional way, sometimes slow is faster. On the table in a BCST session, allowing myself the permission of slowness, healing often feels more resourced and integrates more pleasantly. As a practitioner of BCST when I allow myself to slow down and sit back, often a subtler and deeper process will emerge in the client’s body. Or more anatomical information will arise.

Allowing life to inform and breath us.

In the garden, cucumbers and tomatoes and peas and beans are rounding from the inside out. The pupa, still on the outside but a oozing transmutation inside. In the neighborhood a belly rounds, as surely as stars above and earth under feet. Life. Hidden, full in front of us, in us, through us. 

The weather is changing…… or is it? Are we going back to winter, forward to spring, or are we just in the middle of a crazy, mood swinging, temperature changing, cool and still, passionately abundant time of year?

The other day I sat amongst the trees. The was sun shining above, the warm soft earth underneath, it felt like everything was possible and good. So easy to feel life. My life and the life of the forest around me. Another day, it’s raining and cold and I’m not sure I want to go out.

A bit confusing, really. Aren’t I supposed to feel good? All the time? A question I long grappled with, glomming onto Cinderella and the North American dream. If I try hard enough, I’ll get rewarded, right? I thought by doing everything right I should feel good. All the time.

In psychology, it’s considered a sign of maturity when a child can be aware of differing conflicting emotions at the same time. Like “I’m angry and want to hurt you but I also love you and don’t want to hurt you”. It’s often the same when our bodies heal. Instead of pushing out the bad, and straining to conjure good, healing often happens when we are able to be with the uncomfortable parts of ourselves while at the same time experiencing an “okness”, a degree of safety. Sometimes healing is quick, sometimes not so much. Sometimes healing just feels good. Sometimes it’s a slower deepening into ourselves, becoming more “OK” with the swirling and spectacular variety of emotions and experiences that make us human, that make up life.

Back in the forest, from the warm earth I pick up a piece of bark, slowly decomposing. As I lift it, clouds of spores waft around me filling my nose and lungs. I look around. The air is visibly full through the sun’s rays. Earth, fungus, pollen, tree particulate, and stardust filling the space. We are made of the earth and the stars, all at once.

Something clicks. It’s everything, all at once. I don’t need to push something away. Decide what I can and cannot take in. From the air, from life. I can just be me. Be myself, connecting to the breathing in, breathing out craziness of spring life and death and transformation that is taking place all around and in me. Joy and sadness, loss and love, old and new. Living with my arms wide open, in moments.

This is my story, right now, this spring. One thing I’m learning, we were never meant to live someone else’s life. We are meant to learn from each other, be inspired by each other, we heal in each other’s presence. I have had seasons where I could not be with everything at once. Some seasons are downright overwhelming, some are wonderful, and some in between. There are so many stories. What is your story, right now? Your season?

I love this time of year! At least when the sun is out. I love the pure joy of a deep freeze and clear skies and bright sun.

As a Biodynamic Craniosacral Therapist, I am honored when a person’s body opens up to tell a story. Muscles become primed in tensegrity and excitement, a heart trembles with loss, lungs fizz with life and happiness. Or fascia may be held rigid in terror and “freeze”, afraid to move. For some, this “freeze” gets mirrors in the cold months. Some remember a terror. Others have an overwhelming build up of stress. And some feel it all, with an ancient existential edge to it all. Underneath it, a question. “Is it safe to exist in my own skin?”

One winter I felt a ton of freeze and terror. Interestingly, I was feeling a relative safety in my process for my body to be able to express in this way, looking under the covers of depression. And so that winter I found space to feel freeze and terror and at the same time look around and know that I was, actually, OK.

As the cold goes on outside, winter solstice has come and the light is growing, piercing the shadows. I like this. Grief and terror are not always left abruptly behind, but light spreads and we begin to feel other things as well. Our bodies start to modulate. There is a beautiful dance between older extremes in our nervous system, tempered by oxytocin and new pathways, that allow us to engage differently with life and each other. The slight buzz of moving toward a friendly face, a delicious meal. The “freeze without fear” of resting happily, enjoying a full belly and the warmth of loved ones. The joy of walking, bundled in woolies, in a frozen landscape with bright sun overhead.

Grief. As the fall slips in and envelopes us in warm colors, warm soups, cool weather and cold rain, a different atmosphere and different moods curl in. We hunker down, pile on the blankets, cozy up to the fireplace. Some would say, fall is the time when the veil is thin between the seen and the unseen. A time when some slip away from this life. A time when we, still here, are in touch with our own ghosts.  A time, perhaps, for grief and honor of who and what we have lost.

In Biodynamic Craniosacral Therapy, we become aware of emotions in peoples bodies. BCST is one way to explore how your body is holding emotions and how it wants to integrate. We are also aware what a difference healthy connections make to the health expressed in our bodies. In the book Molecules of Emotion (Candace E. Pert), the author explains how science is identifying different peptides human cells release in association with different emotions we feel. We are literally streaming peptides/emotions in our bodies all the time. Grief is an emotion that is expressed in our bodies. We are all familiar with the archetypal picture of crying and keening, doubled over, in grief.  But what of the lump in the throat, swallowed grief. What of the lost appetite, a stomach held tight, afraid to take sustenance? What of the legs, so cold, never warming up, pulling up under the body attempting to numb out? What of the lungs, deep and heavy.

We grieve many things. Losing a loved one. But what of loss before a time we had language to file it in our brains? Loss of a twin, grief etched in our bones, no one to notice or remember.  Loss of a relationship. Loss of a job. Loss of ideals, floating in uncertainty.

Feeling loss means we have the capacity of love.  So go ahead, take yourself off the hook, for having the audacity to be alive. To exist in a world that has changed beneath your very feet.  Hold the aching parts of your body in compassion and love. Let your loved ones go in love. Turn to the warmth and love of living. Let your skin feel warmed by the fire.

Here’s an ode to past and present.

When I look to the night sky and moon,  I feel the heart of my Grandmothers. I hear echos of my Grandfather in the kind voice of an older man. I know I am loved, I know who I am.

In my Lover’s eyes, I see myself reflected, I feel the bonds of our offspring. I look around, I feel the warmth of home, I feel my tribe of sisters, the comfort of friends. I know I am loved. I know who I am.

Welcome to my website! For my first blog post I am going to talk about bones. Bones have been on my mind. If you look at the opening page of my website you will see rock deep in the earth carved by nature. Looking at this picture, it reminds me of bones.

Most pictures show bones of a dead organism that are thoroughly dry and brittle. Living bones are flexible, living connective tissue systems filled with collagen and calcium and water and arteries and veins and marrow. Think of it. The connective tissue that runs in and around everything in your body, also connects onto and into your bones. And the vessels? Deep in your bones, flowing through your whole organism and connecting into your heart. And how often do we think of bones when we think of our immune system? Yet that is where most of the immune cells start, deep in the marrow of the bones.

In Biodynamic Craniosacral Therapy bones are often felt. It intrigues me. Bones are  felt to have subtle patterns of motion that express in a slow rhythm. Sometimes non optimal alignment shows up between bones. But what has really been intriguing me lately is when inertia shows up inside of a bone. When a force vector has been introduced into a bone, be it from birth, a fall, an accident, or blunt force. The body will often hold that force in one spot, as letting it take over the whole body may be too much at the time for the body to handle, too overwhelming. Or it may want to learn from the pattern, holding on to some tension as a way to remember not to do it next time. And as the body acts as a unified whole, this will affect tissue patterns around the site as well. In BCST these places in the body are held, and if and when the body feels safe and resourced enough to let go, it will.

Think about your own bones. How do you see them? How do you feel them? Running today, I noticed that when I land on my heals my bones took up a lot of shock from the impact. However, when I landed on the balls of my feet I felt my bones join my whole body and act like a big spring.  When I walked (cause let’s face it, I’m more of a walker) my bones felt deep and solid. Like how I feel when I think of rock, deep in the earth. Solid. Take a minute to just sit and feel your bones. Think of the earth and rock under you as well. What do you feel? There is no right or wrong answer. Just notice.