This is what most of my “movement practice” looks like these days. (I setup a timer at the end of a sit this morning; no special posture; here I’m on a chair.)
You don’t need me to tell you that a practice should serve us, and not vice versa, and by that very definition it needs to be able to adapt.
This time last year, I was really interested in and doing lots of bodyweight strength and mobility type stuff, and also quite interested at the wondrously deep sensitivity budding in my hands when I worked with people, and the profound results that stemmed from that.
Now, both of those seem to be resting.
It’s a kind of suffering that drew me here, and only very recently can I say that without any shame. (The shame would say either “quit bitching and get on with it” or “yeah buddy, everyone suffers” — both kind of the same flavor.)
Because, it seems to me now undeniably, this suffering is one facet of … of what, forgive tired metaphors here, please … of life. It’s part of the whole deal. It occurs; it’s real.
So is the joy of insight, the confusion of feeling lost, on and on.
Again, you don’t need me to tell you this (but sometimes, all the same, it’s a nice reminder, the context, eh?)
So a practice has bloomed, a quiet in which to rest, a natural noticing “what’s here?” (Amazing how much attention gets spent, unconsciously squeezing my eyesight on what’s NOT here: a fool’s errand for sure.)
So a rest, because life rests. So sadness, because life is sadness. So joy and revelation in their time because, if it’s happening we can be sure: life is that too.
What else is there to “practice”?
(This post very much inspired, so thanks to, the yoga teacher Jason Crandell (this post on Instagram in particular) whose writing I have come to very much admire.)