I’ve thought a lot recently about living in the present moment.  During this weird, in-between time of being somewhat better but not yet fully recovered, I became really plagued by both the past and the future…the present moment became a confusing medley of memories, fears, and far-away dreams.   It left me in a bit of a daze, that I’m still working on shaking off.  But the more my body heals, the more my life comes together.

BodyTalk and Franklin Method exploration continue as well. I had an interesting experience in a ballet class last week.  I’ve been instructed only to take barre and maybe gentle exercises in center…no wild arm motions allowed.  I was on the subway to class, super excited and pumped to be dancing.  As my stop got nearer, I started to feel my heart rate increase a bit. Anxiety began to make my hands clammy.  My whole body felt out of sorts and by the time I walked into the studio I had an overwhelming sense of nausea.  Uncertain why my whole body was spazzing out, I did my best to muddle through barre, thank the teacher, and practically run back to the subway, shaken and exhausted. 

As I rode the subway home (you find you have a lot of time to think in transit) I realized something.  Before surgery, I had extremely firm ideas about how my body worked, how I felt about how it worked, and what dance was to me.  Now…everything has changed.  During my time away from the studio I have learned more than I could have possibly imagined about how my body actually functions.  I’ve shaken old habits, I’ve pondered my attachments, I’ve disrupted not only the physical patterns that were once rock solid in my system, but also dissolved  the emotional tapestry etched there by time and memory.  And once all of that is gone…what’s left? I felt like a snake shedding skins, but without knowing what would be underneath. The question left my entire being floundering at the ballet barre.  

When I finally arrived back at my apartment, I knelt on the dark wood floor of my cozy room and cried.  ’Too much, too much!’ My heart and body cried. I guess before we move on, we have to grieve a bit for all that we are letting go.  I know I just have to keep getting back into the studio, no matter how much my nervous system freaks out, it will eventually develop new, exciting, fresh and beautiful patterns.   I am just starting to glimpse all that I have to look forward to.

Here is a little ditty filmed pre-surgery and edited during recovery…enjoy!

Such a situation came up in my last session with Ann.  Some unproductive events and beliefs  were locked into my body and reluctant to dislodge.   It was as if my body was literally saying “No thanks, we’ve worked this way for years.  We’re good.” Meanwhile my mind was crying out for it to go, begging for the freedom its elimination would permit.  It was a little while before it gave in and when it finally did…!  The release from harboring leftover emotional projections from experiences you’d rather have forgotten is beyond description.   It’s something we don’t always have the tools to achieve on our own, which is why holistic work like BodyTalk is so incredible.  It gives us the means to reach  a cohesive relationship between the body and mind-something that we take for granted but doesn’t always actually happen.   You know something is off-kilter when your history is suddenly dictating  your future.  So often we see each other through the haze of relationships past rather than opening our eyes to what’s standing right in front of us.    Be in the present, be yourself…sometimes just realizing the possibility of change allows change to happen.  And ultimately, we’re not really changing.  We are uncovering who we actually are.

Upon returning to the city I found out that physical therapy won’t begin until the first week of November.  I had hoped to start earlier, but with only one shot at this process I am not interested in jeopardizing any part of it. Have patience. Back in the city, the pros and cons of my situation have become clearer.  Pro: Awesome excuse to spend the entire day at museums, the park, the zoo, or otherwise exploring the city.  Con: Only have the energy to participate in anything for about 4 hours before needing a nap.  Pro: Sleep as much as you want, whenever you want.  Con: Don’t move at all while you’re sleeping.  Good luck getting comfy with a sling imprisoning your arm and cranking on your neck.  Pro: Make exciting plans about future dances/films/collaborative projects. Con: Takes about a million years to write/type anything….let alone accomplish the everyday basics such as showering, brushing teeth, putting on clothes, or eating.   Time flies when you’re typing 7 words a minute.  Pro: Lots of time to think.  Con: Too much time to think. 

Nighttime is the hardest.  Something about being awake when everyone else is asleep makes one’s loneliness that much more apparent.  I don’t mean loneliness in terms of “sad, sad, I am without friends or family.”  I am talking about being alone in a situation.  I am talking about watching the people around you take the stairs two at a time while you are sitting on the bottom step.  I am talking about battling the vulnerability of your own neediness. I am talking about telling a person who has danced her entire life, to stop…even if it’s only for a little while.  I am well aware of the richness this experience will bring to not only my work, but my life.  But I am not going to downplay its difficulties.