sinking in

I see that my exploration and education into the world of bodywork is ripe for metaphors. As this third week of training comes to a close, I realize that I've sunk in and I'm landing.

Earlier in the week we learned about fascia, the fibres which enfold the muscles, assist in movement. As you rest light hands on the surface of skin above a muscle, let gravity do its thing and breathe, you might feel your fingers sink below the layers of skin and rest on the thin layer of fascia that covers a muscle. If you quiet yourself, continue to breathe, let go of your preconceptions, your knowledge of anatomy, you will be invited into the body, you will embark on an exploration, a dance between your touch and the world below.

I have been surprised by the level of inner dis-ease with which I have reconnected over the first few weeks of this program. Being out of my comfort zone I have rallied my old familiar ways - pushing back, resisting, and struggle. I have vacillated between doubting, fearing, withdrawing and enduring, efforting, breathing into low-level letting go. I appreciate those of you who have encouraged me to relax, lighten up, enjoy the experience. Sadly, when I imagine or experience an external 'threat' not a lot of my historical survival instincts have revolved around relaxation and surrender. And so this quality of release seemed elusive if not impossible (I can actually engage the absurdity of efforting to relax).

A mainstay of my challenge of working with massage is that my hands em-body my efforting and rather than being soft and receptive, they are strong and hard, muscling my way through a massage in hopes of getting it 'right.' Again, the feedback from fellow participants and trainers has been to relax my hands, soften my touch and bring my strength up from the ground and through my legs, hips, pelvis, and torso. The training is touching fascia was a doorway into softening. It's amazing that as I touch without attachment, agenda, effort, and the noise of my so-called knowledge, as I allow gravity and quiet to reign, my hands travel the terrain of muscle, get invited into an exploration. No weapon-wielding soldiers are permitted access. Only an energy that embodies curiosity, quiet, playfulness, and openness is invited in to dance, to move and be moved.

Side travel -- This week I dreamed that a black bear attacked me as I was running through the woods with Ben (who was a small puppy). He charged out from the bushes to my right and took me by surprise, picking little Ben up with his mouth and running away. I realized I had two textbooks in my right hand and I threw them at him, hitting him in his rump and causing him to drop Ben who ran back to me. In another instant, the bear returned and, feeling overwhelmed by the pain and fear of the predicament, I 'woke myself up' deeply affected.

The next night as I fell into the dreamful sleep, low and behold, the bear re-emerged from hiding and charged me again. This time his fur had changed from black to brown but his ferocity remained. This time I was in an old, white Chevy pickup truck and I managed to evade injury and attack. I don't recall what happened after that but I knew that something was coming, that my psyche was stirring.

Yesterday was a practice day in the training program. This means we have a partner and we exchange massages, the full body sequence taking about an hour and a half each. Laressa was my partner and into her fascia, into her skin, exploring the terrain of her body's energy, her muscles, her joints, and bones I fell. I fell through playfulness and I fell through pleasure and curiosity and a quality of innocence grounded in not knowing but being willing to learn. And I landed. The experience of giving this massage was better than most of the massages I have received thus far in my life.

By the closing sequence of the massage my body was 'humming.' I realized I had finally arrived here in Portugal, in this training program, in the dance of communal living. My body is waking up in a profound way through the process of being receptive. 'Feeling into the fascia' is a gentle doorway not only into my client but into myself as a partner in the massage - a metaphor I can perhaps carry into other ways of sinking into life and landing.