So it seems that for some of us, the body is not always a safe or comfortable place to live. Subtle movements, motions, worries of the future as if we dreamt them all before, memories lingering, ever so slightly. Eardrum, heartbeat, nostril. And then in the background somewhere, we hear that person cackling. The voice of a ghost, perhaps, cackling inside each cell.
We all know about dread. We all feel it, sometimes. It is a very bodily experience. The doomscape. When we move beyond the bog, and into the body, many things rise to the surface for us to experience. Moments expand, wider and untimed. And it can be scary. Scary to find what remains there.
“For how could one express in words these emotions of the body? express that emptiness there?”
— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
When I was nineteen years old I took a year long Hatha yoga teacher training in Dublin, which turned time upon itself. It was my first point of entry into body, into beingness that called upon all my dislocated parts. I remember the first lesson, on that very first intensive weekend of training, as we all huddled into the airy tight upstairs room on the Lower Drumcondra Road. The first lesson came before asana, before downward dogs, before lifting a finger. “Did you know that.. everything is connected” our yoga-teacher-teacher-trainer whispered. She had a glisten in her eyes, and my arm hairs rose, as they often do, when excited about something new…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to tricklings to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.