A report from the Contemplative Dance Winter Retreat Feb 3-6, 2011, led by Alton Wasson in Westfield, MA
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I’m in such a tender state from this mostly-silent movement retreat (the Contemplative Dance Winter Retreat Feb 3-6, 2011, led by Alton Wasson in Westfield, MA).
It was a workshop in the thick of winter, the snow deep and crusty in the lawns and woods of the Genesis Center, but the sun also thickening towards spring, its warm hand reaching down from blue, blue sky to touch our faces.
We were eight dancers plus a leader. There was much silence, a care in speaking.
I knew I needed to let go, let go. I’ve been busy with projects of my own making—important projects dear to me. I was tangled in my own fishing lines, the ideas, the ambitions, the urgency, the familiar loss of center.
Our first movement session was an hour. Catch, release, think, let go. Crawl on the floor, feel gravity welcoming me, then spiral off into thoughts. Lie down and sigh, let my hands trace the contours of my face, then another flock of ideas swooping like starlings, carrying off any peace that had crept in. Over and over, the step by step descent and startle, release and be caught up.
As we sat in the circle afterwards, Alton invited each of us to take five minutes to share what had happened, but with a different twist. It would be OK to sit in silence for those minutes and simply be held in the container (the grace, the mind, the love) of the group. Whether we spoke or showed a movement or simply sat, it would be a continuation of the meditation that was the movement.
Just to form the words for this, I leave the experience. We were
held, together,
separate, safe,
invited gently,
allowed, allotted
these minutes ours
whether we said a word
or closed our mouths in awe
There was no requirement to come out of the deepening quiet, no requirement to produce a word or conjure a concept. And, at the same time, each of us was seen. Being silent did not mean being ignored or left out. When my turn came, after two people had spoken, bringing words to their experience, I crossed my hands on my breast, with a shaky indrawn breath, and sat, trusting that I was held, silent for five minutes, being with the group with no words. Occasionally I looked at faces and saw acceptance. Throughout the weekend, different people took this risk in the circle and allowed the group to witness and hold them without articulating or condensing their experience. The space felt larger for this.
I am still learning what it is I savored, what grace we created and discovered and risked.
You do not have to speak
in order to be heard.
You do not have to move
to be seen.
Nor accomplish
to be worthy.
The glory of your being
is with you
in sickness and in health
in moving and in stillness.
You are loved,
you are held,
you are worthy
of all this.
© 2011 February 11, 2011
- Ann, What a beautiful reminder for even those of us who were there. Thank you for this sharing. It moves my dream forward and enrichs my own experience. My Love, Kathryn
- Sunday, February 20, 2011 8:51:00 AM EST
- Christine Draper said...
- Thank you Ann for reminding me of the gift of being held by the group. I feel deepened, stilled, seen. Christine
- Monday, February 28, 2011 9:15:00 PM EST
everyday spiritual practice... (perhaps not EVERY day, but I'm aware of the potential in it often engage as I can)
preparing a meal, sensing the life of the vegetable, herb and how it asks to be cut and used.
eating a meal-- aware of the colors, textures, smell and taste. spine very related.
dragging on a cigarette squatting on the step of the back porch the potted plants sharing the stillness while something grateful (grief? loneliness?) in the lungs meets the smoke churling downward.
facing a patient, awareness of my self standing there, the weight in my hips and feet, awareness of them. i breathe, they breathe. i see them, i see myself.
This article is very inspiring. Thank you Aileen and Janet.
I practice Authentic Movement while I pray. The movement happens on a very subtle level.
Inner waves move through me like a constant adjustment into the now.
When I walk my dog I allow these „inner“ adjustments to happen – while I am aware of other people, children, other dogs and traffic. If there is too much happening „outside“ it is a constant going in and coming out and going back in.
In nature I sink into colors, shapes and smells of trees and plants and the air and move along getting a sense of the big Oneness – and sometimes I even succeed to say a prayer while exhaling. All at the same time. That is Heaven on Earth.
Playing music or listening to music is a great inspiration to be with the inner Movement and enables me to listen and to hear very differently than when I use my intellect. It sharpens the perception and appreciation.
When I do bodywork with people I connect with this inner Movement. While listening and watching my client I ask the Oneness in me to unfold and to transmit healing energy through me.
Spiritual practice can happen at any given moment and anywhere if I allow it to happen and step out of my way.
Annette Geiger, Zürich, Switzerland, June 15th 2009
Sitting anywhere in nature watching the smallest things--bugs flying, spiderwebs. Not waiting for anything to "happen," just seeing what is.
Opening my eyes to people as they hurry by on the streets or in the stores.
Just stopping, letting be.
Ann Mc, Pelham MA
All of the methods mentioned above work for me to help me get out of my little egoic monkey mind and remember the emptiness and impermanence of this moment. But the kinesthetic or sensory awareness seems to be the path that comes spontaneously. This morning it was the sight of sunrise clouds from my window during an hour of yoga.
Right now for me it is allowing myself to cry. To alllow myself to feel the grief of the loss of so many things, material abundance, my parents, my home, friends, to feel the shuddering motions of my body, the wet salty tears, the heat rising to my face ... and at the same time the gratitude for what is, and the learning that is happening through this surrender ... it seems important to hold space for this.
Jaime