The sky this morning is a dance of clouds, formations changing with wisps of fog threading through.  Perhaps it’s how the flower feels when a hummingbird dips its beak in to sip, though maybe I’m the hummingbird sipping nectar from sky and trees.

We live in a natural world-wide web. Trees breathe in and out, twine through roots, and send carbon to neighboring trees when needed.  We’re wired to connect. 

My son Jeff will be 45 tomorrow.  I remember back as I talk to my other son Chris who will be 42 in October with a new baby delivered soon.  We talk about babies and breast pumps. Last night they learned that the breast milk pumped from the morning wakes the baby up.  The breast milk pumped at night puts the baby to sleep so label the bottles placed in the frig.

Rhythms.  I think of how different it was when I was young.  We were told we had to compete with the Russians so when I started high school in 1963 I was placed in accelerated math and science programs. It was a left-brain world with no time for art. Competition ruled. 

Then when my sons were young and I trained to become a Terwilliger nature guide, I learned a whole new view of science. It’s a living study, a study of life. I wasn’t dissecting a frog or fetal pig. I held a sparrow in my hands, felt her quivering fear, stroked the dry fluidity of a living, moving snake, pure grace.

Yesterday was my sixth Alexander session.  The work is to be experienced and lived, not analyzed, and yet, something in me wants to understand how the balancing in my organism allows me to open into feeling myself being breathed.  There’s no effort, only ease, no fear like I felt in the little sparrow held in my hands. I ooze a sap of kindness, kindness for myself, and in that, the world of which I’m part.

In fourth grade, I was the fairy godmother who gave kindness in the play, “Sleeping Beauty”.  I’ve never forgotten the power of saying those four words as I waved my wand. “I give you kindness.”   Now kindness is given to me.

I’m reminded of a quote by Ramakrishna. The winds of grace are always blowing but you have to raise the sail, and perhaps in this moment, Alexander Technique allows me to trim the sails I raise. 

The sky this morning, nectar for the ridge

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