Yesterday I participated in a Sensory Awareness workshop in Berkeley.  The pandemic brought workshops on-line on Zoom, and there can be power in that, but in person touch is a leap.  

To begin, we brought one hand to our forehead, and eventually the other to the back of the head.  Quite lovely, but then, someone else brought their hand to our forehead, and then, to the back of the head.  A more profound and deep connection.

We held a bamboo pole to feel the pull of gravity, and the responding lift.  We tapped each other’s backs.  We sat back to back with another and simultaneously rubbed each other’s backs.

There were other experiments, other ways of awakening and touching into vitality, other ways of opening to play and returning to the spontaneity of childhood.

I’m with this now, the grounding vibration in my feet, signaling up to the top of my head, and deep into the core.

The poem Notes to Self above the Paradox Valley by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer was read.  

The whole poem is exquisite but I’m with how “You cannot shovel snow that is yet to fall.”

“Put down the shovel. Breathe

into the dark spaces of your back, 

feel how they open like cave doors 

to let in the light.”