Slow Walking on Shaky Ground
the return of the dance
on my fourth day in LA, I sprained my knee in a dance class.
for two weeks I was slow-walking through a city whose pulse is as quick and rambunctious as the Colorado River.
the LA River, however, is a strange and lonesome sight, a mere trickle in the summer, ushered towards the ocean by way of a concrete aqueduct.
have you ever seen a riverbed made of concrete?
the energy of this city is a live wire.
it’s both the metaphorical and very literal feeling that you could light a match and start a wildfire at any moment.
Topanga Canyon caught on fire last week, and one of my favorite roads here, the main one that takes you through the canyon, was closed due to fire.
one way in, one way out.
the stakes feel higher here, the slopes more steep, the conditions more extreme.
in the last thirty days, there have been 37 earthquakes in the greater Los Angeles area.
when I first got here, I had this deep feeling in my body that I needed to calibrate to a totally different energetic frequency. it felt like taking an American hairdryer to Europe and trying to plug it in.
synchronize the voltage baby
I had, and still do really, the kind of ambition that only an out-of-towner can muster for a place.
let’s go let’s go, lemme slurp up as much as I can, eyes wide open, feet on the ground, delight as compass
the knee injury has certainly forced the whole slowing down to calibrate thing that I originally sensed was being asked of me.
my body will not let me trick myself into the illusion of urgency.
instead, I’ve moved through the city like a barge. steady eddie.
it’s had me so much more present with myself, heightened by being in a new place where everything is unfamiliar.
the ground goes on shaking.
I love being in a season of life where I get to be baby.
I get to have no preconceived notions or judgements about any neighborhood, any space, any group of people, any event. I get to put myself right in the middle of it with a kind of dopey tender naivety that I just freaking LOVE.
Under normal circumstances, I’ve got so many opinions about everything, especially how I will and will not spend my time. which is ultimately a level of discernment I appreciate deeply, AND ALSO it’s just so fun to suspend all of that for a minute, and jump into the energy vortex of a place and splash around. yes, water does go up your nose sometimes, but it’s not forever, and it’s a gift to bump up against sensation and bump up against the world.
as my pal Sean says,
it won’t always be this way.
yesterday was the first day in almost a month that I’ve moved my body with any significance.
as in, moved my body with more intention, creativity and gusto than say, taking a neighborhood walk.
it takes a toll on me when too much time passes between events of inspired sweating.
my dailyish intuitive movement practice is my most reliable tool for mental, spiritual and physical wellbeing.
it’s the place I go to get out of my stressy thought loops. to be less of a floating head bobbing around, and more of a robust tangible body gliding through the world.
it’s the place I go to get the temperature of my inner landscape.
to get current with the currents, as Yarrow says.
I’ve been making it a point to see the sunset as many evenings as I can out here.
the light at dusk is unmatched.
everything turns the color of a honey-coated clementine dipped in dust.
syrup light, the sweetness of a day done, with the hope of a day done well.
the sun does something different on the western edge of this continent. maybe it’s like this on all western shores. it’s as if the sun knows this is really, really the end and it’s all water beyond this edge, beyond this moment.
the finality of each day has been hitting me different lately. yesterday I cried when the last crescent edge fell beyond the mountain ridge. I was just so struck by how visceral an ending can feel sometimes.
and as I write this, in my head I’m like yeah but the sun doesn’t end, Word. your experience of it is temporarily eclipsed by the ground you’re standing on, but it goes on existing even when you can’t see it.
it’s like the experience of finishing a really good fiction book and being baffled the characters don’t go on living and breathing, and yet the book goes on living and breathing.
you know?
have you ever been so thirsty for an experience you can’t even name and all you can do is feel around in the dark, surf blind, know nothing but the next step and just say yes to that?
that’s what driving West til I got to the ocean has been for me.
and slow walking on shaky ground.
eyes wide open, feet on the ground, delight as compass.
on Friday I start the journey back to my eastern holler.
this time I’m flying solo, wish me luck.
wish me awe.
hey guess what? at the end of August I’m teaching a brand new online workshop on building your own intuitive movement practice ~ ~ ~
getting to know your body’s very specific movement language!
sweating and gyrating and wiggling where you get to be the boss, and your body calls the shots! teehee body shots
stay tuned, class will be announced next week ⚡️🌊🌀⚡️
xom
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