Going with the Flow and other Somatic Practices

There are times in life when change is afoot
And like the transition between high and low tide we're not sure if we're coming or going

Gliding out onto a river in transition I can find myself turning in circles, stuck in a stagnant bayou, or paddling intensely for a gentler flow.
Looking at the river from shore it can look calm.
But it's not until you're in it you feel the intensity of the eddies, currents and whirlpools

As a somatic practitioner nature is a profoundly important mentor that draws my focus to inescapable truths or lies I’m telling myself
 
While I craft daily and weekly flows that sooth my nervous system, my friend chaos still pops by to perturb my metre

We will have many transitions in life
Transitions of body, place, birth, death, work, and love
Some fleeting, some profound
It is all in flux

Today I am in the midst of minor flux. It's winter holidays and my usual rhythms have been replaced with an abundance of nothingness. Days filled with endless sleep ins, book reading, more sleeping, writing, bottomless cups of tea and another round of bread with butter.

I sometimes feel despondent, apathetic, even depressed in Winter. Us Perth folk are sunshine greedy. But I remind myself Proust wrote his greatest works, lying in bed, sick, bemoaning the hideousness of life.
Perhaps I'll find my genius supine and forlorn in my Oodie ;)

Transitions, though not always wanted, are natural.
When they arrive it's usually better to go with them. 

Like one morning when I was out for a paddle...

God rays reaching skyward
The new moon had denuded the riverbed
I paddled slowly to the river mouth to see Eos rising
The river was ambiguous
Was she coming in, going out, at rest?
As I neared the opening a fierce current tugged at me. I struggled.
Somewhat frantic.
I found an escape channel.
I lingered in the shallows. Watching dawns waking.
Cool. Tranquil. Devine

The current tugged again drawing me seaward
What would it be like to give in? To go with natures flow? I yielded
I laid my paddle down. Sat back. And watched the sleeping town recede
A lone Pelican groomed itself on the exposed sand
I speed past. Moon and Sun’s force magnifying
Curious. Scared
Land bidding me farewell. Ocean widening out around me
Was this a good idea?! I was not in control

Eventually the oceans enormity overwhelmed the tidal force and I tacked along the bay to calmer waters
There was no way I could fight a spring tide
So I dragged my kayak ashore. Walked home. And waited for the tide to turn
When I returned, the incoming tide gleefully pushed me all the way home

One of the tenants of Feldenkrais is to go with the flow, we call it ‘going with the pattern’. We put our oars (our agenda) down and we allow the nervous system to do what it is doing. We go with its preference and its bias. If we are tired we rest. If we are full of life we spring into it. If the system says no, we back off. This is deeply comforting for the nervous system and it softens with thankfulness.

But life's has larger patterns as well
 
We find comfort and stability in the predictable patterns of our daily lives. But there can be fault in relying on orderly rhythms. They can lull us into false safety. And sometimes they turn out to be a lie.
 
When I was pregnant I learnt about labour stages, breathing techniques...

In birth I diligently followed the rise and fall of each contraction, aligning my breath and mind with the cadence. But then came Stage 3 - transition – and the rhythms disappeared.
Order dissolved
It was chaos. It was intense. It felt crazy.
Fear rose. I was being pulled somewhere unknown.

With my second child I settled on the truth that birth makes no sense. 
It is Chaos itself
And the only way to do it was to go with it.
So I thought nothing. Expected nothing. Let my body lead. And simply surrendered.

I experienced something supremely profound that was unfamiliar but easeful like laying down my oars and being sucked out to sea.

In physics I'd be considered an experimental scientist rather than a theoretical one. I'm not trying to prove something or figure out why. Instead, I occupy myself "with observing and measuring the cosmos, finding out what stuff exists, no matter how strange that stuff may be." Alan Lightman - The Accidental Universe.

I’m fascinated by the truth of what is. Not what it’s ‘meant’ to be. I see Feldenkrais as an experimental science. A study of what is. Not what we wish it was.
 
As my children grow, as I grow, I feel the transitions coming. I sense chaos rustling in the wings

But... What the hell is this transition? Middle age? What is middle age anyway?

Tinsel hair, glasses, menopause, insomnia, midlife crisis... sounds hideous…

Are the eddies and undercurrents already here?  

Recently I noticed I'd been mentally trying to prepare for this (illusive) transition.

It was not conscious

I’d walk the hills
Deep in thought

Mind whirring away - how can I safeguard myself against an existential crisis, hot flushes, and childless grief?

Sunlight on gum leaves would catch my eye
Rustling wind would interrupt my rambling
A raven would scratch the sky...
Nature kept trying to speak
 
Suddenly I heard...
'You're preparing for an illusion'

Nature does not have a middle age!?!
Trees don't cease growing
Rivers don't quit flowing
Raven's don't forget how to fly
Wind blows no matter what age

Mid-life is an idea
Nature just keeps on nature-ing

FM Alexander called this futile thinking End-gaining. Transporting ourselves out of the present moment in an attempt to fast track the end.

Unawares I was trying to End-gain middle age

Moshe Feldenkrais laments how we ruminate, as if mindless waffle will make life's intensity less shocking.
Ironically it only strengthens the anxious neurology.

Instead he asks us to mature. To develop our attention. To observe fully. To sense fully. To be kind. To notice ease. To choose ease. To learn new things. To change with the changing tides.
 
Sometimes life will refuse to flow one way and we won't know if we're coming or going
Sometimes it will refuse to flow at all
Sometimes we'll be overwhelmed with a multitude of chaotic rhythms
Occasionally life will pull with such ferocity it will steal our breath and we'll realise we cannot fight where life is taking us
Anxiety will rise. It can but not

But storied illusions and end-gaining wont shield us from life's complexity. Perhaps it's better to meet each moment with curiosity - humanely and wholeheartedly

Sometimes I wonder what the opposite of anxiety is.
Could it be trust? The kind that is built on lived proof AND the kind that has no proof but trusts anyway.

Accepting life as it is, being on your own side, and acting in accordance.

And so, as I approach the illusive/illusory transition years I wonder who will I discover myself to be?
Will I down paddle/agenda and go with the flow? Or chase the slip steam? Or maybe I'll write poems while marooned on the denuded shore?

Life need not be second guessed

Perhaps even… life need not make sense...

Perhaps it's simply meant to BE sensed

Photo by Joshua Leong on Unsplash