Moving With The Land Again

My body craves the lancing fingers of freezing temperatures...

Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash

At this time of year, when Summer gives way to Fall, I feel the pull to take my movement practice out on the land again. It’s so strong I know if I resist I’ll not be happy and probably not well. The feeling doesn’t come on any specific day, just THE day when Winters touch is first felt.

It’s a ridiculous state of affairs, I should be moving outside when its warm. There are so many perfect mornings, when the forests are alive with animals of all kinds going about the business of thriving. I should be dancing with them!

Nope. My body craves the lancing fingers of freezing temperatures, the feeling of my toes pushing into cold mud, or better yet fresh snow, my feet clothed only in wool socks. This of all the times of year is when the world comes alive to me.

This morning, after dropping my daughter at school I stopped by the river park just down the road. It’s still largely wild, with a few spots by the waters edge where I can find a little privacy. The river was strong this morning, really moving.

There’s a spot I always go to, festooned with reeds, cattails and the fallen branches of overhanging junipers. Our dog Dandelion can noodle about in the brush while I jump into the process.

I start with intention and permission.

I’m here to connect with the Oran Mor, the great song of life. I ask your permission to dance here by your shores.

Then it’s all about moving with the energy that’s emerging from the forest as the seasons change. I can feel the transcendent power swirling around, flowing with the water, swaying with the submerged grass.

I always lean into Swan these days, hard to break away from after I’ve enjoyed being Swan for so many years. The post at the bottom of this message was written eight years ago. I’d already been working on this practice for years before that.

When I practice indoors my balance is never as good, my body does not re-align the way it does when I’m at the rivers edge. I always feel so much more whole and present after I’ve danced Swan at the rivers edge.

I hope you’re comforted by the image of a slightly crazy grey haired man dancing, flapping his unseen wings at the edge of a river as winter comes. The world is still wild, though we so often forget.

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