Tag: moving grief

Hey Lag

August 23rd, 2024

Dreamer, five off the crystal river,

Dance, and you’re a diamond sky

Hasten for the boat, we move as one

Cough, lean beam, square shoulders

Nerve tension, rest in the unison of

The universe, fried food or kitchens,

Sliver of away, the island is off and

Here comes the catchup, I’ve got

Something to say. End of statement.

Period. Please, pass the Buck and

The skunk. Bear, crows eye hearing,

Dead on a doormat, format makes

No difference to keeper, nothing

Can touch me here. It’s a traffic jam

Because I am flowing, river of life,

Deftly showing. Bling of bride blue

Haze, Finger patterns sought where the

sauce might get you in it. I feel love and a million other things when I dance outside. Seen, sometimes, mostly good.

See me more, I’m listening and probably looking at the ground.

The ground is full of rocks and I am made of soup. What are you?

Leave it there. See yah later.
Move Your Hips

November 21st, 2023

Alright, here’s the deal: you have to move your hips.

I’m not normally one to give advice, especially not without being asked, especially not on the Internet, and especially not on a blog that’s normally so…

You have to move your hips. You have to move your hips. You have to move your hips.

Does your back hurt? Move your hips.

Do your shoulders hurt? Move your hips.

Are you stuck in a dark emotional cycle? Move your hips.

Is your spirit something you don’t experience? Move your hips.

Our hips are the home of our emotions, they hold up our entire physical body, and they are seat of our creative spark, what many would argue is the seed of divinity within us.

If you have experienced physical, sexual, romantic, emotional, intimate trauma and abuse, your hips will physically hold onto that pain, which will keep your nervous system experiencing it over and over and over again, and if your body is sending you signals that you’re still in danger, your thoughts will race, you will feel emotionally unsettled, and experiencing what is beautiful and sublime about life will feel impossible.

I’m not a doctor. I’m not a mental health professional. I am someone who has been through some shit.

I could not begin to move through the aftermath of my experiences until I released the visceral, physical pain symptoms from my hips, and I would not have been able to heal, at all, from any of it, if I hadn’t trusted my intuition when it whispered to me:

Move those hips, baby. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

No matter who you are, no matter your gender or its expression, no matter what stage of life you are in, you can, and you must, move your hips. Find a yoga practice, take a dance class, give yourself a massage, do anything that calls to you as a possibility for your healing, and trust that your hips are holding onto all of your pain because they are strong. Because your hips are strong, they can heal. And they will. Please, please, please, give them the chance. They will carry you.

The movements of joy are accessible to you when you open up. Release, breathe, hold, move.

I believe in your hips. I believe in you.

Move love. That’s all you have to do.
Dreaming of My Love

February 21st, 2023

It can be hard to believe that anything happens after we die. At least, anything meaningful. It can be hard to believe that any of us, any part of us, linger after the only carrier of our Self has been placed, with finality, out of commission. For those of us raised with religions we grew out of, hanging onto any kind of faith in a beyond feels sticky.

Last night, I dreamed I was dancing with my grandmother in her kitchen. The one we left behind, when the feet of her grandchildren got too large for her tiny hallways. We waited as long as we could, waited until my grandfather died while I was dreaming of him as Johnny Cash at a summer camp, and then we exploded. The new house has never been my home. It’s a storage unit, one which seems to be fit to burst at the seams with loneliness or unused relics of another life.

I danced with my grandmother in her kitchen. She was heating a cup of coffee in the microwave over the stove, and I was proud to be tall enough to reach it for her on my tiptoes. As the coffee went around and around, she stood behind me and led me in a dance my earthly body has yet to master. She had been a square dancer, and a damn good one alongside my grandfather and their best friends, but this dance moved to a Latin beat I’d never seen her move in her own earthly body.

I’d like to think that Heaven, whatever it is for or to the rest of us, is a dance floor for her. At least some of the time. I’d like to believe she’s dancing with a host of new friends, who also loved moving their earthly bodies more than anything. Their celestial bodies must be learning from each other. Can you imagine? Square tango, Lindynatyam, whirling waltz, any movement we make in joy on Earth, combining and amplifying beyond human comprehension somewhere beyond.

She visits me in the birds when I’m awake, and always with a hug when my eyes are closed. I’ve learned to be thankful for every dream, especially the ones that bridge the distance between MeeMee and me.

Tag: moving grief

Hey Lag

Move Your Hips

Dreaming of My Love