There are certain sensations, certain sensory memories that are so deep and detailed that I can summon them up effortlessly, feel the whole sensuous shape of them here and now. They are touchstones, places of delight and grounding.
Recently, I have been playing with them in a more intentional way. Not just thinking about them in passing, but diving in, relishing, savoring. A kind of sensuous meditation.
Capprichio’s nose is the softest, sweetest place I know.
What is delicious to you?
On Google+ today, Gwen Bell asked what do we do to stay motivated during difficult times. I think that the answer has to do not with motivation, but with connection.
Because difficult times have a way of disconnecting us from ourselves. So how to reconnect?
I have a few suggestions:
- Move! Without thinking, without judging.
- Change your point of view. Stand up, look over your shoulder, look between your legs, walk backwards, lie on the floor somewhere new and see what you see.
- Breathe. Intentional, mindful breathing is magic.
- Sip a lovely tea. My current favorite is Harney’s Dong Ding, a lovely oolong. If you really want a splurge, try their Top Ti Quan Yin. They describe it as a “It is an intense mixture of butter and honey, even honeysuckle flowers, reminiscent of great Burgundy white wine.”
How do you reconnect?
Jon Katz with his beloved donkey Simon
I had to share this post called The Rooster Syndrome by the wonderful Jon Katz.
If you don’t know about Jon, you are in for a treat.
His blog Bedlam Farm Journal is just one of the best around.
As he says, “come and see.”
Brandi Rivera riding Sanne in the performance of RIDE
Earlier this week for the first time in many months, I rode the Friesian, Sanne. He is big in every way: big character, big heart, and big mover.
I thought about the connection with my post on chaos, and how riding Sanne demanded that I find order within the initial chaos of the ride – the feeling of trying to contain all of that movement, and having to find a way to transmit it thought my body, not blocking it, but channeling it, diving into it and finding its rhythms – opening to it.
When I read Susan Casey’s The Wave, I was blown away by her descriptions of the surfers, the ones who seek out the biggest, wildest waves. Casey is a visceral, brassy writer, and as she follows the wave chasers around the world, they seems way out on the farthest edge – playing with death. The surfers open to the wave, what other choice is there, really?
What waves are you riding?