awakening

 

my eyes opened perky in their sockets. unlike most recent mornings, i could feel them already awake. /my eyes are awake./ it was still dark out.

i flip the covers over. my toes slide out of the just right temperature of bed to the cool smooth floor. my arms and legs move slowly, i'm like a molasses bottle fresh out of the fridge. but my eyes are awake. they are perky in their sockets.

i get up slow in the darkness of the morning. it's quiet. my body likes the quiet. it's a blanket of calm. it's almost like being in bed still. it's too early for the birds morning song. i reach up into my closet for a long sleeve shirt. heels lifting, toes pressing as arm reaches, side body stretching while the cool morning air perks my nipples a little more awake under my boy beater tank.

i reach into the heathered purple sleeves, wipe my hands across my face, then promptly lay down on the floor. my eyes are awake but my body is gonna take awhile.

I like the way the floor feels underneath me. the flatness, hardness, a promising kind of support, sturdy and reliable. letting me, inviting me, to be spread out, and held, and even.

laying on the floor is one of my favorite things. it's an unusual kind of anchor, mooring the energy back into my body. it tells me i'm right here. naturally, inevitably, i start to feel my heart beat, and my breath move my chest, and the subtle caress of hair against cheek. my eyes are awake and my body is making love to it's self. my mind in not yet in the room. my eyes are awake, my body is here, my mind not fully turned on. i am all sensation. i am waves of vibration. i don't now names of things, right or wrong of things, i simply move. i follow the feel good. i feel the perfectly poetic pattern of pouring myself into myself on the cold morning floor.

hair blows strong slapping stripes across my face. i am more here but something in me is dragging. i want to go back and lay on the floor. my eyes are awake but my body wants holding. it wants touch. it wants hands on skin. instead i'm out in a cold morning filled with wild wind. i feel my memories get pulled up from the synaptic basement, a flashing recollection of sweaty slapping bed to floor and back again fucking. my puerto rican lover, wirey and committed, while snow fell outside. the crease between my belly and thigh deepens with the flash of remembering, my nipples tickle the inside of my shirt, the wind whips a piece of hair in my eye.

my eyes are awake but my mind is wandering. i'm walking. driving. teaching. all these things i am doing without thinking. my body goes and knows and follows the flow. am i all the way in it or am i sleeping? am i dreaming? are bodies still touching? out side the wind is slapping, the sound of ocean and breeze howling across the cave of ear. i try to climb deeper into my thin layer of wind breaker. i don't handle cold well. i shiver, i quiver. why am i thinking of sex again. what is it about the cold that turns me on? the desire to turn up the heat, to turn on and drop in to a conversation between skin? to get close and be held by something far warmer, much smoother, much richer than the floor?

i climb deeper into my hoodie grateful i put my leg warmers on. i am required to move. my class is outside. keep going. my eyes are awake, they are seeing. my mind still sluggish, slogging through. thankfully the wind blowing all judgement away. my body goes on the same ride as my students. inhale. exhale. watch notice listen. feel the sensation. go all the way in.

onward it flows like a river, my body is teaching, my mind is sleeping and every cell in me is listening. my eyes are awake and i'm seeing what they are needing but i'm not thinking. i am being the river, the flow of knowing that's pouring into this space. i am watching their bodies shift and change and feeling my body breathe in and let go, a vast tide of intimacy. limbs, breath, touch, presence. there is my mind again, wandering.

a student of mine, a grown man with down syndrome in a class full of women. my mind a bumpy ride so far this morning took me to the question mark of sexuality and the learned awkwardness that we receive about being a sexual being. how does a family address the budding sexuality in a child with down syndrome, how does that sexuality grow? how does it grow in any child? where is our shame, our shadow, or unapologetic sensual sexual self... as sure as sunshine it's in every person i know. . .

why was i even thinking about this. i don't know. my eyes are open, my mind is sluggish and my body is standing in the wind. the breeze is blowing me off center and i fall back in. my body is right here. i am right here. i'm looking at the ocean. i feel strong today but fatigued from the recent revival of my physical efforts. i am steady even though i'm a little wobbly in the wind. the mat is a magic carpet ride right into the center of my life. mind, body, all.

i've learned to feel my muscles wrap around my bones. over time i've grown to know the individual fibers, the taut pull of fascia, the pulse of blood. i feel the whole of me pull up through the mouth between my legs. i can feel my insides inside my inside. i can get all the way in. i can live in here, in this. in the language of sensation. in the pulse of organ and the flow of blood. i have sensors, they hone in on the energetic buzz, the searing heat, the flood of golden honey love that pours out when tension is released. i am arch and angle, smooth and strong. i exhale into the marrow of my bones. i am everywhere at once and simply right here. now. in this.

i'm still teaching class, we have softened from effort toward surrender. the breath is coming deeper, matching the wind. i think for the moment of how energy is always arcing and spiraling back again. the rising, increasing, awakening, containing, surrender, release. we are constantly moving in waves. human desire, a tide rolling back on itself again and again and again. we spread ourselves out on a mat and practice how to be with what is.

how do we honor the intimacy of the moment? when does feeling stop being something we're fighting but a recognized doorway in? we're all longing to be touched. we're all hungry to feel something. we're all learning to be alive. my eyes are awake, they are watching. they are inside the movie of my life recording the characters and case studies of how we do this embodied spirit dance. so much webbing of belief wrapped around us as littles, a cocoon of story shaping us, confining us, defining us. we avoid it, move toward it, push against it, test it and inevitably eventually the chrysalis breaks and we emerge with wings. maybe we find ourselves in that spiral, waking up to ourselves, again and again and again. my eyes are awake inside, i listen and i wander away and around and back again through the eco system, through the evolution.

they are on the floor, the earth. the sun is out, finally it feels a little warmer. my flimsy hoodie is still on. we all pour in to the moment. the wind has died down a little. it's quieter. we're all a little more here. i rise and go from body to body tenderly entering their space. my eyes are awake, mind present, body a vessel of prayer. I touch each set of shoulders, i find the line of the spine and gently hold their head. i honor their efforts. my face looks at their upside down face, at the roadmap of their lives, and I know them. I am them. i feel them lean in or hold back, there's always a mixture of both. intimacy is complicated. being in a body is contradictory. there's tension. there's space. my fingers are listening. i am blessing, blessing them home, blessing them home.