Touch...

the body electric. Today I took a couple of classes. The first was a stretching resistance class where, after literally resisting the biting NYC winds and 10 degree temps in the canyons downtown, I experienced what it is to push against yourself physically—the point being that our muscles have strength and stretch, and rather than pull on them to elongate, there's a way to push into them that makes them capable of stretching even further. (for info: http://www.meridianflexibility.com/index.html) While I could definitely feel the resistance in each muscle that we isolated, what I was also reminded of was how much on an emotional and psychic level I push against myself. Could it be that's giving me a better internal stretch?

I went to S after that and sank into the studio for a strength/stretch of another kind—one that also challenges my resistance in ways that often make me cry and laugh, often both at once. Funny things those opposites. The class was with the teacher who'd given me so much insight a few weeks ago and it was my first time back in an S room since our two week break and I was achin' for it.

Here's what I found there: My reaction to touch is electric. During our moving meditation (a time when we flow in whatever direction the music, our mind, our body takes us), I found myself really using my breath. The right way, breathing in through my nose, following the thread, letting my body follow, allowing my hands to trace themselves along my body and fill in and hold whatever spaces needed that touch. They took their time, as did every part of my body, and suddenly with my hand moving down my neck, tears began. Such a release and not wholly unexpected (never is), but I didn't resist them and the word echoing in me was Touch. Further in, during my dance, the teacher kneeling near me as I was (I honestly don't remember exactly doing what) on my back, she took my hand and, zap, an emotional jolt rode it's way through me.I alternately felt like holding on for dear life and leaping away into some future where I could just watch. I felt my emotion rising again. I want the touch so intensely, though I'm a bit terrified of how powerful it is. How my own resistance to the need, the rawness, the heat, keeps me at a distance. Reaching. Not quite touching.

It's time now to push into my fear and let myself feel the whole of it. The laying of hands and souls.