Points of Convergence:
Earth, the Body, and a Reclamation of Belonging
I write from the Hudson Valley, where the world is springing into being quickly, wildly, and with ferocity. My days lately are punctuated by long, slow walks on previously unknown-to-me trails.
Wet soil, that loamy scent, the muted color up above when there is not yet a decision made about whether the Sun or rain will rule the late afternoon sky. Birdsong that reminds just how plunged into silence the Winter sends us. I didn’t realize how quiet the world has been until a symphony of Corvids helped me to remember how loud my own body has been in relationship to the surrounding world for these last months. Small creatures moving about in the leaves next to the walking path. In the first mile of a trail my own nervous system tries to track the size of the one making that sound. Tracking those who are not me, my own body in a state of preparation to greet an unknown being. But that state of alert, or preparation, that we are so coddled by in our post-Industrial lives, slips away the further away from a parking lot that I get. There is a moment, during a long walk or a movement practice, that the sense of Self disappears. There are tomes of text written about this from the wisest of spiritual traditions who remind us of the power of meditation: it is a form of coming close to the Self, but in doing so we also have the opportunity to slip into the aperture that allows us to transcend the Self. To become one with, to yoke ourselves to the consciousness of the world around us.
These last months have brought a deep reorganization of consciousness, and a shifting orientation of what I’d like to use my consciousness for. Could it be that we are in these human bodies to enjoy this experience? Though I have intellectually studied non-attachment and its many derivatives for years, I don’t think I have actually understood it until I ran it through my body. What does it mean to feel a sensation and then to let it leave you? To look another person in the eyes and not ask them to stay for any longer than they would like to? To walk, continuing to propel yourself through space, and not have to take a branch, a feather, a piece of rose quartz buried in the ground, but just to let yourself acknowledge and pass by? Movement practice has and always will be my best teacher. It is important to name that it is the practice of moving, not the codification or techniques that have been taught, but just the act of witnessing my own body moving through her stories in space. As though I can engage a bicameral mind: one that is moving, and one that is witnessing. Nearly nine years after graduating from conservatory, I feel that I can actually hear my body again. I am grateful for my training, the incessant hours of work that my parents endured to make sure I could take dance classes as a child, the labor of the many people who helped me to learn how to dance, and the lineage of art ancestors who paved the way for me to find my body inside of a dancing form. While holding that, it has always felt that my body belonged to someone else: an idea of what someone else wanted me to look like, some guise of perfection that I’d spend my whole life considering was unattainable, an intellectualization of the carnality of the body.
As I walk in the woods these days, considering it as much a part of my daily movement practice and part of my work regimen as I do my yoga class and rehearsal schedule, I bow in deep gratitude for the merging of my body with the sense of belonging that only comes from spelunking so deeply inside of our sensations that a harmonization of inner landscape can occur.
I share this story because it seems to me to be the most important work that I am focusing on these days, through performance, ritual, classes, workshops, and 1:1 sessions (the last of which will be opening very soon). I am starting to write these newsletters again as a way of offering practices, prompts, and upcoming ways for us all to converge under the prayer of making space for home in our bodies. More concretely, this looks like reconnecting with our longing; studying the body through breath, ritual, movement, and herbal medicine; sharing in community; moving slowly together; re-establishing our relationship with our senses and the environments that we inhabit. I am planning to also devote the next few Substack emissions to this topic of Earth, Body, and Belonging. Stay tuned!
For now, I will leave you with these prompts and encourage you to take time over the next week to light a candle, put on a favorite piece of music, take some deep breaths, and free write about the following. Or to just let these questions be present in your body as you move throughout the day:
What does belonging feel like to you?
How might you cultivate more of that feeling in your body?
What are you yearning for?
No matter where you live, can you name the non-human beings that you pass on your daily walks? What natural sounds do you hear? Where do they land in your body?
Sending you a lot of love and care, and looking forward to connecting both in real + virtual space.
UPCOMING MOMENTS OF CONNECTION
Weekly movement class at Souk Studio (12 W 27th Street, Second floor)
Wednesdays 2.30p-4p
Sliding Scale $5-$20
This is an open movement class, no training required, where we use breath, embodiment practice, community exercise, and guided movement improvisation to connect to the sensations of the body and hold our capacity for more feeling and play. You can e-mail me here to let me know that you’re coming, or just show up and I will be happy to welcome you!
Upcoming dates: May 1st, (*no class on May 8th), May 15th, May 22nd, May 29th
Many more classes coming soon, in both NYC and the Hudson Valley - so excited to share.
With care + gratitude,
Amanda