I wrote this while visiting Boulder, Colorado. A friend lined up two days of clients for me
to see. It’s fun to be a traveling
expert! Spending time in a totally
different setting is utterly refreshing, and having hours to myself is soooo
relaxing. I’d really love to write
stories about my adventures with the clients, but that just isn’t cool. Confidentiality, you know. Suffice it to say that each of us is a
universe unto ourselves, with a history and habit and interpretation of events
unique to us. I am in awe of the wisdom
and the pain hidden within every person.
We are an awe-inspiring species.
June 29, 2005
For
12 hours, my home is an old schoolbus named Quicksilver. A more apt name might be “Parked
Silver”. Quicksilver waits patiently in
the side yard, offering refuge for guests and kids on college breaks. I see my clients in the treatment room in the
house, then retire to the bus for sleep.
I’m
delighted with my quaint, quiet lodgings.
The bed is cozy. The table is adorned with a vase of glistening red roses for my
benefit. To my surprise, the bookshelf
holds the same anatomy book I’m studying at home! Tonight I studied the many
layers of skin. The little illustrations
of layered skin cross-sections look like drawings of layer cakes. Weird.
Next
I dove into a book that set off a chain reaction of explosions in my
psyche. It’s called “Maps to Ecstasy” by
Gabrielle Roth. Wow. In a nutshell - a paltry, deficient nutshell – she describes archetypal
movement and dance as one way to leave behind all hurts, habits, patterns and
concepts, and find freedom in the stillpoint within the center of the soul. Her stories of discovering Life in the pure
moment, primarily through dance, are enrapturing. The exercises she suggests are intriguing,
and FUN!
How
can I lie in a schoolbus and read about dancing?!? I just wanna get up and dance til I lose my
poise, dance til I forget who I am, dance til I remember who I am, and then
dance as an expression of my soul!
Quicksilver the bus would probably tumble over, though, if I started
that kind of action. It’ll have to wait.
Sleep
eludes me so far. In this metal shelter,
even the rustle of windfallen leaves on the roof is audible. Every so often “thud-scamper-scamper” a
squirrel leaps from a tree to the bus roof.
Then “scurry-scurry-scamper” it does whatever squirrels do on top of
buses in the night, and leaps back to the tree.
Endless
muted traffic flow on the nearby freeway reminds me of the ocean, minus the
rhythmic organization. I close my eyes,
relax, and breathe audibly in the back of my throat, breathing like the ocean
waves. I’m dancing inwardly, slowly,
like an ocean wave. Dancing to sleep in
a schoolbus.
* * * * * *
10:30:02 PM 
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