silent tidal breath


tidal water

wave to sand like a hand.

shaking back and forth.


ending of

tiding me over to the next shore





breath is movement.

so even when not moving, you’re moving.


sound creates vibrational waves

in tissues

that can unloose old habits

of thought,



as well as holding patterns,

movement signatures…

DSCN3350don’t focus on the sound or making the sound,

feel the impulse of the vibration in your tissues.

respond from a place of listening,

not doing…

watery web-y fascial connected tentacle-y medusa haired swilling pouring spilling falling unfurling condensing lateralizing dancing conflicting halving wholing crying (like. really. that ugly cry. in front of strangers.) swelling pulsing staring gazing flowing swimming seeping creeping on and on… it all happened.

this afternoon turned eventide was spent in a continuum playground.

held by the miraculous Rebecca, in the lineage of the one who spoke: “repetitive movement is a form of paralysis,” which is in a post that helped start this whole blog.

my gift from today is some mushy mindbodied space between whatever whichever whoever organ or persona ever hears/listens and any message sent.DSCN3357

listening organs are.

they may be neglected, numbed, crowded with over-busy too much noise, but they are.

whether it’s skin-touch nerve-endings, proprioceptive corpuscles, Golgi tendons, those 3 adorable tiny inner ears bones and the cilia and the water…

the waters sloshing inside.

ok, there are the receiving vessels of matter and void. substance and emptiness to be filled and emptied eternally.

and there are vibrations, impulses, sounds, voices of self, history, trauma, the drive to the class even.

that sip of water has its resonance, its ripples roiling through the tissues.

…like lava lamp bulbous masses flowing bumping popping splooging integrating rejecting rolling off and going up and down and fully spherical all in sequence.

ugh. this is getting long.

it’s the space between.

Something that wishes to be uttered is born between myself and the other and is uttered through me.

The genuine subject of the utterance is the sphere of the between.

(Buber as cited in Yoshida, 2002, p. 137)

DSCN3348So, I’m in a wretched state, at least relative to my sense of self and practice and career in creative contemplative movement practices. I’ll skip the details, but my ugly cry came as I tried to language how hard it is to even come to a continuum class and try and be, when these recent years have been a survival practice in (dis)functioning at bare minimum levels of embodiment – if embodied at all. I’m making some big changes, but I must ride out some current conditions that still warrant a wary disembodied dis-functioning way of crawling through.

This current yuck –along with some old learnin’ on how to be. still. (of both the life-negating and life-enhancing varieties of stilling)– yields stillness itself to be a sneaky slippery place of capacity -silence- for me to then hear so much – for me to be sensitive to so much happening in and outside of the skin hair nail barrier. And in better states of health I can kinda manage that volume knob of what to listen to and when.

One of my verbal-cue tropes as a Yoga teacher -after say an asymmetrical pose, during that transition space between- is to suggest how one might hold stillness or one might vinyasa-flow-through to help increase the volume of and thus hear the body’s message/response to that just-there-then-done practice… did this cause release, harm, relief, condensing… I describe it as the middle-schooler with homework, who needs the music blaring so to tune-in deeply to focus, versus those of us who need near all silence in the outer environ so to focus in, get the task to done.

DSCN3346Some of us truly need to dance or run or yoga, and it’s in the repeating of that shape in space or that gesture that one feels/hears how that knee joint is doing. For others it is only afterwards, in the stillness and quieting of movement that one can reflect day to day how this shoulder injury is doing. We might pause in the lap lane or on the trail to hear how that hip pain is singing shifting week to week…

In today’s practice, I became less interested in what my body might be saying, or what I might be hearing.


I was more interested in the space between:

I was more interested in whether sounding vibrations or even gross movement at all was helping me wake up to an embodied presence, or was such offering/sounding/noise/messaging just too much. I was more interested in -even if I was not “doing” the sound or movement- was it still(haha) drowning out any listening potential.

Simultaneously, I was more interested in whether stillness was helping me hear, or was it another form of numbing for me that equally drowned any listening potential.

The static on the dial, or the crickets – stillness can be like that for me. I have to be careful. Mindful, haha. I used to do experiments in tolerating stillness, utter stillness in ridiculous postures for hours and hours. There are other aspects, but this aspect of sitting meditation practice has become a strange one for me to watch out for.

Paradox everywhere. droll droll.

I can tell you that I fell better for having gone and moved and held stillness in a safe space place. There are other details I could tell you.


Yoshida, A. (2002). Martin Buber: Education as holistic encounter and dialogue. In J. Miller & Y. Nakagawa (Eds.), Nurturing our wholeness: Perspectives on spirituality in education (pp. 125-139). [CD-ROM]. Brandon, VT: Volume Six of the Foundations of Holistic Education Series.



3 Responses to “silent tidal breath”

  1. robert turnbull Says:

    Be still and know that you are loved!!

  2. Kelly P Says:

    I feel the resonance of your words deep within my chest cavity. Sending much love to you on my out breath…

    • embodhiment Says:

      …and i inhale because, beloved Kelly, we are of the one and same playground, of direct experience, as you woke me(& our cohort) up to Buber’s potency. bowing to you and your 3 boys/men! much love and warmth.

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