This week I joined a group whose focus is posture. We are also exploring the seven days of creation and how to embody peace. While the program itself is valuable, many of the people who joined this particular group simply want to be in the presence of the leader. She is a wise woman and all of us hope that condition is contagious.
On the first day she talked about our spines, our pelvises, our shoulder blades and the balls of our feet. That was more conversation around my skeleton than I have engaged in in the past month. Maybe year. Ironic, given that I did depend on my bag of bones every waking hour. I just did it sans consciousness.
After ten minutes of realigning our backs, while attending to our breath, my neck began to have opinions. I was trying to mute those thoughts, but when the leader described the sensation, it fit.
"You may be feeling discomfort." In fact I was. "Notice the discomfort, and realize it is your body sending you a message." What? Discomfort does not necessarily mean that I am doing something wrong, something that must stop ASAP?
She kept wrapping words around the experience of being a spine whose deepest desire is to hold my head erect. But when I slouch, or swivel my hips backwards, weaker muscles get roped into the job. Yet if I had practiced good posture all along, standing straight would feel great. I have noticed the universally excellent posture among young children. I guess we are wired to get it right. Drooping is an acquired skill.
Communication in marriage is supposed to feel good. Sometimes, however, there is discomfort around certain topics at 2667 Alden Road. I think we both began life being able to communicate our needs. We cried when we were sad or hungry, stomped when we were angry. No double entendres there. But somewhere along the way we got sloppy, and yelled when we were actually scared, or got silent when we were aching to speak.
Maybe the discomfort is less of an accusation that I am wrong, and more of a plea from my spirit to take a stand.
