Yesterday, I watched the fish crows dive out of the trees to seek nourishment below their perch. I found myself fascinated and wonderfully captivated by their diving down patterns for food and also what appeared to be play from an observers stance. Their descent to the ground enlivened a feeling of groundedness in my body. I felt deeply curious about their hunt and then I took a deep breath for the first time that morning- after a busy flow of mothering, readiness, and movement I felt like I came back down to earth while watching them fly and dive.
It got me thinking about the nature of groundedness. What is groundedness in my body and how do I perceive groundedness in others? Some people just have what can be described as down to earthness about them. I have met some of these people and for me they are the people that I perceive as embodying forged volcanic rock, hard winter granite, warmed sandstone, muddied sediment clay, and sea salt and sand. For me, the quality of these people embody the complexity of survival, the warmth of growth, and the flow of river and ocean. They create a vibration of safety in my body and spirit. They seemingly experience life and respond in kind-they are not blown over by each storm. I have always felt at home where the land and waters meet. The place of being held and of flowing. I am drawn to these places and upon reflecting on this I have subconsciously moved to and traveled to these places over and over- they feel like home in many ways. I keep pondering my own sense of home, safety, and belonging and how to support others in not just finding, but embodying these experiences as well.
Places shape our groundedness, our ability to connect to self, others, and our communities. I experienced an immersive journey with connecting to “place” recently and I’m still processing all that experience taught me- too much to share in words quite yet, but maybe soon! I am so deeply moved by the work of Sharon Blackie and Broughton Sanctuary’s rewilding efforts in Shipton, England. When I think of the years I spent battling autoimmune issues and chronic health waves— I think of the years prior and how disconnected from my place I was. When I say “my place” I mean the land around me, the natural world, the trees, grass, and birds. In fact, the years before I got really sick, I avoided going outside often because I was so easily overwhelmed and uncomfortable. I look back and the years I spent “building myself” by way of finishing school and getting a job and checking off all the lists was the most I had ever disconnected from nature. I parked close, I walked little- I learned a lot with my mind, but I had largely disconnected from my body.
When my first daughter was 18 months, I turned 30. My friend convinced me we were entering a new decade and needed to do something. Looking back- thank goodness for her! We went on a hike (a hard hike) in Montana. I say hard because I had never hiked a mountain and had become largely disconnected from my body over the years. I stood in the valley looking up to the mountain we would climb and I remembered I grew up in a valley. I feel deeply held by a valley. I remember looking up at the ascent for the day with trepidation and excitement. The descent was when my body felt like it was noticing what just happened. I had returned to the valley I started- I did the thing, accomplished the task, checked the box. The descent back down reminded me that I can do the things, but also I can return to the valley. I can connect with the sense of being held by the natural world without striving for more, more, more all the time. I had become very comfortable with the striving ascent up— but very uncomfortable with the descent back down.
Those crows I watched yesterday morning reminded me of this descent down. We can ascend and descend throughout our days. We can strive and return to earth if you will- I wonder if I/we get stuck in the binary of one or the other at times. I work with people who are exploring their patterns and looking to create new patterns. I also embody and practice this work in my own healing journey. Sometimes we see the binary of healing as I am either healing or not. I’m working towards a goal or I’m stuck. I think I spent a lot of years striving, striving, striving and then collapsing. When I think about the binaries and traps of “on” or “off” “good” or “bad”. I think of the compression of experiences without room to see the spaces between. Going back to groundedness- those people that create a sense of ease and safety for me- they are people who see healing as a spiral, a constant upward and downward spiral of becoming and unbecoming. They are more than the binary of strong or soft, they contain multitudes. I contain multitudes.
This spiral helps me remember how to stay grounded and how to be a grounded presence for others in my somatic work. I am deeply grateful to my land and human teachers and healers for reminding my body and nervous system that I am not a problem to be fixed, or a cycle to break, or a pattern to shift. I am a complex ecosystem of existence that will have many seasons. Though I am not something to be fixed, I am responsible for the ripples of my existence and how my existence impacts those around me and the planet. I believe we can be deeply aware and still create harm though our intention isn’t to harm. We must be willing to fail, to mess up, to get it wrong. I offer the idea that when our capacity to be with conflict and messiness increases our life force increases. When we are in an interconnected relationship with our community and the natural world, our life force increases.
We must be willing to explore the ascent, descent, and the messy middle of change.
Embodied Questions to Consider:
How does ascent, descent, and the messy middle of change show up in your life? How might nature mirror your own patterns?
What kind of person or place creates a sense of groundedness for you?
What type of landscape creates a ripple of awe or safety in your body?
As I write this piece, my mind is weaving connections visually of the crows, the land, healing, and the state of the world. I sometimes write and feel cogent and alert and today I feel swirly and looking for a place to land- perhaps why the birds diving from trees felt true to the energy of the week so far. I write what’s alive for me and try to listen when it speaks loudly to be shared. I share today where the words are a bit of whisper, not a loud shout to be heard.
Curious what whispers want to be heard from you?