Can I Trust that Now is Enough?
On Moving the Feeling.
Maybe I was just hungry and I’m not used to this feeling of fullness. Maybe I need to burn my words, too — the ones that felt forced. Rehashing the story. Maybe that was just for me — too polished to show an audience. A voice that’s not quite mine — or is it? Who knows? It didn’t feel poetic. In other words: I was trying to say something that maybe didn’t need to be said, maybe wasn’t ready, maybe past its due date. If the words were not alive — what were they? Contrived. Like ruminating disguised as life story. Can I trust that now is enough?
In movement there’s no going back. No editing in the sense that you can’t lie through beautiful sentences and well placed quotations. The body is honest. Even when it is repeating itself, things are changing. Like when we’re fucking in smooth territory, moving along, trusting each breath, not needing to get anywhere but going nonetheless.
Along the way a wave comes — felt from throat to belly to netherland, our lips and tongues tasting the currency of love’s energy anchored into two bodies communicating — a missionless play of faith, a leap into the oceanic openness of anything can happen. The greatest sin? Refusing this blessing. Hunger. The feeling of one, another’s joyous body through waterfall weeping and all of this movement is perfect, pure, brilliant.
Is this a poem or an essay? Who’s to say? The rhythm of consciousness dances through ink. Am I the artist? Conductor? Instrument? All of these. Play my body. I rejoice in each moment.
Is the song finished?
Sometimes I wish the words would continue and miraculously, they do. Is an idea ever “mine” or am I simply the vessel it's chosen to animate? And can I share that?
How does one teach feeling? Maybe the answer is moving you, Like the kiss inciting the wave in smooth waters. The breath fanning the slow burning flame.
Awareness to the heat. Awareness to the beauty. Awareness washing over you. Stay still a moment and notice.
The message underlying this hunger alchemized its own expression through my willingness to move it as this body of consciousness weaving threads, golden, blue and green and red, all included, all welcome.
Thank you for reading, curious friend. It is my great joy to share in this journey with you. You can support my art with a paid subscription or a donation to my chocolate and coffee fund ;)
P.S. new things are coming VERY soon! I’m so excited to begin sharing weekly movement practices for paid subscribers! These explorations are the bread and butter of my creative work - the way I stay connected with my body and turn theory into wisdom. I can’t wait to see how they shift your relationship with your body, your work, and your creative capacity.
I wrote a long comment about how I didn’t realize I was “ruminating disguised as a life story” a lot recently (what a great line!)
I second guessed, thinking maybe I don’t need to overshare and eviscerate myself on someone else’s substack. (That’s generally what my own is for, haha)
I looked back at this hybrid piece and my eyes were drawn to the “maybe these words don’t need to be said” sentiment.
So yeah, I deleted my comment.
But kudos for making me feel safe to open up, and double kudos for talking me out of pointlessly publicly humiliating myself. 🤣
Beautiful!