Tides

I come back to the kitchen counter, this time assembling the oatmeal with raisins or cranberries, with walnuts or almonds, with banana, of course. The kitchen counter supports my body mantras while waiting for the oatmeal to cook, while spooning it out, adding maple syrup and yogurt. 

The tide has turned in the morning weaving. I reverse the mantra, focusing not on the float and sink of my weight, but on the widening and lengthening of my breath body. With each exhale, powerfully pressing the earth away, doming the arches of my feet, pelvic floor, diaphragm, soft palate, and crown. With each inhale, softening and widening down and out, releasing all resistance to being filled and refreshed, mirroring in full body movement the umbrella movement of the diaphragm, mirroring the subtle inner action of aliveness. These waves keep repeating in undulating balance, embodying patterns of dynamic organization. 

These two contrasting patterns are like the tides, which alternate during each day. At any time I can notice that I am in the rising tide that lifts me without effort, my head floating up, my feet dangling down. I feel suspended. 

Or in the ebb tide, I sink and spread down into pools left behind, then assert my upright presence, pressing up through the mud from my rooted bones. I feel my roots growing into aliveness. 

And after oatmeal, and tidying up, and responding to email...what then? 

Is it a walk in brisk morning air, striking the pavement, step by step, slow at first, heels rapping out a steady rhythm, to reverberate strength into bones. Speeding up when the muscles are sliding better, when the joints are lubricated. Hearing the rhythm shift from 2 / 4 to 3 / 4, the shift that brings lateral balance to the hips and back.