Bogong- Final week of residency

“Nowhere else have I ever felt the subtle magnetism of an ancient land that holds dreams far, far older than history” Elyne Mitchell

The seasons have changed whilst up here. And nearly at the Autumn equinox the leaves are falling and the skies are shifting. The smell of the forest is sweet and fresh and clean.  We had some strong rains and the creeks are running high and the lake is full. It is certainly a change after so much heat. The small birds are hopping in glee, and the spiders are finding dry places to be (preferably outside!).

It is now towards the end of the second week and creative ideas are being dreamed, formed and explored. One of my favourite poets of my childhood was Judith Wright. I have been hearing her words whilst up here and reading more of her poetry that seems to augment the area. Her crystal clear Australian voice is one of the mountains.

“Voice from the hills and the river drunken with rain,

for your lament the long night was too brief."

Memories of time and space flood in. It was when I was ten years old that I learnt of the snowy hydro scheme. A vivid memory of Geography class at primary school. It didn’t mention anything about the destruction of the landscape, only the success in harnessing energy. Together with these old memories, it has been been melding with my current landscape: The sparkly new with the ancient, and the not so new with the recent past. The memory too of driving solo, some fifteen years ago, from Mitta-Mitta to Omeo has surfaced brightly: in hindsight an initiation of sorts through these mountains.

 

The Aboriginals named almost every Rocky Peak ‘Bogong’. It is wonderful to know that this area was an important and sacred area for ritual and initiation,

I learnt of the indigenous baking Bogong Moths into cake, rich in fat and protein after they had pounded the moth’s bodies into a paste. I have to say that I prefer the cakes I have made whist here: dates, banana and apple. Perhaps that is for a trial another time when the Moths are here in the area.

Here in the mountains, there is a different quality of space and time. Of breath and voice. Moments transpose time and there is such beauty in the ephemerality of the landscape. I have enjoyed the process of recording my voice with the forest sounds.  

With thanks and gratitude to the Bogong Centre for Sound Culture, for the privilege of having a two week artist in residence as part of the upcoming festival in April 2017, Phantasmagoria.

Flow- in staying out of our own way...

“If I can get out of my own way,

If I can be pure enough,

If I can be selfless enough

And if I can be generous and loving and caring enough

To abandon what I have and my own

Preconceived silly notions of what I think I am

And become truly who in fact I am

Which is really just a child of the Universe

Then the music/sound/voice/flow/movements can really use me

And here lies my fulfilment

That’s where the flow starts to happen”

J.McLaughlin



This was my personal objective/mantra/aim for the concert on Sunday.....How to stay out of my own way. It was a feat. A triumph on a deeply personal level. It was a true testament to my mental, emotional and physical wellbeing as well as a deep trust in all that is. From all accounts it was a success. I received beautiful feedback, and it felt good.


Using all the strategies I speak of with my clients, I entered into the space calm, with minimal adrenaline, resting more with the nestles of the parasympathetic nervous system than in the popularised pep up of "go get 'em". I know I felt deeply connected to all that was around me, and felt definitively in the zone. I was connected to the breath, and to myself. I did not abandon myself once. I allowed myself to rest fully with my psyche, and the space I was residing in. The inner critic did not rear its ugly head, and the weight of judgement was nowhere to be seen within my heart. In that moment, I was completely blissed out, in love with all that was.


In this space, I know I could have resided for ever.

Thanks to all who came and supported me throughout my process. xx

Laughing with the guests

"This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival;
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and attend them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows
who violently sweep your house empty of furniture,
still, treat each guest honourable.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the same, the shame, the malice,
meet them all at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each guest has been sent as a guide from beyond"

Rumi, The Guest House

It can be particularly difficult to stand in our house and laugh at what befalls us. I see around me at the moment many who are struggling. Perhaps it is again that time of year where many are tired, coming out of a long winter and not yet past Christmas lunch. There isn't much laughter at times.

When we have these happenings, often there is only resistance: No breath, stuck jaw, tight throat, tight heart. No flow, no movement. Only stagnation. Often I find that I get stuck. One way I have recently enjoyed getting out of some "stuck" is by negative practice. It works. Ok I am going to think about pink elephants. A lot. Suddenly, with permission to do so, it loses some of its power, and flow can arise again. Stuck, for me, is a sign that I am no longer in flow. That I am no longer truly connected, to myself, nor the world and not my breath. I have used this too with some clients who are dysfluent "Go on, make it the worst stutter that you have ever had!". Sometimes it turns out with full permission that it is their most fluent. 

Laughing eases....

This picture is gorgeous isn't it? It reminds me of the joy of laughter. The free expression we have when we laugh, even in the face of our misfortunes and especially in our joys. When we remain connected to ourselves and do not abandon ourselves. 

I often ask my clients to giggle or laugh to ascertain how we connect to our breath in a more "natural" way. They often look at me with a great deal of uncertainty, until usually we both laugh with the falseness of the situation and not wanting to laugh. Connection to the breath, and ourselves can then occur. For some who have been highly stressed, laughing is not a regular occurrence. And for some in "suits", it is something not usually done at all in the midst of a serious work day (!).

So today, I am going to honour the guests, respect their sweeping, and wait, in hope, for new delights to appear. xx

Power of Ritual

"A ritual cannot be created; it grows in accordance with the need to make meaning" N.Hall

"Everything in nature, the sum total of heavens and of earth become a temple and an altar for the services of God" Hildegard Von Bingen.

Deep breath, Melanie Weidner, 2005

Ritual of 
coffee
naps
daydreams
meditation
goodness
generosity
eating
looking at the moon
stretching
dancing
singing
breathing
being...

Ritual heals and celebrates and brings the microcosm into relationship with the macrocosm. (Matthew Fox)  As I contemplate these ideas this morning, I am aware of how one uses rituals to make oneself at home to bring awareness and familiarity to the day. I awaken, look out the window at the day (today's sunrise was spectacular), stretch, breathe, remember my dreams,  put the radio on, put the coffee machine on, and on it goes. Some of these rituals are common to many, some are common to self only. A ritual can deepen when we do it consciously, according to Woodman. 

So I wonder if we keep up these rituals if others around us don't? How strong is our need for it? Are we able to miss a day? In ancient times, rituals were how we survived and gave meaning to life...honouring the seasons, nature, the weather.  We would have harvested at certain times, the animals would have been at a certain watering hole, the tides would have been at a particular level. These days, our rituals do not mean that we die if we do not do honour them. At least not on a physical level. Our biggest ritual may be opening a bottle of wine at the end of the work week.

I love ritualised experiences. I grew up feasting on religious ritual and song. Marius Schneider is an ethnomusicologist. He states that most public ritual is accompanied by music and song as it was in old. Even the football grand final has a musical prelude.  Rituals used to be secret. There were the rites of passage for both males and females. Even the alphabet used to be secret apparently. People still die to this day standing up for their religious beliefs and rituals. 

Tea tree lake, Sister's beach, Rocky Cape National Park, Tasmania

Deep feminine is about ritual, magic, eternity, altered states of consciousness, art, music, lunar cycles, intuition. Ritual is also the primary means by which people get their inner houses into order, both at an individual level and as a community. One of my friends spoke of a beautiful Sri Lankan ritual of allowing prosperity into a new house by over-boiling milk onto the stove. 

How do we set up our lives so we can honour the ritual of our lives? Our society rewards those who have "been busy" not necessarily those who have been deep in reflection without 'anything' to show for it. 'Daydreamers' and 'slacking off' come to mind. Often our modern life is, on the whole, highly structured. In the past, my creative flow has felt stifled at times by the rigid set up of modern day. How many of us would like some days to not face the world, instead finish writing that poem, or song, nap or daydream rather than head off to work. I know many creatives whose lives are mixed between "day jobs"  and a few sacred hours of inspiration at the end of the working day. In such a patriarchal society, the deep feminine, or creativity is not often revered. I had a client say to me recently "I thought what you did was B-S at the beginning, but now I know it works. You are awesome" Yes, breathwork and technique is magic. So is being aware of what we are doing. 

Hildegard von Bingen wrote that "authentic ritual helps us find our inner selves." Lately, I have been exploring the deep feminine in relation to caves. I saw a beautiful river that had etched its way through the honeycomb cave last week. It furrowed in unusual ways. The water had found a way through the seemingly impenetrable structure, little by little making a path for itself that was sustainable and which supported its flow. This would have taken hundreds and thousands of years to achieve. It reminded me that nothing is permanent, such in the Buddhist teachings and knowing on a deep level that all things change with time.

Honeycomb Cave, Mole Creek

That is how I feel I am restructuring my world at the moment. Etching out a new course. It requires more structure, but of the kind that supports me on every level, whilst giving the flow the space, and the breath, to move and change course. I am grateful for this new possibility. It also provides hope that the flow can be a force powerful enough to facilitate change through what seems rock-like substances. Something I perceive as dense and solid might shift with time and persistence of flow.  

Whilst in Vanuatu this year, a ritual unexpectedly arose. Routine combined with an unexpected aspect of song resulting in a magical experience. After an operation, unplanned, the whole medical team walked behind a patient's trolley, wheeling him back to the ward. There were many family members on the ward who were singing beautiful songs of their home and hearts. Their melodious voices floated up as if carrying us all on poop'ed wings. Returning their brother, son, child, future elder back to the tribe after surgery. It was a procession of sorts. A handing over. It was honouring, moving and greater than the individual sum of its parts. I was moved, and the occasion was marked as unique and special. A sign of the great feminine. The kind of experience that gives one body shivers. The power of ritual.

xx

Breathing: death, as part of daily life

"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's difficult." Isaac Asimov

"Death is but a door we open and pass through" Targett

I met a woman yesterday who was seemingly startled when I spoke of death. There is a great deal of artwork at Mona that describes death, transitions, new life. We were speaking after such a tour. She had seen more setting suns than I have, and was (possibly) closer to the door than I. Though one can never tell, and I suppose this is part of the questions that we ask in life. How do we address the theme of death? When our whole body is "exposed to the Golden Wind" (Free Play) How do allow ourselves to transition between relationships, jobs, thoughts, dress sizes, emotions, birthdays, cities? Are we someone who hangs on, can't let go, or someone who is onto the next project without a second thought. I heard once that how someone leaves a conversation is how they leave things in much of their life. Do we wave goodbye long after the car has disappeared, are we still crying over long lost love, or do we transition so quickly we forget to thank the person who had served us at the deli?

Transtitions. They can promote rejuvenation on all levels for all senses. When it is done with grace it can be highly refreshing. Transitions mark our society: Some are celebrated and honoured, such as marriages. Some have been forgotten, such as a Levi-Strauss-esque pubertal Rite of Passage. So, how do we celebrate our transitions. I went through a period last year where I bought mini-champagne bottles,  and I would celebrate something at the end of each day that had happened. It was a profound way of acknowledging that it was a day to be celebrated, and a transition marked. Otherwise, many occasions would not be honoured. It allowed me to contemplate an achievement for the day, no matter how small, for in the marking, it allowed me to honour the significance for me.

We transition daily through many aspects of our lives: On and off public transport, in and out of our emotional heart, out of the past into the future and sometimes in the present. How do we find grace in our transitions? Some may feel as if we might never recover or make it throught the transition. It is well documented that most humans do not like change. We know this from our own experiences. Even is something no longer serves us, we may have a tendency to hang on to it, as it is familiar, however not entirely comfortable. Yet, as humans, we are highly adaptable to change. 

Breathing is a constant transition between the conscious and unconscious. Breathing can be a metaphor for receiving. How able are we to allow something into our being, our body, our psyche, and how are we in turn able to let it go? "Expiration" or out breath is also known as a little death. Do we fully exhale before we commence the new with an of inhalation? We get thousands of opportunities to explore this each day. A reason why mindfulness meditation is so fantastic, as we get on average 12 opportunities a minute.

Surrendering to the power of the exhalation, and deeply trusting that the new inhalation will arrive. Our new inspiration. Waking every morning, in the realisation that we have breathed unconsciously whilst we were asleep and then being "inspired" by the day to come. How often in a daily working week do we feel this inhalation as we arise in the morning? Sometimes it is the exhalatory sigh at the end of the day that we notice more. And indeed that could also be a metaphor for where we are in our lives, and what transitional aspect we are in: Have we made a change that feels amazing, or do we know that we need to make a change and have not done so yet. And for some it is the fact that they have been shallowly breathing all day.

According to Woodman, "Most of us keep our breath as shallow as possible because the eruption of feelings is too intense if we inhale deeply". How and why do we keep our breath shallow? It takes a great deal of effort to put in place such a controlled pattern of breath.

Now, I am not a fan at all of the words "breathe deeply" as I know it sets up all sorts of strange body patterns, known to trigger the adrenalin system when we raise our clavicles upwards. I use a great deal of visual imagery: I like a "long and low" breath invitation where we can allow our pelvis and belly to expand. If I say to a client that they are holding their breath, or not breathing, they usually reply with a "Of course I am breathing, otherwise I'd be dead!" The transition to the out-breath is one of release and surrender. It is a path that needs awareness and intention.

Helen Sharp from the BodyVoice Centre speaks of the capacity of the breath to be "curious about entering the body" I love this idea, and have felt it in myself that the quality of the breath changes deliciously. I have seen it in turn with countless clients, where the quality changes from gasping to allowing the breath in. 

Breathing also plays such a role with our  adrenalin system, and in as much our "nerves" Helen Todd in the novella by Amanda Lohrey states "And the nerves are also there because you get tempted to interfere all the time. There's this sense of trusting yourself and keeping out of your own way. No matter how good you become, you can still get in your own way".

How can we breathe, sing and perform all whilst getting out of our own way? Complex. I do not know the answer in its entirety. It is also dependent upon each individual, their history, their body, their emotions. One of the keys is the ability to surrender. To let go.  And then to receive the inhale. To be with all aspects of our body and our breath. To reside within the spaces between the inhale and the exhale. For there "by some alchemy, we drop into direct mystic participation in aliveness or being itself, which is beyond emotion, skill, thought or imagination" (Free Play)

Body Awareness

Peace interrupted. "Our Consciousness is the perceiver that can change the perceived" (Jung)

That familiar feeling that I had known so well, had not lifted up its head until this morning. Already on shaky ground, 'work' invaded the artistic space. I was no longer able to reside in the feminine (or I chose not to reside there anymore and then felt resentful). The voice of the masculine was loud and structured. I was unstructured and soft, unsure where to put my footholds. Withering under the pressure of the need to have answers, immediately, I felt myself become unstuck. I have loved residing in the world where there is movement and flow, and no outcomes. It allows my body to breathe easily, to rest, to be nourished and for me to feel connected: to myself, and to the world around me. How does the feminine voice be sustained. The one that says "Wait, stop! The darkest hour is before the dawn. Don't give up just yet. It will all unfold."

What felt like a strong, long spine and loose jaw only moments ago, has altered into a feeling of tightness and constriction, with doubts and a gut that is highly unsettled. It doesn't take much to disrupt the balance for me. A little bit like the temperature of a new born baby's bath I like to have a steady temperature on all levels. How do I get back to centre? Well, with many of the strategies I teach others. The power of breathing, the genius of mindfulness, and the gentle space to sit with both whilst allowing it to unfold.  It is waiting for the calm voice. And realising that there might be a couple of waves before the voice appears in its clarity. How do we sit with ourselves so that we can be fully available to the answers? Martha Graham states "The body does not lie". So can we handle its honesty?

Often in our modern society "fitness is confused with body awareness" (Woodman). I had a client a while ago, who was so in tune with her body that she knew it was decisively out of tune. As we  carried through our sessions, she made reflections about when certain aspects of her body changed, whether through illness or accident or other. As we pieced together her body puzzle relating to her voice, she made some startling realisations. One of which was that she knew all the strategies and exercises I had given her. She had been at Drama school some 30 years before. It was then almost as if a door between her younger self and her current self was opened and she was able to shift into the present. Needless to say she made a good recovery and rather quickly too.

So, returning to centre, returning to the breath, listening to the wisdom of the body, watching it a little like the ocean. Thanking it for doing all it does each day: heart beating, digesting, processing, thinking, assimilating. We are all in our complexity. "Without reflections on our inner world, we succumb to broad generalisations" (Woodman)

So I didn't have to 'snap out of it' to find peace again. That would have pushed it further into the body. Sweeping it under the metaphorical carpet.  I had to bend like the bamboo, gather myself and gently re-centre, breath, be. Gracefully. In my own time.




With thanks to Marion Woodman 'Conscious Femininity" 1993