Dreaming the body

What I love about teaching Alexander Technique is how thinking about what I'm going to say to my student, as well as the work itself, has me delve more deeply into what it means to be aware of where I am in space and time. I've been working with Rana twice a day, interspersed with walks in the countryside, some weeding, just sitting outside, and also a fair amount of typing on my iPad. I haven't yet figured out how to use my iPad without compressing myself somewhere, somehow, which as a teacher of ease is especially confounding! It also alerts me to my operating perception of needing to be online, to stay up-to-date with everyone else's goings-on, to find answers to my questions. Ideally, I would be able to successfully manage my physical well-being while checking email and scrolling through posts. But what if those are mutually exclusive? In the interest of confronting my own bad habits, I am asking myself: Can I take a break from Facebook? Can I, for a little while, just stay focused on my own experience? Can I let go of wondering what to do next, and just be here now? I've given myself the gift of being in a novel place, removed from any sense of everyday, and the Alexander Technique is an exceptional means to awaken all my senses, to give up any impulse to get ahead of myself.

I mentioned in a prior post that I have infrequently wondered if I could have lucid dreams. It's not surprising that I haven't managed yet, because I haven't been clear what I might do if I were to become lucid in a dream. But working with Rana and being in a secluded environment gave me an idea. Before going to sleep last night and again after waking from my first dream, I intended to become lucid by repeating the phrase 'I'm dreaming,' since sooner or later I would be - and hopefully I'd realize it! My intention, once lucid, was to be Fully Aware in my body – to use all my Alexander Technique training to be as Here, Now, in my physicality as humanly (!) possible, and to express love and appreciation for every cell in my body.

I didn't quite make it to lucidity in my dreams last night, but one was actively physical (successfully navigating traffic on a bicycle) and the other was visual as well as auditory (I heard a voice speak in French a poem that was being filled in as I watched, a poem expressing confidence in my abilities). The feeling I experienced upon waking from both dreams was a deep sense of appreciation for me, like what you can sense emanating from a parent or teacher or audience when they are admiring your determination, talent, or obvious enjoyment, when you are doing what you are doing not for approval but for the sheer thrill of exploration and expression.

My dad used to say, "You're a piece of work, kid!" And my mom, for all of my life, has positively radiated this kind of love for me. Believing this sort of appreciation from my parents can be tough, because my own ideas about myself and them get in the way. But when I'm sleeping, I know I am more receptive to messages from the Universe. And these dreams tell me that my efforts to focus on experiencing my embodiment are a source of awe and joy and inspiration; that my desire to wholeheartedly embrace and revel in my physicality are cheered and celebrated by the awareness of All That Is.

Wild strawberries and yaourt

Don't I have the best fans, ever!!

 

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Ten years ago

Last night as I lay in bed, I found myself thinking of my Dad -- his last words to me before he died, watching his body slow down and stop on the Autumnal Equinox of 2012, how I'm here now in France because of him (to connect with my heritage, and because he left me money to afford the trip). I brought with me on this journey a copy of a letter he wrote to me ten years ago (maybe even exactly, it's not dated but I remember clearly receiving it in late spring/early summer). That April I turned 30 and had come to the empowered realization that I didn't have to wait for life to bring me what I wanted; I could - and wanted to - take some matters into my own hands.

When my dad's father died, I was just 5 years old. It was the first and maybe only time I heard my dad cry, when he got the phone call from the hospital during dinner. What I remember of my grandpapa is him teaching me to count in French, and seeing his frail body but kind smile. Years later I appropriated from the living room desk drawers a few scraps of paper with aphorisms in his meticulous handwriting, and a black-and-white photo of him reading the newspaper, dressed like a gentleman, legs crossed and sitting tall in an armchair. His legacy to me and my brother was some money that my father put in the stock market. A prudent investor, my dad's approach was to buy safe stocks and let them accumulate for half a lifetime. This wisdom paid for me to go to college, with a little left over that I believed I would receive when I turned 25.

Ten years ago, 25 had come and gone and whenever I asked my dad about turning those stocks over to me he refused, saying he didn't believe I would manage things well. But when 30 came, I decided to contact the companies directly and ask what could be done. No problem, they said! You're well past being a minor; just send a copy of your birth certificate and the transfer is complete. There'd be a fee without the original documents, which I informed my dad about, as well as my self-righteous intention to deduct said fee from a car loan I had borrowed him. I planned to use the money to support myself as a potter (those of you who've known me that long remember my passion for it, as well as my financial frustration; if that's a new revelation about me to you, you can see images of pots I made here).

This letter is the only one he ever wrote me (not counting cards and post-it notes), and I treasure it. (I left the endearing typos.)

Dear Dear Michele

I must tell you how I really was impressed with your letter. It tells me you have the guts to go for what you want "Great" Even though its not my idea of what I thing you should be doing My idea is that one should have a steady job like everyone else and these other things be on the side. You have chosen to do the opposite which scares me because its easy to fail in something that is different but it is your choice. I too rebelled against my father when I wanted something and he would not agree. I am glad you took the bull by the horns about your stock. I would have done the same but remember this, they are a money maker for you. If you need to get a loan those stocks can get you money without spending them, keep that in mind that's a lot of money. I once wanted a 1955 CHEVY with power everything, my father didn't think I should have it so I sold my E-BONDS to pay for it so sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns.

About the money, when you tell people you are going to pay them it is important that you keep your word. If I call a stockbroker and tell him to buy stock for me he expects to be paid it is called a verbal contract. You must honor your commitment. So when you said you sold your car and could send [money] I expected that you would so can [you] see how I felt (sorry) get the picture?

OK Kid I still love you, we may not see each other thinking but your still my kid

Love Dad

P.S. The difference between me and your credit card is I never charged you interest

No, Dad, you never charged me interest. And your wisdom, acceptance and love for me are still paying dividends. That meal you looked forward to sharing, all of us together, with wine and my homemade bread? I'm having it now, and you're here with me, laughing and singing and enjoying.

Thank you...

Much love,

Your dear, dear Michèle

 

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Reflections on what's been

I am once again in the train station of Toulouse, not quite two weeks after my entry "Reflections on what's next." Now I know! And it's been good! Although not without periods of angst and hunger. So far the impetus to seek out more French language has not been the criteria that's yielded the easiest connection. But hey, I came here to muck around a bit, clarify my intentions, right?

So here's what I learned: 1) It's hard work to understand French spoken by French people! Which has heightened my desire to study the language, to listen more to recordings, to practice reading and writing, to get coaching on my speech, so that it flows more easily into my head and out of my mouth. I'd love to sound like some of the train announcements -- picture an elegant, mature French woman with excellent diction and clear direction. This is not something I will accomplish on this trip, and at this point I'm okay with that: My overall travel fatigue has left me more at ease with taking the easy road and speaking English when my host can, too.

2) Just because I'm in France doesn't mean I'm eating well -- either because my host doesn't keep much food in the house, or doesn't have a refrigerator or even running water, or because it's near torture for me to wait until 10pm, or later, for dinner. (This is why I have steered clear of visiting Spain!) Not all of the bread, or cheese, or meat, in France is good. I've even heard it's possible to have bad wine, although perhaps because of my ignorant taste buds I cannot yet corroborate that!

3) Those amended desires just keep being born, since those experiences do, too. I'll paste below a journal entry two days before I was determined to move on from my last host's place, when I was all aglow in appreciation. Not to say that I am now without appreciation, far from it! It just changed, into looking ahead to how much I wanted to appreciate clean hands, a break from bread, clear energy. (Which I totally got!)

And now, I am again waiting for a train, amused and pleased at how in the last two weeks I've eaten the best ever white-chocolate-raspberry cake baked in a wood-fired oven, made steady progress on a French novel, weeded garden beds of strawberries, vegetables, and herbs, helped build the frame of an outdoor kitchen, looked down the sheer side of an enormous dam on Le Canal du Midi-Pyrénées, swum and soaked in thermal waters, and met people from Scotland, Russia, England, Tunisia, Australia, and Estonia, as well an authentic Basque descendent, the last of a lineage from the 11th century. I shared some spiritual yoga with a new old friend, read Tarot, admired a rainbow over Mount Bugarach, passed through a psychic barrier at Rennes-le-Chateau, savored a chausson de pommes* that made the ones in Paris taste like chausson de vieux chaussettes**, played table tennis and climbed a jungle gym. I even ran into people I knew, recognizing outside a Carcassonne giftshop the Australian couple I'd met in a café in Rennes-les-Bains. Small world!

Not bad, eh?!

* "chausson" translates as slipper, and is a pastry the shape of a slipper, filled with baked apples.

** slipper filled with old socks!!

Journal entry, May 27:

I am having a really good time here with Anne. It's a primitive, Gypsy set-up. I'm thankful for the life experiences that have made it possible for me to acclimate comfortably to a scenario like this! It's a change, but I can handle it. I like giving myself the opportunity to be adaptable. I like feeling able to respond positively to all sorts of scenarios. It's fun to see how other people live. It's nice to be welcomed into so many homes. I like getting more clarity about my preferences, for hospitality, meals, company. It's fun to see how the universe fulfills all my requests! Like my motorcycle ride yesterday – yay!! I'm so glad I did yoga on the field beforehand, since it took a lot of work on my legs. But what a marvelous way to see the countryside. It made me consider whether I would get a license myself to drive a motorcycle through the mountains and countryside of France. I really am having the time of my life. It's all coming together perfectly. I didn't realize how much of the trip would be affected by other helpers, as much as hosts. Nor the weather; I think I might have been more uncomfortable if the weather was as sunny as usual. There's still so much to discover, and I feel certain that I'll get to. I can totally imagine doing this sort of thing again! It's fun to travel this way. There have been wonderful aspects to every situation. I'm curious what will happen next, and eager to see how delightful it will be. I really like this. I'm having a really, really, good time! And did I mention I answered the phone this morning? And spoke to someone in French, and it went fine?! It's becoming more comfortable for me, my vocabulary is expanding, I like it more and more. It's fun to speak French, to hear it, and it especially fun to understand, and feel at ease expressing myself. This is a really, really good experience.

 

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What's most important

Bugarach mountain

The sun came out today - a big change from weather that has been unfathomably cold and wet for the south of France. It was my first day awakening in the yurt-like home of Anne, my host in the forest at the foothills of Mount Bugarach.

Gluten-free, raw food tables

Anne arranged for a ride to the market for the two Estonian Helpers already here, while she and I and 9-year-old Peter walked down the road toward Rennes-les-Bains until a neighbor gave us a lift to the hippie market at Esperaza (notable for the didgeridoo, dreadlocks, and unmistakeable aromas ;-) For lunch Anne and I had a raw food plate ("assiette cru"), the Estonians some Indian fare from a food truck.

Market-goers

Look at the size of the paella pan!

 

 

 

 

 

 

We walked from the market to her friend Hughes' house, where Anne's mother Joan has been staying while visiting from Scotland. Normally Joan stays with Anne, but we're here occupying all the beds, and it's been cold and raining and Anne's kitchen burnt down in February, so she's more limited in her ability to host. Today was Mother's Day in France (why they have a different date than every other country that celebrates it, I don't know!), and we celebrated all afternoon with a picnic, Hughes on guitar, Johannes on drum, and an open campground field to dance in and watch the dogs play.

An afternoon picnic

How amazing is it to have conversations - in the first afternoon of meeting someone - that touch on the spiritual nature of existence, on reverence for the natural world, on the essence of music, on what's most important in life? I felt an immediate appreciation for Joan, who is soon to turn 86 (from her head-high leg kicks and air-dueling with her grandson, Anne, Hughes, and Yusef, you would never guess!!). She told me many stories of her life, from first meeting her husband, living in Africa, losing a child of 14 months to malaria, being sent to live with a "horrid" aunt after her father died when she was 15. What struck me from the beginning was how frequently she said, "I'm very lucky." In every one of those stories, she felt lucky: it was several coincidences that brought her husband into her life; she has a visual memory, and so always remembers a happy moment with her lost child; being subject to her aunt's disdain strengthened her spirit. Through all of it, she declared, her sense of humor is what she values most about herself. It's what's helped her find the goodness in every situation.

Anne and Joan dueling

I'm thinking of all the ways I am lucky. I've lived such a beautiful life so far, filled with adventures and friendships and boredom and heartbreak. I'm lucky to have my own mom to celebrate, and so thankful for Skype that's allowed us to stay in touch while I'm traveling. I'm lucky for all of it. I came to France hoping to experience family life, and I've been welcomed into so many homes. I'm lucky to encounter so many warm and genuine people, to see how they live, to break bread with them, to contribute to their gardens, to recognize our kinship.

And I'm lucky to have all of you, reading these words, as part of my extended vibrational family. Thank you!

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Tarn, Southern France, 19-25 May

Sémalens

View of the Black Mountains

My host Jef's back yard

Jef's driveway and entrance

Jef's kitchen

"Discover the POMPET, specialty of Sémalens" - a lemony pastry, wonderful!

Bakery in Sémalens

St. Ferréol

Wild thyme

Geyser from pressure of the canal, Saint-Ferréol, park at the museum of the Canal du Midi-Pyrénées

Sorèze

Bell tower of L'Eglise Saint Martin, which was destroyed in 1573 during the religious wars.

Winner of a flower competition for street scene! Wouldn't you like this neighbor?!

Still-hot bread oven in Sorèze

 

 

 

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Reflections on what's next

Finalement! It's been a long while since I had some time to just sit and reflect. My two weeks at Domaine Gaury were magnificent; Kathleen and Yves prepared delicious meals for us every day and kept us busy with work and sightseeing. Jess and Dave were fun and easy-going and great to hang around. The location was spacious and serene. All told it was the perfect antidote to the prior homestay, as well as the three weeks in Paris preceding that, and indeed - what moment of my life up to now was not in some way bringing me to exactly this place??

I'm just so interested in how the process works, of encountering a new environment or person or having any sort of experience, that immediately new preferences are born within me. As soon as a need or desire is met, an even newer and amended version lies ahead, beckoning me onward. Even wondering if or when I'll desire to linger longer sparks a new potential to be satisfied with staying put, in a way that didn't exist before I found myself inclined to move on. It's like an eternal pendulum, always seeking but never resting in perfect equilibrium. I like that. It makes me think of water, cycling through all its phases, whole and complete at every step along the way - and always moving on to the next phase, unless it's not... As in when resting for a spell in a lake, or ocean, or in those great voluminous clouds that are powerful and yielding, full and full of nothing, all at the same time.

It's fun to notice what my new preferences are. I'm on the train now, heading south toward Toulouse then east to a small village. My next host is French, which was my most prominent amended request from where I've just been. It was a relief to be able to speak English with my hosts to clarify what was said in French, but with two Canadians also around, it was just too easy to slip into talking English all the time... And then when Yuri the Russian arrived, and he could speak no French at all, I knew I had to go. I'm eager and nervous to converse with a native French speaker, but (aside from seeing the country) that's what I can't do at home! The food, it's true, has been wonderful; but Asheville is already such a foodie town with amazing markets and farms and import shops, I'm not lacking for cultivated tastes (nor appreciation for both the fine cuisine available in France, and for my own discretion about eating the same kind of supermarket crap you can buy here as well as in America).

 

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Past and Present Countryside

Grotte Préhistoriques de Cougnac

My host Kathleen and co-Helpers Dave and Jess and I went to one of the ancient caves in this region (the Lot, southeast of Dordogne). There are many caves in the area, new ones discovered every year, with incredible concretions: stalactites, stalagmites, and columns formed from mineral-rich water dripping over eons. Our visit included two caves, the first with sparkly columns and millimeter-thin straw-like stalactites.

Concretions de Grotte de Cougnac

Fistuleuses de Grotte de Cougnac

The second cave was up a hill, and after a short walk we entered a cellar with stone carvings from a era of the nearby town's history, then descended to the cave. Photographs aren't permitted, to protect the cave paintings - the oldest of which were made 25,000 years ago!! It was awe-inspiring to see such ancient creations by humans with incredible sensitivity to movement, dimension, and beauty.

Cave art: Grotte de Cougnac

Dégagnac Countryside

A few days later, my co-Helpers and I took a walk through the countryside. We started in the tiny town centre, passed through an educational garden, on to gravel and dirt trails that skirted hamlets and fields. We sat on a garden wall to eat, admiring lilac and rose bushes, and thanked the owner when he came out to wish us a good lunch!

Herb spiral and garden beds

"The four life stages of a butterfly"

A few days after that, four of us saddled up for a trail ride! Kathleen and I actually took a lesson the day before, which was great for my confidence and hard on my thighs ;-) but the views were amazing and we all enjoyed our horses. (Yes, my horse was shorter than me, and no - I didn't mind!!)

 

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