Select Page

Help Me to See

by | Jul 6, 2022 | Notes on Practice

I just lived through a difficult school year as a teacher at a public high school. Now that the rushing river of the school year has emptied me out into the ocean of the summer, I’m finding that I need to re-align myself before I’m even in a place to set new goals or imagine my own way forward.

Flowing is the first rhythm in the 5Rhythms map. For me, it is a place of humility, of supplication. 

Today I created a circle in sand to move inside of, then danced to birdsong and the laughter of a shallow river over rocks. A simple prayer came through:

Help me to know

Help me to see

Help me to feel

Help me to be

In Flowing there are no experts. There are no showy moves, just movement. No beginning, no end, nothing to grasp toward, nothing to push away.

After this prayer arrived, I realized I need to allow myself to be less directed for a while.

For me, Flowing is where I re-align myself. Where I establish my mindfulness. Where I connect with my feet and let in whatever thoughts, emotions, sensations, or external phenomena appear, without forcing everything to have some kind of a supporting role in the ongoing story of myself. I try to move until it all flows by in the river of my mindstream.

Most days, I dance at least one full 5Rhythms wave as my practice. 

Today, I was so absorbed in the rhythm of Flowing that I decided it was fine if I never left Flowing at all, and continued to circle, undulate, and rise and fall, different parts of my feet edging into the soft sand.

For now, I’m taking a break from professional goals, and committing myself wholeheartedly to personal practice. 

Today, the rhythms of Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, and Stillness did also arise, but I left with the intention to patiently embrace Flowing until Staccato breaks through and leads me in a clear direction.

Meghan LeBorious is a writer, teacher, and meditation facilitator ​​who has been dancing the 5Rhythms since 2008 and recently became a 5Rhythms teacher. She was inspired to begin chronicling her experiences following her very first class; and she sees the writing process as an extension of practice—yet another way to be moved and transformed. This blog is not produced or sanctioned by the 5Rhythms organization. Photos courtesy of the writer.

***For NYC dancers, Meghan has a three-class 5Rhythms series coming up that starts on July 15. Join a single class or join the full series for a discount. Registration is required – visit https://www.eventbrite.com/e/heat-wave-waves-5rhythms-dance-movement-meditation-tickets-364331755087

Finger Pointing Instructions

by | Apr 20, 2022 | Notes on Practice

The movie brought both of us to tears. It was the 2009 “Where the Wild Things Are” and my 12-year-old son, Simon, and I couldn’t believe that we had somehow missed it – given our shared love of the same children’s book. Near midnight, Simon sat with his head resting on me, crying the spilled-over tears of a full-heart, and perhaps a backlog of other experiences. Tears poured down my cheeks, too. Where the Wild Things Are

The previous day, I’d heard an interview with a religious leader who argued against classifying anything as “spiritual.” It got me to thinking about what “spiritual” means to me, and why I might (or might not) choose to define anything as spiritual. 

As I sat in the quiet dark, holding my soon-to-be-teenage child, and flowing with him as strong emotions arose, I felt we were sitting in a rain of golden oak leaves and light. That a portal opened up, and there was nothing but this very moment. That I couldn’t imagine how it could ever be possible to love a human being more than I did in this moment.

If “spiritual” is a thing for me, it would have to encompass this moment. 

To me, “spiritual” means recognizing and collaborating in beauty. And by beauty, I mean what’s real and alive, even if that means broken, messy, awkward, or complicated.

In the Zen Buddhist tradition, it’s said that you can point at the moon with your finger as a way of providing teaching, though the pointing can never be the actual moon. Here are 100 finger pointing instructions toward what “spirituality” might be:

  1. Sitting with my brand-new, tiny son in the early hours of morning, watching a train glide by the window, watching the moon, watching snow glitter on the branches near the window
  2. Sitting with my 12-year-old son as he empties his heart, connecting with what matters most to him, and working through what has challenged him in recent months
  3. A snowy owl on the dunes at Riis Park Beach that twists its head around, then lifts off in expanded flight low along the beach
  4. Catching my mom in a hug as tears well up in her eyes, seeing her gratitude for the people who are alive, present, and joyful at this year’s family Easter celebration, and her grief for those who are no longer with us
  5. Practicing the 5Rhythms in community in a friend’s class, feeling inspired, exhausted, creative, alive, aggrieved, hopeless, and motivated all in just two hours time
  6. Meditating in the pre-dawn hours as light seeps into the sky
  7. The Rocky Mountains
  8. Exquisite cheese
  9. Having candlelight breakfast every day
  10. Running and diving into the ocean, then doing butterfly timed with the swelling waves
  11. My grandfather making the sign of the cross every time he stepped into the sea, then floating on his back with his ankles crossed, staring up at the blue sky
  12. My sister’s extraordinary ability to animate puppets with breath
  13. Having clear closets and clean weekly systems
  14. My father’s commitment to meaningful civic action
  15. My mother’s commitment to disrupting the status quo in favor of beauty and human dignity
  16. My uncle’s tireless work to create a community health center
  17. Beach glass
  18. Dancing with the sea
  19. Poetry
  20. Song swelling in the body then expressed as vibration
  21. Fireflies
  22. Dancing with fireflies
  23. Having a fuzzy caterpillar crawl across your bare foot
  24. Eating burritos on the top of a mountain with my brother
  25. The ocean at night
  26. A story that makes me ache
  27. A joke that gets wrapped around four times, including everyone in the humor, yet impossible to re-tell
  28. When your best friend answers your text right away and sends an emoji that perfectly matches how you’re feeling
  29. The joy of wonderful-smelling deodorant
  30. When linear time loosens its grip and you are free to move through multiple dimensions
  31. The first garden tomatoes of the season
  32. Falling in love more after you break up
  33. Getting to know your grandfather more after he transitions to after-living
  34. Petals blowing all over my Brooklyn street in early spring
  35. Missing the train
  36. Snow under streetlights
  37. Daylight savings when it means more daylight
  38. Daylight savings when you’re forced to return to the austerity of winter
  39. My spirit entourage
  40. Being somewhere no one can catch you in their gaze
  41. Being in front of an audience
  42. My mother’s love of rich pattern
  43. The densest, coldest, deepest part of the Hudson River
  44. Protected space
  45. Parking tickets
  46. Patient attention with no agenda
  47. Being reprimanded by your boss
  48. Speaking your truth
  49. Cutting through bullshit
  50. Going on a hike with a big group of people you barely know
  51. A reflective glacial lake with no boats
  52. Portals
  53. Ley lines
  54. The movie E.T.
  55. When smell opens memories
  56. Bedtime routines
  57. Singing to my son
  58. Singing with my Dad (even when he gives me evil eye if I’m off key)
  59. Straining to sing a lyric
  60. Resonating and singing a challenging lyric with ease
  61. Singing publicly
  62. Singing alone
  63. The incense and candles at Catholic church
  64. The sound of rivers
  65. Horrific boredom
  66. Poorly fitting underwear
  67. Purring
  68. Puppy enthusiasm
  69. Holidays when no one gets too drunk
  70. Meditating on the beach in the early morning
  71. Snow angels
  72. When your mind gets so quiet you can hear energy
  73. When your eyes get so quiet you can see molecules
  74. Traffic jams
  75. Dancing while in labor
  76. Dancing to integrate failure
  77. Dancing to remember your place in things
  78. Dancing everywhere
  79. Owls
  80. Snowy owls
  81. Did I mention owls?
  82. River spirits
  83. Card games
  84. Scrabble
  85. Dancing the grief of spirits
  86. Dancing with birds in flight
  87. Dancing your relationships
  88. Dancing your life cycles
  89. Sleeping through the entire night and remembering your dreams when you wake up
  90. Turning off the flashlight and walking through pitch black woods at night while listening to owls, wolves, and stars
  91. Clear water in glass bowls
  92. When someone paraphrases you so well they show you something you didn’t realize you said
  93. Avocado with lemon
  94. Having somewhere with a beautiful view to write
  95. Community
  96. Ferocity
  97. Integrity
  98. Mindfulness
  99. Vision
  100. Love

In the beginning I didn’t think this would be anywhere near 100 items, but I felt happy and playful as the list grew.

I do very much believe there is value in setting up “spiritual” practices and spaces. The sands of our daily lives are so quick to bury anything that isn’t on our daily task list that it is essential to intentionally create space and time for spiritual work.

But that doesn’t mean anything in our experience should be excluded. On the contrary, there is nothing that can’t be seen as part of our “spiritual” life, as food for our spiritual growth, as an opportunity to step more fully into this wild dance of love.

Meghan LeBorious is a writer, teacher, and meditation facilitator ​​who has been dancing the 5Rhythms since 2008 and recently became a 5Rhythms teacher. She was inspired to begin chronicling her experiences following her very first class; and she sees the writing process as an extension of practice—yet another way to be moved and transformed. This blog is not produced or sanctioned by the 5Rhythms organization. Photos and videos courtesy of the writer.

Image is a still from the 2009 movie “Where the Wild Things Are”

 

Carved in Stone

by | Mar 23, 2022 | Notes on Practice

Sunny days can be a lot of pressure. It’s like you know you should be grateful and cheerful. Everyone around you seems grateful and cheerful. But if you don’t feel grateful and cheerful, challenging emotions can feel amplified. 

On a morning just before the spring equinox, I woke up way too early. The familiar squirm of anxiety made it feel like I wasn’t even waking up, just opening my eyes.

I decided to go for a run and headed to a sprawling cemetery where I had run one other time. The last visit, I had been pressed for time, and only just dipped in. This time, I set the intention to see what the place had to offer.

Instead of running straight, this time I turned right, past mausoleums with the names “Abel” and “Heath.” The path continued to wind uphill. Soon I took another turn, and another. Before long I was lost, feeling receptive and curious. I noticed angels in all manner of repair, some soaring above sections of graves with the far-off NYC skyline in the distance, some sunken to the level of the knees in the soft earth, some even missing their heads. I moved off the path to investigate and took pictures whenever something captured my attention.

Around one bend I discovered a section dedicated to the “Love” family. If I had been looking for a sign this would have been a perfect fit. I lingered, feeling more and more a sense of grace. 

Eventually I continued my run along the winding paths of the cemetery. Pausing to check out another grave, I heard a loud thud as my phone skidded on the pavement. I discovered that the slip-on pocket I had on my ankle had torn. I checked and found only one of my two keys remaining. 

I decided to try to retrace my steps to try to find the key I was missing. I took a left, a left, a right. And another left. Things looked familiar but I wasn’t sure. I second-guessed myself. The only landmark I remembered for sure was the Love grave. It crossed my mind to wonder, “What if my key was right in front of the Love grave?” “Nah,” my mind said to my own self. “That would be ridiculous. What are the chances? No way.” 

I guessed I was off track, so backtracked again to the last fork and went left. There it was once again, the Love grave, unmistakeable, carved in stone.

And, yes, you guessed it. There I found my key. Silver metal glinting in the sun, directly in front of the Love grave. Love is the key to everything, after all.

There was an employee close by on a riding lawnmower. Even so, I crumpled and started to cry, deciding that any thoughts that flowed through were a gift from the spirits, and listening intently in case there was more that needed to be heard. After considerable time of lingering, praying, listening, and giving thanks, I headed back through the winding paths to the exit.

A couple of days later, I found myself dancing a prayer for the Spring Equinox at Jacob Riis Beach. It was much colder than I thought it would be and I had been overzealous, dressing in just a spring sweater. I was tempted to bail, but decided I would step in, if briefly, do a 5Rhythms wave – which is to say that I would dance through each of the five rhythms: Flowing Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, and Stillness – and see what might happen. 

I started to move right away to ward the cold from my body, but shifted and decided to make a good beginning, drawing a big circle on the sand to dance inside of and walking around it three times clockwise. The cold wasn’t as strident as I feared, and I settled into Flowing. At first I was not totally engaged, thinking I might go through the motions and get back to the warm car as quickly as possible. I found my way in by adding a prompt for myself, playing with internal and external rotation in different body parts, beginning with the feet, then the knees, hips, spine, shoulders, head, and arms. I ended with the elbows, anticipating that they might pull me naturally into the rhythm of Staccato. 

I really got into Staccato this time. I thought about the aspect of Spring that is this wild rush of energy, this incredible push of plants that have been moving and creeping underground in quiet darkness, and finally gathering up the force to break through the surface to sunlight. 

Some passersby stopped to spectate and I both tried to pretend I didn’t see them, and sharpened my moves – seeing myself briefly through their eyes.

I slowed briefly, for a moment ashamed of this unabashed joy, even in the face of so much suffering in the world, even as the earth’s temperatures heat up and wild storms are unleashed, even as my own uncle hovers on the verge of dying, even with so much that is fucked up and painful and brutally unfair.

I dug even deeper into Staccato, sinking down and pulling my low belly in, then pushing breath out sharply.

Chaos was a relief as it overtook me. I was a little tired at the outset following an active day, but found that I had a lot more energy than I needed at this point. I thought of the way I was downright ebullient at work on Friday despite significant obstacles and discouraging setbacks over the last several months following a few minutes outside in the warm sunshine. Every year, I’m reminded that Spring really does help. That joy might just erupt if I can get over the guilt I feel about it, and if I can get over the guilt about not feeling it even when I think I should.

Lyrical came and went. Soon a soaring bird and a glowing sky opened the doorway into Stillness; and I made my offerings and petitions in honor of the season, then sat quietly, seeing and hearing the crashing waves and barely feeling the cold.

Nothing is carved in stone, I reflected. Except Love, of course. That, I can assure you, is one thing that is carved in stone. The one force worth serving. The key to everything.

Dancing with the Sea: A Magical Encounter

by | Feb 14, 2022 | Notes on Practice

I didn’t even know snow was in the forecast until I woke up and looked out the window.  

Following an in-person yoga class, I wavered on my plan to go to the ocean to dance the 5Rhythms – my Sunday ritual since the beginning of the pandemic. The snow was coming down pretty hard, and it was the goopy, wet kind of flakes. I didn’t have a hat and couldn’t turn one up even after rummaging through the car. In the end I decided I might as well give it a try. If it was horribly uncomfortable I could always bail. 

I had made my weekly pilgrimage in less temperate weather than this, I reasoned. Plus, when the weather is horrible, there’s a good chance I can actually be alone, which means I can scream, cry, move like a demon, sing loudly, or allow whatever comes through in a way that I’m unlikely to do if there is anyone around to see me.

In the car on the way, I heard Bulgarian journalist and activist Yana Buhrer Tavanier on the topic of play even in the face of grave circumstances, and carried her words into my practice. I tightened the laces on my snow boots and jogged across the wide sand, pausing to examine whatever captured my attention, allowing curiosity to be my guide.

I noticed a set of footprints and started following them toward a sand dune, talking cheerfully to myself as I roamed. 

My eye caught on what I thought was a seagull perched at the top of the sand dune, barely visible with the white snow and white feathers against the white sky. I wondered why this seagull was sitting so upright, not like rubber-ducky posture like seagulls usually sit when they’re resting. This bird was vertical, with dignified shoulders. Could it be an eagle? It was also bigger than most seagulls, and totally white. It didn’t even have an orange beak. Then, she twisted her neck around like it was on a track and I wondered if she might actually be an owl.

I took a few pictures, then crept a little closer, daring to take a video. I honestly couldn’t believe it. Owls seem magical to me – a symbol of wisdom, power, and ancient mystery. She stayed a little longer, then got spooked or maybe annoyed and took off down the beach, gliding low.

I got onto my knees and touched my forehead to the cold, wet sand.

The snow had slowed, but picked up again, landing wet on my forehead and cheeks. I began to move in Flowing around the jagged contours of ended waves. Often, I pick a spot, put my bag down, and even draw a big circle to dance inside of. This time, I let myself move wherever I wanted to, at one point going to examine some thick tangled rope, then reversing course and heading west along the edge of the water. I was grateful to be alone and vocalized loudly, moaning, crying, and even making up songs and poems, then offering them to the sea and the sky.

Today I wasn’t sure which rhythm I was in, I just knew that I needed to move. Streams of wisdom poured through and I gave voice to all of it.

The snow picked up more, to the point that the sea and sky were barely distinguishable. 

I climbed up onto the dune, dancing along its spine and looking for evidence of the owl, at one point in Chaos letting myself go while trying to avoid tumbling down either side of the dune.

I walked back across the wide beach feeling tall, striding – despite the cold, despite the winter, despite the state of the world. Remembering my place in things. Heartbroken and free. Grateful. Alive. Ready.

Meghan LeBorious is a writer, teacher, and meditation facilitator ​​who has been dancing the 5Rhythms since 2008 and recently became a 5Rhythms teacher. She was inspired to begin chronicling her experiences following her very first class; and she sees the writing process as an extension of practice—yet another way to be moved and transformed. This blog is not produced or sanctioned by the 5Rhythms organization. Photos and videos courtesy of the writer. 

Lunar Eclipse

by | Nov 24, 2021 | Notes on Practice

It was glowing dark, blood red. Then it was just black with a thin arc of light on the bottom right. I sat there in full darkness, clutching my elbows, amazed. 

I woke up at 3AM and couldn’t get back to sleep, owing to a racing brain. The good news is that I got to see the almost-full lunar eclipse on Thursday night. The bad news is that I had another night of poor sleep. Nights of poor sleep have been too frequent lately. I just haven’t had enough time to process my experiences given the pace of work lately.

Saturday was another sleepless night. At one point I jumped up and ran to the window, hearing screaming and fearing someone was in danger. Then I heard, “Happy Belated!” and realized it was just people celebrating. I did fall asleep at some point, but slept less than two hours in total.

“You know, I don’t have that problem,” one of my close advisors shared, “I just lay down and I let the day go and that’s that. You can’t hold onto that stuff.” I gritted my teeth, knowing he was trying to help, but feeling judged and annoyed.

Sunday I dragged. It was hard to form thoughts. I didn’t feel like doing anything. I was quick to tears and slow to regulate.

In the afternoon, I went for a massage. My trusted massage therapist (who I visit once every four or five months) was not available so I went to a new person at the same studio. I practiced my lines on the way over, “I haven’t had a massage in a long time, and I’m feeling really sensitive, so if it doesn’t feel right, I’m going to need to cancel. It’s nothing personal.”

For whatever reason, I trusted him right away. He started with my neck and back. My muscles cramped and relaxed again and again. I was able to stay present in the pain, although at times it was very intense. 

The tears started within five minutes. At first just dripping down through the face-shaped hole in the massage table, but by the time the masseuse started working through the knots on my right shoulder I was crying more loudly. 

Recollections of the fights at the school where I work drifted in and out. Of the time when a student charged into my room, going after another student. Then after I pushed him out, the same student banging on the door, along with several of his friends. Of the fight when kids barricaded themselves in a room, and several filmed it and posted videos. Of other experiences in my life when I felt unsafe or vulnerable. 

When he was working on the nerve tangles around my sacrum, I got very activated then very relaxed. I really felt like a spirit, somehow. I thought, “I might die now. I think I’m going to die,” realizing that letting go of the fear that was controlling my body felt like a potential threat to my survival.

By the time he got to the nerve tangle in my right hip and gluteal, I was scream-crying, sobbing and trying to suck air in, wondering if the asymptomatic case of COVID that lead to a recent positive antibody test had impacted my lungs because I couldn’t seem to get a breath. 

He ended with a head massage, with a lot of attention to the base of the skull.

I felt very relaxed at the end, and kind of transparent.

Today was better. Work is still a lot but I have drawn some boundaries. Classes flowed and there were threads of joy.

After school, some students came to visit since they had extra time before basketball practice. “Guys, I’m about to dance. You either have to go or dance,” I said.

“Ok, I’ll dance,” one good-humored, receptive student shrugged.

“Naw. I’m not dancing,” another said.

“Me either. At my middle school they forced me to be in a dance club that the dean taught. They all laughed at me, and when I told them to fuck off I got in trouble.”

“Well, you can’t just sit there and watch the two of us. That’s just weird.”

“Fine. Ok. I guess we’ll dance.”

I had mixed feelings about giving up my personal practice time, but was curious to see what could happen. I figured it would last five minutes or so.

In the end, we danced for 45 minutes and ended sucking wind and dripping with sweat.

“Can we use the ball?” one student asked, picking up the plush globe that I use as a talking piece to pass around for circle discussions in classes.

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” I answered.

I put on a flowing song that sounds like a video game. 

“Ok, so now every time you pass the ball, you have to spin around first.”

We started playing with spinning and dropping, all moving around the room. 

I said, “Ok, now drop your weight way down when you spin,” and we all did our own version of the prompt.

I put on another flowing song, this one quite a bit edgier, and they started getting in each other’s faces in a playful way. I put the song on freeze, and they all froze, then moved, then froze, then moved.

I pulled out another “ball” as I put on a staccato track, and watched the magic unfold. We took turns with the spotlight, including the kid with dance trauma, cheering each other on. We moved into partnership, the kids delightfully present with each other, flexing and advancing, busting complex moves with attitude and precision, sarcastic but real, alive and honest and present.

Eventually I had to kick them out so I could dance like a wild animal and not worry that if I raised my arms my back might show. But they want to do this every day.

I could think of worse things.

Meghan LeBorious is a writer, teacher, and meditation facilitator ​​who has been dancing the 5Rhythms since 2008 and is currently enrolled in the 5Rhythms teacher training. She was inspired to begin chronicling her experiences following her very first class; and she sees the writing process as an extension of practice—yet another way to be moved and transformed. This blog is not produced or sanctioned by the 5Rhythms organization. Photos in this post are from blogs.nasa.gov.