by meghanleborious | Aug 18, 2022 | Notes on Practice
Practice aligns me.
This week, in West Dennis Cape Cod with extended family, my mornings are devoted to practice with the ocean. Today was my earliest start time this week, since many of my family members–including my 12-year-old son–were up early for a deep sea fishing trip. By 7:30, I was walking ankle deep in the waves toward West Dennis Beach.
I treat all parts of this process as practice, which is to say that from the time that I leave the cottage to the time that I return, I do my best to settle into the experience and not press forward, wishing time away. It also means that I show up every day–or nearly every day–regardless of conditions and sometimes regardless of what I feel like doing. For example, yesterday’s forecast was for 100% likelihood of rain. I wasn’t eager to get up early and head out to the sea, but I pushed a little, recognizing that practice means you don’t evaluate it every day; and you don’t allow your mind to have a conversation with itself about the pros and cons. I put my towel in a plastic shopping bag so when I got out of the water it wouldn’t be drenched, and headed out.
Today was bright and high tide was falling. My mom, who is delightful, enthusiastic, walked with me for a while. We paused to interact with a dog, fondly remembering our own dog of many years ago who was mostly the same breed as this one based on our best guess.
After I passed the Lighthouse Inn, I pulled out swim goggles and cap, peeled off the layer I had on over my bathing suit, then dropped my backpack with afterswim supplies on the sand and continued west.
Walking away from the morning sun, I gave my attention to the feet as they fell on the ultra-soft sand, to the sound of the waves, and to my moving body, inviting the shoulders to relax down, the belly to soften, and the hips to deepen in their sockets. Whenever I shifted into a story, a plan, an explanation, an analysis of my body’s symmetry, or an argument for or against my good character, I noted it and gently shifted attention back to the feet when I could so without excessive effort.
At Bass River, the boundary between West Dennis and Yarmouth, I turned my back to the wind and bent over to gather my hair in my hands, then stood up and turned toward the wind to coil it just behind the crown of my head. I put on the bathing cap and goggles, then hesitated briefly, tightening my shoulders against the cold water and wind, then wading in and diving hands first, heading back east.
There was a fierce chop today, and the wind was coming from the southwest, an assist on today’s eastward journey. In a pool, once my attention starts to settle with movement, I move my focus throughout the body. But in the ocean, there is usually plenty to anchor my attention in the present. Today, the waves rolled across me, lifting me up and casting me down, and I had to pay attention to the timing of my breaths to avoid getting a mouthful. The water was ochre and gold, the bottom rippled sand or obscured in stands of seaweed. I noted razor shells, clam shells, one big conch with an animal still inside it, and horseshoe crabs underneath me.
Periodically, I lowered a leg down to make sure I could still stand. I can handle the deep water just fine as a swimmer, but a (somewhat irrational) fear of sharks keeps me close to shore. And I figure if a shark ever does attack me, I’ll have a better chance of survival if I can stand up on my feet and punch them in the nose. I have it all figured out.
That doesn’t stop me from an occasional mounting shark panic, but I try to see even that emergence of fear as another opportunity to work with my mind.
I’ve been doing this swim or a similar swim for over 20 years now. It started back when I actually competed in triathlons, and really took off when my sister was doing triathlons too. Those days are long gone, but I still love long swims in the ocean. At first it was an occasional thing, at any time of the day it happened to fit. Over the years, I noted how much it helps me–not just during the week that I’m doing it but in the bigger picture, too–and became more and more committed to the point that I actually plan around it, even declining the offer to join a deep sea fishing trip with my son, my Dad, and other family members this morning.
That’s just how it went when I started to dance the 5Rhythms 15 years ago. At first it was just a class or two here or there. But within less than a year I was planning my life around attending Tammy Burstein’s Friday Night Waves class in the West Village, and also added whatever additional classes I could squeeze in and every workshop that came up.
Everything changed for me then. I galloped through layers of trauma and learned habitual patterns. Creativity exploded. I was able to connect with people with much greater intimacy. I was more playful. Walking on the sidewalk in Midtown became a game.
I also moved through agonizing stretches of feeling isolated, witnessing my own self abuse, and coping with difficult emotions, but following each period of agony somehow emerged even more committed to practice.
After the wild west end of the beach, I passed the first lifeguard chair: white painted wood with a red number 8 on its side. The wind and waves helped me out, and I continued to note each successive chair from 7 all the way to 1 as I made it the two miles back to my backpack in what seemed like a shorter time than usual.
I moved quickly to the towel, then changed my wet bathing suit for loose pants and long sleeve shirt. I sat for a while in meditation, then decided to do some yoga movements to warm myself up. Once I was warm I sat for longer, in no particular hurry to get on to anything else.
Last night, I danced the 5Rhythms. I walked with some family members, but they headed west and I stayed put. The evening beach was more crowded than I hoped, but I found a quiet-ish corner to practice. The tide was high and I circled up and down from the high tide line as I began to move in the rhythm of Flowing. In this session I made a clear distinction between each of the five rhythms–Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, and Stillness–as I moved through each of them. I could see my sister, brother, brother-in-law, and niece in the distance, occasionally bending over to gather a treasure, and figured I would dance just until they made it back to me. After moving through each of the rhythms, an internal gear slipped me deeply into Stillness, and I whisper moved with the waves, the horizon, and the soaring birds. Vision tracked energy. I could feel heat rising to my cheekbones and the crown of my head. Chemical releases in my leg muscles set loose a shake. When they were almost back to me, I reconnected with my feet, intending to reconnect with day-to-day reality, though practice had opened the doorway to a different layer.
This morning, caked in sand, muscles awake and stretched, wind making a flag of my loose shirt, hair knotted and half-wet–I could feel my edges softening, recent and past experiences moving through, and my selves gliding into alignment.
Thank you, my beautiful son. Thank you, family. Thank you, ocean. Thank you, Gabrielle Roth. Thank you, practice. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I bow down to the universe, to my teachers, and to this precious life.
August 18, 2022, West Dennis, Cape Cod
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 seven-class 5Rhythms series coming up that starts on October 14, “Spirit Drenched in Gold.” Join a single class or join the full series for a discount. Registration is required – https://spiritdrenchedingold.eventbrite.com
***Meghan also has a five-class online writing/dance 5Rhythms “Writing Waves” class that starts on September 15. Registration is required – https://www.eventbrite.com/e/writing-waves-tickets-397987811257
by meghanleborious | Aug 12, 2022 | Notes on Practice
When I dance outside, getting to a place where I feel inspired to move is part of the odyssey.
Yesterday I went to one of my favorite places, Jacob Riis Beach, located on a narrow strip of land just south of Coney Island. Rising up on the bridge over Jamaica Bay, I examined the water level for information about the tide and judged it low. I had been with family just the day before during a very high tide with wild waves – at that time I dove in head first and sewed a line through the waves with butterfly stroke and navigated the huge crashing swells. But today’s lower tide left an expansive stretch of packed sand, perfect for a patient dance.
When I dance outside, I often seek solitude. If I am in someone’s view, I notice that some level of me is performing. Not a problem per se, but I appreciate when I have the opportunity to get over myself, to take a break from performing not only my dance, but also my identity. To connect with instinct and raw awareness, it helps to remove myself from at least the external gazes that are society’s constant surveillance.
I parked the car and my bladder started screaming immediately. From the start of the pandemic until recently, I danced at this beach every single week, and sometimes more often. I would park, use the bathroom, then head to the vast beach. My body reminded me of how entrenched our patterns become.
I walked to the farthest western edge of the boardwalk, then crossed the wide beach to the water’s edge and continued further west. This is the part of the beach you can only get to on foot, so it is much less crowded. Nonetheless, I passed bay after bay, marked by rock jetties or wooden pilings, nodded to people with deep sea fishing rods, and intrepid beachgoers with their daytrip-outpost-setups.
I picked up a plastic bottle to ferry to the trash, and was delighted to read “Holy Water” and note that it still had some fluid in it. I picked up several translucent, smooth, orange stones, and several bits of frosted glass that had been smoothed by the sea, thinking I might use them for an altar.
An older man walking for fitness came up quickly behind me, “They’re always complaining!” he said cheerfully, gesturing toward two american oystercatcher birds with their skinny, bright orange beaks. He sailed by, stepping jauntily, his broad chest lifted to the sun and his palms upturned.
I remembered another beach walker, one frigid winter day when the beach was practically deserted. She moved with the same delighted presence, in an ankle length fur coat and bare feet, dancing along the water’s edge. At the time, I wondered if she might be a spirit or a deity.
I made it almost to the big cabana buildings in Point Pleasant and decided to pick a relatively quiet spot rather than keep pushing for solitude.
I eyed a man who was laying down a towel far off on the other side of the beach while I drew a heart in the sand and placed the precious objects I had gathered inside it. In a sudden inspiration, I also included a discarded water bottle and a clear plastic cup with a split on the side, deciding it would all be included as sacred today. Then I put a little of the holy water on my wrists and over my heart and added the bottle to the installation.
I walked in a giant circle around this centerpiece three times, preparing to step into practice. As I began to move in Flowing, attentive to the push and pull of the arriving and receding waves, the man on the other side of the beach strolled to the water’s edge completely naked. I eyed him with low level concern, but continued to move.
The air was heavy; and I found my engagement flagging. It took awhile for Staccato to ignite, but I did eventually make my way out of Flowing, and into the rhythms of Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, and Stillness.
I used the phone to make a short video to help with an instructional idea, and when I looked at it realized I had no service. This concerned me because my son, Simon, was at day camp and I wanted to be reachable in case of any possible emergency, so I cut practice short and trekked back to the main beach where I would have service. Then I went for a brief swim, sat on the beach in meditation, and headed home.
Last night, I didn’t sleep well, but today is the last day that Simon will be at camp and I won’t be working, so after I dropped him off I again headed to Riis Park Beach, thinking that the lack of sleep might impact my ability to step into practice. This time, it was very much the opposite experience.
I arrived feeling disengaged, and left the beach feeling joyful, embodied, and light.
This time I had a hard stop at 12 because of a 1pm meeting, so I couldn’t go as far. I chose a spot just past the lifeguard beach and tucked myself behind the rocks. I shared the bay with only two people fishing in their loose long pants and sleeves and wide hats to protect them from the sun.
As yesterday, it was nearly 100 degrees, and I sprayed myself down with sunblock as I peeled off a layer to give more of my skin’s surface area to the wind.
I was definitely not alone, and instead of moving through the 5Rhythms decided to move with some fluid yoga poses. Yoga makes me feel like less of a weirdo than throwing down in dance.
I wasn’t sure if today would be just yoga, but as I got comfortable in the spot, I felt the pull to dance and followed it, beginning by moving with the push and pull of the arriving and receding waves.
In the 1997 essay “One Place after Another: Notes on Site Specificity” Miwon Kwon positioned site specific art –art that responds to its physical or cultural location–at the opposite end of a continuum from minimal, objective art like white cubes or large hunks of metal placed inside fancy galleries. The context of minimal art was as though it was birthed purely from the supposed genius of the artist, and could exist anywhere–a blue chip gallery, the middle of a public plaza, you name it. Self-contained, eternal, permanent, monumental. Site-specific art, on the other hand, acknowledged its interrelatedness and permeability, and even embraced and celebrated these qualities.
Her essay very much influenced my practice as a visual artist, and has influenced my dance.
When I come to a new site, it affects how I move. It’s not like some genius dance gesture is just lurking inside me, waiting to show itself off. The gestures that appear are decidedly influenced by the context in which they arise.
When I come to the ocean, there are so many things that fascinate and inspire me. As much as I love to dance to music, I can also dance the ocean, its crescendo, its decrescendo, its adagio, its allegro. The waves as they arrive and depart. The intersections and lively tussles between competing waves. The roaring crash as a wave dies. The moment right before a wave dies, when it has identity for a split second before it returns to its essence. The salt traces left temporarily behind. The ocean’s dense, dark depths. The horizon’s expansive trance. The gliding sea birds. The racing clouds.
Once I even danced from one low tide until the next, almost 12 straight hours of dancing with the ocean, following it through its daily cycle.
Today as I began to move with the push and pull of the waves, I suddenly noticed that I was staying beyond the edge of the water and recognized it as a habit I had developed over so many sessions of dancing in winter boots and snow pants during the frigid winters, when stepping into the water would be a bad idea.
Noticing, I stepped into the surf, my feet waking up to the cold sensation of the water. I was much more immersed now, feeling the pull ahead of me and uphill as the waves receded, rising and falling up and downhill, threading down the edges of the arriving and departing water.
I stayed in Flowing for a long time, not sure if Staccato would ever emerge. Eventually, I got interested in the edges between the waves, and found ways to express them with my body, exhalation building in force. I slightly wondered if the couple on the blanket on the other side of the beach noticed how much more interesting my dance had just gotten, but left it alone and continued to move with the breathing and crashing ocean.
Chaos came in its time, and threw the hat I had been so carefully using to shield my face from the sun down onto the sand as I was flung in infinite directions, noting the crash of the waves when the form that has gathered itself into a definable shape explodes with force and shatters into mist and nothingness.
Today Lyrical visited me with full expression, and I dashed and lept all over the wide beach, beaming, casting my fingertips down to the sand, then lilting back upward to the sky. If they were watching me at all, the people were appreciating this part – this unbridled joy despite the oppressive heat, despite the state of the world, despite the zoom meeting I would now have to rush to.
Stillness whispered every part of me. I saw the wide horizon, felt the ocean’s dark depths, rose up onto my toes, balanced, sank, rose and sank again.
Having two days in a row with a similar practice routine was a blessing. Riis Park is a blessing. My son is a blessing. Being alive is a blessing. Summer is a blessing. Site specificity is a blessing.
I’m so lucky I’m not a genius. That would be so much less fun!
Brooklyn, NY, August 10, 2022
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 seven-class 5Rhythms series coming up that starts on October 14, “Paint My Spirit Gold.” Join a single class or join the full series for a discount. Registration is required – https://paintmyspirit.eventbrite.com
***Meghan also has a five-class online writing/dance 5Rhythms “Writing Waves” class that starts on September 15. Registration is required – https://www.eventbrite.com/e/writing-waves-tickets-397987811257
by meghanleborious | Jul 14, 2022 | Notes on Practice
Summer means something to me. 
Daily routines during the school year can be crushing. Not only am I a teacher with a long list of roles and responsibilities, but I also work hard to support my own 12-year-old son in his learning.
There are many things to catch up on, projects I want to attend to, outings to plan, and many competing priorities.
But for the moment I’m in a Flowing space. Flowing is the first of the five rhythms in the 5Rhythms dance and movement meditation practice. It is receptive, circular, patient, grounded, and humble. It bides its time. It listens to the vibrations in the ground. It reminds me that if I try to charge forward without first finding my “ground” any actions will lack integrity.
It takes me awhile to change gears and trust that I don’t have to press to do every single thing in the most efficient way possible. I think it’s partly because the longer days make me feel like I have more time.
Even when I’m trying to work my way through my list, for the past week I’ve more or less drifted from task to task.
“You have to know what you want! You have to really see it, visualize it, know it as real, to make it a real thing!” Excellent job-seeking advice from a trusted advisor.
But I’m just not there.
I’m still detoxing, integrating, processing. I don’t know the way forward just yet. My practice at this moment has been to take a break from trying to know, and instead to dive into practice.
Today I practiced and practiced and practiced. I did sitting meditation, yoga-type movement, ran in the woods, and danced multiple 5Rhythms waves to music in the backyard at my parents’ house, where my son and I are staying for much of the summer.
I played with weight in the rhythm of Flowing, imaging my feet were weighted, or that they were made of metal and the ground was a magnet. Before long, I also imagined that my hands were weighted, dragging me toward the ground after a dramatic rise, and pulling me into endless circling. Moving into the rhythm of Staccato, the powerful ground that had been established opened the doorway for exuberant expression.
I have nothing tangible to show for these many hours spent in practice. And yet, the time feels well spent. To be honest, I don’t think there could be any better use of my time.
Later, as I ate dinner on the back deck with family, the sky started to rumble and wind coursed across the landscape like contour lines on an elevation map.
I sat myself down to meditate by my little altar as the sky opened, wracking every surface with pelting rain.
I remembered another thunderstorm, this one during a meditation retreat at Garrison Institute that I wrote about in 2019, during a period of community silence and relentless heat.
“We were told there was a severe weather alert and that if we felt nervous we could take shelter on the lower level of the building. The storm tore the sky apart, and it was like the outside came resoundingly inside the soaring, once-Franciscan-cathedral main hall. Still in silence, several of us made our way to the front steps where we had a view of the sweeping lawn and river. The pavement and plants gave off steam. Mist exhaled into the entryway and landed coolly on my exposed arms, legs, and face. A white cliff-waterfall on the other side of the river tripled its size. A woman seated next to me on the marble steps ate a crunching apple, savoring each bite.
Back in the meditation hall, the storm continued as mindfulness became increasingly concentrated. At one point, I realized it was too intense for me, and stepped into the foyer, intentionally interrupting practice. After a few minutes, I went back in and sat down on the cushion again. Then, I had a sharp, sudden sensation on the left side of my head, and was seized by the fear that I might be having a stroke.
I remembered something the vipassana teacher, Dipa Ma, once told a practitioner who was freaking out during a sitting period. She sat next to him and said, “If you can stay with this sensation, you will accumulate great merit.” I settled down and the flash of pain and fear soon faded.”
Later I realized this was an important turning point in my path; and revelations poured through in the coming days. I have always loved storms, but now a storm can feel like a blessing.
In the evening, I finally sat down to write about practice.
Today new information about the January 6th insurrection also poured in, and I am amazed to find that my jaw can still drop. For now, I am gathering, receiving, biding my time, and listening to the ground.
July 12, 2022, Broad Brook, Connecticut
by meghanleborious | 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
by meghanleborious | 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. /cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/56912365/wild3.0.jpg)
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:
- 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
- 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
- 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
- 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
- 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
- Meditating in the pre-dawn hours as light seeps into the sky
- The Rocky Mountains
- Exquisite cheese
- Having candlelight breakfast every day
- Running and diving into the ocean, then doing butterfly timed with the swelling waves
- 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
- My sister’s extraordinary ability to animate puppets with breath
- Having clear closets and clean weekly systems
- My father’s commitment to meaningful civic action
- My mother’s commitment to disrupting the status quo in favor of beauty and human dignity
- My uncle’s tireless work to create a community health center
- Beach glass
- Dancing with the sea
- Poetry
- Song swelling in the body then expressed as vibration
- Fireflies
- Dancing with fireflies
- Having a fuzzy caterpillar crawl across your bare foot
- Eating burritos on the top of a mountain with my brother
- The ocean at night
- A story that makes me ache
- A joke that gets wrapped around four times, including everyone in the humor, yet impossible to re-tell
- When your best friend answers your text right away and sends an emoji that perfectly matches how you’re feeling
- The joy of wonderful-smelling deodorant
- When linear time loosens its grip and you are free to move through multiple dimensions
- The first garden tomatoes of the season
- Falling in love more after you break up
- Getting to know your grandfather more after he transitions to after-living
- Petals blowing all over my Brooklyn street in early spring
- Missing the train
- Snow under streetlights
- Daylight savings when it means more daylight
- Daylight savings when you’re forced to return to the austerity of winter
- My spirit entourage
- Being somewhere no one can catch you in their gaze
- Being in front of an audience
- My mother’s love of rich pattern
- The densest, coldest, deepest part of the Hudson River
- Protected space
- Parking tickets
- Patient attention with no agenda
- Being reprimanded by your boss
- Speaking your truth
- Cutting through bullshit
- Going on a hike with a big group of people you barely know
- A reflective glacial lake with no boats
- Portals
- Ley lines
- The movie E.T.
- When smell opens memories
- Bedtime routines
- Singing to my son
- Singing with my Dad (even when he gives me evil eye if I’m off key)
- Straining to sing a lyric
- Resonating and singing a challenging lyric with ease
- Singing publicly
- Singing alone
- The incense and candles at Catholic church
- The sound of rivers
- Horrific boredom
- Poorly fitting underwear
- Purring
- Puppy enthusiasm
- Holidays when no one gets too drunk
- Meditating on the beach in the early morning
- Snow angels
- When your mind gets so quiet you can hear energy
- When your eyes get so quiet you can see molecules
- Traffic jams
- Dancing while in labor
- Dancing to integrate failure
- Dancing to remember your place in things
- Dancing everywhere
- Owls
- Snowy owls
- Did I mention owls?
- River spirits
- Card games
- Scrabble
- Dancing the grief of spirits
- Dancing with birds in flight
- Dancing your relationships
- Dancing your life cycles
- Sleeping through the entire night and remembering your dreams when you wake up
- Turning off the flashlight and walking through pitch black woods at night while listening to owls, wolves, and stars
- Clear water in glass bowls
- When someone paraphrases you so well they show you something you didn’t realize you said
- Avocado with lemon
- Having somewhere with a beautiful view to write
- Community
- Ferocity
- Integrity
- Mindfulness
- Vision
- 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”
by meghanleborious | Apr 5, 2022 | Notes on Practice
The birds have been downright rowdy this week. It still looks and feels like winter, but the birds seem to think spring has arrived.
I went to Jacob Riis Beach today, as I have on countless Sundays since the start of the pandemic. Part of me wondered if it was time to let go of my weekly practice of dancing with the sea, to clear space for other, perhaps less solitary practices, possibly to make more space for activism and community action.
I had to keep the windshield wipers on the second highest setting on the way, and I wondered if it was worth getting cold and wet. I had faced bigger obstacles to dancing with the sea in the past, including snow, ice, sub-zero temperatures, and heavy winds. These challenges gave me the chance to choose practice again and again, to remind myself that practice means you do it consistently, even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable. That’s when a practice really gathers traction. But I started wondering if all the heroics were really necessary.
Sometimes it’s time to soften and allow a practice to shift and change. The biggest clue is if it’s starting to feel rigid. Finding the right zone for a healthy practice is always a balance between giving up too easily, and clinging on too tightly.
Discipline is essential, but rigidity is death.
I made my way across the wet sand, noticing several species of birds – soaring, tottering along the beach, criss-crossing each other in the sky, screaming each other’s names, and bobbing on waves just past the breaks.
I gathered a few objects and bits of beach glass as I crossed the wide beach, shifting back and forth between looking down to panning the wide horizon.
I passed the spot where I had seen a snowy owl earlier in the winter, and scanned the dunes in case she was there again.
I used the objects I’d gathered to set up a small altar, then drew a giant circle around it with a long stick, and walked around it two more times, defining a space and setting the intention to listen on every possible level.
Beginning to move in Flowing, I wandered all through the circle I had created on the packed sand closest to the water. There was a slight incline and I let this help to pull me into circling, almost a kind of swooning. I noticed a slight pull of inertia, perhaps of general exhaustion, and kept bringing attention back into the sensation of the bottoms of the feet again and again. I softened and let in, pulled and swirled by any current that swept through. My feet felt curiously gentle, almost stealthy. I imagined that I was moving with the snowy owl, that she was teaching me to move through the woods at night, teaching me to see what is invisible to most eyes.
In the past I’ve associated the rhythm of Lyrical most strongly with spring, but lately I’ve been interested in exploring the staccato qualities of spring.
Spring isn’t just about joy for me. It’s also about action. It can feel like a damn of energy that breaks and then is gushing out everywhere – sometimes in the form of “spring fever.” It can also be the push toward light that comes after a long period of waiting, contemplating, and gathering strength in darkness. It can be very directed.
Even so, when I’m dancing alone, sometimes the spark of Staccato is slow to ignite. Today I moved through a body parts practice, beginning with the feet, then the knees, hips, spine, head, shoulders, and arms. For each body part, I experimented with internal and external rotation. I saved the elbows for last, knowing they could lead me directly into Staccato.
Given the rain and chilly weather, I was mostly alone so I could sing, growl, coo, and groan as much as I wanted to. Today I found definition, engagement, format. Partway through Staccato, I noticed a person in a yellow raincoat watching me from far away. Soon a lone walker crossed the top of my circle, too. I tried to avoid eye contact and dug deeper, cutting and stepping back across myself, staving off Chaos until I could again be alone.
I thought back to an in-person class I had attended the previous week, and of all the new ways of moving I brought into the group dance. I had found a new way to shake my head free, sinking low and finding the flinging momentum of diagonals. I brought it into the studio, and it visited me again on the beach today. In Chaos I also tottered downhill, skittering at the edge of balance, and hopped from side to side until the rush of manic chaos whipped me into wild spinning again.
Lyrical passed like a patch of sun moving across the sand and expanded the spaces between my ribs. Then I moved in Lyrical Stillness for a long time, with whispering feet – interior space merging with exterior space.
I think I will keep this practice for now, but perhaps hold it a little more lightly to make space for new possibilities and new priorities. To make room for the coming spring and all that it offers.
