by meghanleborious | 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.
by meghanleborious | Feb 27, 2022 | Notes on Practice
Today I went to the woods to dance for the third day in a row. The only footprints in the surface of the snow were my own from the previous day. I choose a spot close to the river and walked a big circle to dance inside of to set a container for myself.
It took some exertion to get started given the crusted over surface of the snow, but once I moved around more, taking care to visit every part of the circle, the going got easier.
The low afternoon sun cut through the bare trees and dazzled my vision. It was hard to avoid meeting the sun’s eyes, and brightly colored yellow, then red afterimages flashed on the snow, always disappearing as soon as I turned to them.
In Flowing, my focus tends to be soft. My eyes are slightly lowered, gaze often resting not far from my circling feet. When I’m dancing with others, I sense and internally acknowledge the people around me, but don’t typically make direct eye contact.
In the woods today, it took awhile to let some of to-do list types of thoughts run though. As I brought my attention again and again to my feet, my breath started to deepen, and my senses became more noticeable.
The first sign that Staccato started to break through was that my gaze lit on a tree across the clearing, and I directed my attention to it. In Staccato, my eyes lift to my personal horizon line. They seek and find. I turned sharply to a different tree, then to a spot in the river. Then to yet another tree 180 degrees behind me, aligning my gaze with sharp, clear gestures.
Dancing with others, this is often the moment that I’m called to partnership. When I’m drawn into someone else’s field and I don’t question it, I just move toward and step in. I might meet someone’s eyes and smile. I might do a full turn while tipping my head back to hold their gaze the entire time. I might have a conversation in gestures, or any other kind of exchange.
Today I was strongly aware of the transition from Staccato into Chaos, because of how my relationship to gaze shifted. In Staccato, my eyes would find something, then I would lock into it, narrow my field, and respond. But when my gaze started to land on things at the same time that I was starting to respond to them, I started to feel the shift into Chaos. Whereas in Staccato, my vision was targeted, in Chaos, vision started to attend more to the peripheries, scanning rapidly for movement at the edges of my field of vision. As my head and body released more and more, vision started to get blurry, and flashed through sky, trees, river, feet, and snow with increasing speed.
In Lyrical something interesting often happens when I’m dancing outside. I start to notice sound in a different way. It’s like all the racket I was making in Chaos ceases and hearing is turned up. Sometimes my gestures are similar to how I was moving in Chaos, but it sounds really different. My gaze lifts up and sees more space. I start to see patterns everywhere – the ripples on the water, the overlapping branches and roots, the drifted snow.
When I’m dancing with others, I might meet different people’s gazes and move quickly throughout the room, taking everyone as a partner, seemingly at once. I might also dance with something I’m sensing just above the people, or race through with a partner, playing hide-and-seek or lead-and-follow, as connected when we’re side by side as we are across the room, somehow seeing each other even when our line of vision is blocked by other dancers.
In Stillness, the gaze might become internal and (for lack of a better word) cosmic. This is when mundane vision might recede. Sometimes it’s like I turn inside, and the quality of that inner looking opens up a new doorway. Then I might start to see past the surfaces of things and experience a different level of reality – the relative yielding to the absolute, which is always available to us, yet is often invisible.
Today was no exception. One wide plane of undisturbed snow glittered green, purple, pink, and blue. I tried to capture it as a photo but none of the magic came through and my engagement shifted once I took on the camera’s gaze, the viewer’s gaze, the reader’s gaze.
I sank down onto my knees and bowed, grateful for all I’d seen.
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.
by meghanleborious | Feb 25, 2022 | Notes on Practice
Tap Tap. Tap Tap Tap Tap. Tap Tap.Tap Tap Tap Tap.
When I heard this sound I had already danced a 5Rhythms wave on the snowy bank of the Scantic River and was sitting cross-legged inside the circle of snow that had been packed down by my dance. I was offering thanks and saying a prayer for 5Rhythms teacher Mati Vargas-Gibson, who is terminally ill at this time.
I got back up from my seated pose, and moved in the rhythm of Staccato, dedicating the dance to Mati, someone I have never gotten the chance to know aside from a few digital interactions, but who I have very much admired and have hoped to one day connect with.
I moved with my exhalations, listening carefully for the woodpecker who was making this gorgeous pattern, hammering away at a tree on the other side of the river–measured and persistent. In no rush and clear on her objective. Confident that if she kept at it she would find what she was looking for.
Earlier I had parked by the road and hiked in–breaking the surface of new snow as I made my way to the river.
I wandered around looking for the most inspiring spot to dance, eventually finding myself in a small clearing on the river bank. Beginning to move in Flowing, I noticed a lot of work ideas coming and going, sometimes hanging on for long trains of thought. My feet moved without friction on the snow. As the snowfall got heavier I tried to watch one flake at a time as they cruised to the ground, but soon gave up and surrendered to being part of this quiet crowd of endings and beginnings.
Back to the dance with the woodpecker, her clear patterns became more erratic. I followed her, loosening, coiling, still moving to the beat she was tapping out but giving up on trying to understand it, giving up on finding a way to translate it, just spinning and quivering and falling and rising.
As Lyrical descended I remembered my hands, and noticed the sensation of the soft ski gloves on my fingers. My perspective widened. I heard the gurgling sounds of the river and identified the water obstacles that were giving rise to them. I also noticed the complicated patterns of ripples on the river’s surface and began to move with them.
In Stillness, I was porous, moving with infinite patterns now, grateful to the woodpecker for providing a rhythm to move with, for reminding me that all of existence can be read as a score for our dance.
Blessings to you, Mati. Thank you for your many gifts. May your memories rest lightly at this sacred time. And may your wisdom and teachings live on.
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.
by meghanleborious | Feb 22, 2022 | Notes on Practice
I woke up at some point during the night. Things I hadn’t gotten around to yet that had been nagging at the edges of my mind moved to the foreground. Even so, I kept bringing attention to any muscle that tightened and encouraging it to relax – forehead, stomach, jaw, the arches of the feet. Eventually I fell back to sleep.
After meditating and several hours on the computer, I decided to run to one of my favorite places, a small system of trails near the Scantic River in Northern Connecticut, where my twelve-year-old son, Simon, and I are staying with family this week.
I was surprised to find several utility vehicles near the modest river, and picked up the pace to investigate. My attention shifted suddenly when I felt a pinch in my right inner thigh. I paused and gently stretched it, hoping it wasn’t a pulled muscle. A couple of weeks before I’d had a similar sensation while running, but it had disappeared overnight.
I moved out of sight of the utility vehicles, looking for an inspiring spot where I could dance a 5Rhythms wave, part of my daily personal practice. The light rain picked up; and I wondered if it would rain hard enough to damage my phone. I climbed down onto a small, muddy beach but quickly realized that the mud and the slight incline would be too much of a strain on the vulnerable muscle, so climbed back up onto the main trail.
I moved cautiously, taking care not to cut into the muscle in question, and began to circle in the rhythm of Flowing. Some writing I had been working on drifted in and out of my mind, bringing new ideas and perspectives. I continued to move, not holding tightly, knowing that whatever is important would still be there when I sat down to write later.
Needing to move cautiously made it harder to feel engaged. I decided to make a video to show a viewer what Flowing might look like from my perspective. This idea drew me in, and soon I put the phone away and started imagining what the palms of my hands were seeing as they moved all around me, above, below, around, behind. I moved in a looping matrix, seeing with new eyes, including things that are normally invisible. Soon, I also started to “see” with the soles of my feet.
Moving into Staccato, I played with slicing the air with the edges of my hands, sinking low, though continuing to be careful of taxing my legs or twisting too suddenly – more ideas for writing and life came and tested themselves out. A very slight pop in the side of my right knee seemed to relax the tight thigh muscle in a tiny increment, but I continued to move gently.
Chaos was subtle today, too. I started with jiggling my right leg, then the left, and let myself bob and coil until a quiet Lyrical emerged through the tops of the bare trees. Stillness brought me back to the sound texture of the river and the cold rain on my face. I also remembered the feeder stream to this river, the river this river feeds, and all the bodies of water they connect to.
Then I ran back home. In fact, if I look at it a certain way, everything I experience can be seen as part of this process of coming home.
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.
by meghanleborious | Feb 21, 2022 | Notes on Practice
My phone screamed an alarm “Weather Advisory: Snow Squall Warning.” I was already in the woods anyway. Besides, snow squall didn’t seem so scary. It wasn’t like “tornado” or “microburst.” I ran a fast loop around the trail, then chose a spot to dance a wave on the bank of the swollen Scantic River.
The temperature had dropped suddenly, and the snow had already started up. I fumbled with cold hands, trying to take a video of the water rushing around a recently felled tree. It had torn up a whole corner of the hiking trail and left a new, raw cliff.
Beginning to move in Flowing, my phone screamed again. I ignored it and continued to move in looped circles, with no beginning and no end, no edges and no stops. Visibility dropped as snow fell wet and heavy against my cheeks and forehead. The wind started to pick up, too, and the bare trees rattled together high above me. “I think it’s time to head back to the road,” I reasoned. 
I thought about the giant tree that had been felled across the river, and wondered about the probability of big branch landing on my head. My twelve-year-old son, Simon called just then. “Mommy, are you heading back soon?” “Yes, I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon,” I said as my phone lost battery.
I made my way back to my parents’ house, where we are staying for the weekend. I didn’t get to dance a wave in the woods today. No need to be a hero this time. Tomorrow is another day.
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.
by meghanleborious | 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.
