2/3/25
I usually attend some kind of dance event a few times a month. The other morning, I walked into “Movement Mass”—over a hundred people moving together. Immediately, I became aware of my mental, emotional, and physical state. A lack of sleep had left me sluggish, and I could feel myself being pulled into swirling thought streams—interior monologues leading me into unhelpful and uncomfortable interpretations of the morning’s events. Uneasiness settled in. I stepped into the dance space undeniably in a funk. The facilitator played music that didn’t feel “danceable” to me, and I could sense an old, rebellious resistance rising from the depths of my teenage psyche, whispering a defiant, No, thank you.
Pausing, I took a few deep breaths and watched the other dancers move. I scanned the sea of kinetic bodies, tuning into the vibrancy and vitality reflected in their expressions.
As one dancer—someone I barely knew—boogied past me, they paused and asked if I was okay. There must have been a crack in my wall of resistance because their simple kindness nearly brought me to tears. Sometimes, we are so damn transparent.
I soaked in that energy, letting it settle into my heart, then down through my body until the beat of the music met the soles of my feet. Yet, despite a lifetime of dancing, my body felt strangely awkward. Fascinated by this, I moved hesitantly through the space. But as the tempo of the music picked up, something shifted—vigor and flow returned, and eventually, the music swallowed me whole. I found myself swept into ecstatic wholeness and jubilation.
These moments—where resistance dissolves into rhythm, and we are reminded of our own aliveness—fill me with endless gratitude. Dance, once again, proved itself not just as movement but as medicine.
In a world where it’s easy to get stuck in the sludge of resistance, we sometimes have a choice. We can harden, withdraw, and let discomfort take hold—or we can lean into the moments of love, openness, and connection that invite us to soften. When we allow resistance to dissolve, we return to ourselves, finding rhythm, renewal, and something greater than we ever expected.
LULLABY FOR THE MIND
Let go, sweetheart—right here, right now,
Release the mind, let go somehow.
Let go, sweetheart—soften, be free,
Place your heart in eternity.
Let go, sweetheart, surrender to this,
A mystery unfolding in present bliss.
Let go, sweetheart—don’t you see?
You are part of this vast, flowing sea.
Let go, sweetheart—release, unwind,
You are Divine.
You are... just fine.
-This creative process was initially birthed from a lullaby I sang to myself one early morning with this melody- which morphed into a poem.
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