We entered a room created with the intention of holding those who enter the way a child is held in the mother’s womb. It did feel like a womb—a space of protection and nurturance. That where there is no fear of judgement and where there is no concept of danger.
“Why was I born,” I asked. I was not compelled to answer—at least not in this space of re-connection with the moment of my birth. “What is my authentic dream?” I was not compelled to answer—at least not in this moment of stillness and profound peace. “What is it that I am supposed to give birth to?”
These questions floated, suspended, somewhere in that space between me and a pure everythingness around me. In that space where there was no concept of time and space and so I never felt compelled to answer.
This was my first Inner Dance.
What I feel profound about the experience is the fact that I entered a space where I could ask myself questions that can be provoking in any other space. Provoking, when you had been thinking that what you have been doing is what you are supposed to be doing. Or when you had been thinking that you know and the questions reveal themselves to you and show you what you do not really know.
I believe that we can all engage in a similar process consciously—not to say you are not conscious during Inner Dance because you are, although dreamlike, at the same time—when we have trained the mind and the heart to engage in a process where a dialogue happens between the self and the universe. But the gift of sound, in its simplicity and complexity, to open our chakras wide, or wider, and take us into the ebb and flow of our consciousness is something that we should honor and celebrate. Where does consciousness reside? Are consciousness and the cosmos one and the same? Inner Dance to me was more like a dialogue with an infinite consciousness.
Does consciousness actually imprint a memory in our body? I could clearly recall the sensation that I was feeling the morning after my second Inner Dance so that it would allow me to process better what was happening exactly. I realized I judged myself so quickly when I kept repeating to myself “why are you so scared?” during the session and right after. In this writing, I recall how a man had told me repeatedly in the past that I am a scaredy-cat. I thought that I had severed energetic ties with the man. And, perhaps, I had, indeed, but that the memory is going to stay.
This was my first time engaging my energetic body in processing an experience, and I am deeply in awe of the gradual realization that my body holds so much memory. Has it been waiting for me to speak to it? It is a silent, sacred memory. I have never really understood my body. Or I have not been present enough.
I said I went to the Emergence Convergence to discover how we can possibly integrate the different modalities of healing, of being, and ways in which we can co-create sustainable communities. I knew that something in me had shifted by the second day and it allowed me to honor the gifts of others and to trust that we have been brought together to create something we have been trying to create but that which has been wanting to express itself in another form, in different forms, in many forms. Perhaps, it will never end wanting and finding new ways of expression. Perhaps, this is what it means to evolve. Perhaps, this is how we ride the spiral to the end. We spiral out. We keep going. Like that in Tool’s Lateralus.
Romancing the lion 