Advent. The waiting time. Days shorten, and long evenings are lit by neighborhood displays, crackling fires, and candles. I write this on a dark afternoon promising early nightfall. Gray clouds are scudding overhead, brown leaves swirling in the wind.
We wait. We’ve been waiting for centuries. Waiting for hope, for deliverance, for better days, for wars to cease, for new life to be born, for the light to return.
Consider what waiting might mean for you this season. The lines will be long, the traffic heavy, the duties many. We can resort to impatience, succumb to an agitated mind, or we can simply abide, tarry, linger.
May you linger, perhaps aimlessly delay with a click on this Advent hymn: O Come, O Come Emmanuel. Pausing, even ever-so-briefly, could be the very best gift of the season.
‘That’s it!’ Lucy shrieks, as Schroeder finally plunks out Jingle Bells.
‘Yes! That’s it!’ I say to a student, ‘You are poised and balanced.’
‘WHAT do I need to do to keep it this way?’ the student invariably asks. You aren’t going to like the answer.
Forget about it. Leave it. You’ll find balance and ease again; in the next minute, the next lesson, the next year. Finding it has already passed. Now we are in a new minute, a fresh moment of being alive and in a body. Live in this one, not the one gone.
Trying to answer the ‘WHAT’ question takes us into the past, transports us to what has already happened. Asking ‘WHERE?’ bring us to the present. Where am I at this moment? Where would my body like to find ease? Where is my thinking? Where could I direct myself to move, to soften, to release?
(Thanks to Bob Lada, for a conversation about ‘what’ and ‘where,’ at his Columbus Ohio 2013 Alexander Technique workshop.)