Welcome to the third video blog of a heartfelt conversation between Kevin McEvenue and WBF trainer Addie van der Kooy. In this part of the conversation both share their excitement and experience of the practice of “Holding Both” – an inner dynamic that naturally comes alive when you not only make space for a body sense of your suffering, but also include the bodily felt connected-ness and aliveness of “Me Here.” This inner core muscle of Holding Both opens up new possibilities of deep healing and even transformation. Enjoy,
A new Contributor has joined our ranks. Wholebody focuser Steven Jabokovic writes about a rarely discussed element of Wholebody Focusing—wordless, movement-centric sessions that make us new without narratives, words or cathartic thoughts. What he describes is how pure movement can bring him what he desires most—a connection to self. Join us in welcoming his insights to our blog.
Diana Scalera – Blog Administrator
For me, the path to presence is winding, but also an unwinding. It begins with a twitch in a toe or a finger. The twitches are followed by a slight shudder or a shiver down my back. At first, the spasms are intermittent; lightly flitting every now and again.
By now, I know what’s coming and wait. I feel carpet fibers between my toes. Through two sit bones resting upon the seat of my chair, I become aware of the weight of my body. My eyes are closed, but I sense sunlight coming in through the window.
I speak of my bodily experience over Skype, and my voice instantly reaches Toronto, Canada. Kevin’s warm scratchy response encourages me. “Yes…good,” he says. I agree with a nod that he cannot see with his eyes – we only use audio, but I am sure he ‘sees’ it.
The twitches become more intense and violent. My shoulders jerk back; my head turns from side to side as far as my neck allows; my wrists shake with enough force to toss my fingers across the room if only they could; my toes grab for the carpet fibers. This goes on for several minutes or maybe only thirty seconds; I’ve never counted.
The spasms slow down. A few final twitches make my body pop before it becomes quiet. Sometimes traveling this path makes me tired, but I always end up feeling loose and open. I am neutral and quiet; a quiet that I long for, but have trouble finding.
Here is where I want to begin, reflecting on what Diana shared below in her blog that will not let go of me until I say something. This was a very powerful connection that demanded my attention. I am appreciating how the power of Diana’s heartfelt piece on the Blog that so deeply touched me. There is so much there as I stop and make room for what wants to come in me now. Maybe see what comes for you here too. Kevin
Pauses Big and Small
“Each time I paused, I felt more like myself. I felt more appreciation for who I am, the struggles I’ve survived and the beauty I created along the way. This is an appreciation I had never felt before because I was always too busy trying to change myself to be something or someone “better.” Instead, I now know that this treasure trove of information about me is readily available and that whenever I pause and hold space with equal regard for what is there, something new about me will emerge.”
How lucky am I
to be able to turn
to see these gnarled trees
through this train window
for some unseen obstruction
my friends, the trees
their trunks, their limbs.
crouches in front of them
Unashamed of their winter attire Take me as I am
they signal in their own
private language I have no need for adornments. I am here. That is enough.
Recently I had an experience with a little bird that made me think about it. I wish I had known how to be grounded and present then.
Today I held a dead bird in the palm of my hand. The cat bought it in to me. I picked it up and gently held it.
At first I hoped it would come to life, maybe it was feigning death to protect itself. I moved my hand so it could feel the sun -maybe that would help. I tried to will it back to life.
It felt very sacred. I could feel the life in my hand and hoped the bird could feel it too.
I remembered my Mother dying when I was young and wished I would have touched her body – like I was with the bird – while it was still warm. I wished I hadn’t wanted to get away quickly. I wished I had put my head on her heart and my hand on her face. I wish I had of loved her more. Death was scarier then.
I stayed with the bird and all that was happening in this moment – my memory of my Mother’s death, the birds death, my aliveness and the aliveness I could hear and feel all around me.
I remembered them coming and putting coins on her eyes. That was weird. I didn’t like that. Why couldn’t we look at her eyes. The birds eyes were beautiful to look at. But death was scary then.
The cat walked past. I wanted to be mad at it. Then I thought, well, it just did what it naturally does. Just like the cancer did in my Mum. I gently put the bird in the garden and remembered its bones will turn into dust and then it will be the earth.
I don’t want to be put into a box and embalmed with chemicals that won’t let me become the earth. I hope someone who is not scared of death – someone who can feel their own ground and aliveness – will be brave and stay with me for a while, just until I am cold and gone. Then they can put me in the earth until my bones become dust.