The space that follows
Fascia, embodiment and the rhythm of change

At the end of our Moving Fascia LAB live sessions, it feels important to leave room for reflection, sharing, questions.

Last week, at the end of the session, a LAB explorer said,
‘I love the space that this gives me'
‍A simple and meaningful statement. 
‘Me too’, was my answer. 
And then I witnessed a softly agreeable nodding within each little Zoom window.

The thing is, if you enter the dissection room, you will witness that there is no space inside the human body. Our fascial matrix extends throughout our whole body. Every seeming space is inhabited by connective tissue. Every liminal nook is filled with interstitial fluid.

And yet, there is something about this work that creates space.

Sometimes this space feels physical.
A felt expansion though our breath. 
A sense of spaciousness within our tissue.
New room for hydration and fluidity within our fabric.
A fascial awareness that grows in multidirectional ways.

Sometimes this space is more quietly perceived.
An opening.
A quality of attentive awareness that gives room for receiving what is here now.
New proprioceptive understanding of the ways I organise in space.
A subtle interoceptive awareness of my inner landscape.

The simplicity of this is palpable and real during practice. And what follows is just as important.
It is not only what happens during practice, not only how I reorganise in direct contact with the Moving Fascia ball, but how I recognise my orientation afterwards. 
How do I give my weight to the ground after the ball is no longer there?
The digestion of this new found state is an essential layer to this practice.

I often return to the phrase:
‘Feel the presence of the absence of the ball’

The moment after practice is also practice. 

Digestion matters.

What was submerged can come to the surface, sometimes during practice, sometimes afterwards, as a way of processing, as a receiving of what is here and what is not longer here.

There is value in giving time for this.
Time to digest. 
Time to notice. 
Time to embody new patterns of movement, or amplify existing ones. 
Time to grow our perception and integrate the new state into everyday life.

This spaciousness is what will come with our May retreat. Space to rest, to lie on the grass, to immerse in the soundscape of the river, walk among the trees. Space to converse and feel the body as process, movement as process. Space to feel our relationship to place. To discuss and reflect together or let silence hold what is unfolding. 

This is part of the practice.

After all, change is always changing.
We are not looking for completion.
We are becoming more fluent in speaking the language of rhythm.
Digesting the moment meal, metabolising it to become part of our blood.