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, as we were coming to a close, a LAB explorer said,
‘I love the space that this gives me.'
‍A simple and meaningful reflection. 
‘Me too’, was my answer. 
And then I witnessed a softly agreeable nodding within the little Zoom windows.

The thing is…
If you enter the dissection room, you will witness that there is no empty space inside the human body.
Our fascial matrix extends throughout.
Every seeming space is inhabited by connective tissue.
Every liminal nook filled with interstitial fluid.
Every seeming gap already in relationship.

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

A space that 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.

A space that reveals itself quietly .
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.
Something in me reorganises.
I recalibrate in direct contact with the Moving Fascia ball.
I modulate my attention, my tone, my rhythm, my expression.
And what follows carries this meaning forwards. 
How do I recognise my orientation afterwards?
How do I give my weight to the ground after the ball is no longer there? 

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 not longer is 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.
Time to witness my state changing again through new interactions.

I will be running a retreat in May to give space to this space.
Space to rest, to lie on the grass, to immerse in the soundscape of the river, to 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.
To 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 movement meal.
Metabolising the practice.
Letting it become part of our blood.

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