I almost walked away 🥀

Ecstatic dance was not on the list of things I thought were for me.

I went to a Spring Equinox gathering at Pluto last week. Cacao ceremony, journaling, ecstatic dance, sound bath.

The cacao followed by journaling opened my heart wide open. I remembered the seeds I’ve planted over the last few years and what might finally be ready to sprout through the soil. That bright green you see when trees are budding and the smell of flowers about to bloom. The tart sweetness on your tongue when you bite into a juicy apple picked from the tree. Things I’ve been sitting with quietly for years in the dark, suddenly feeling very close to the surface and ready to see the sun. The imagery felt alive in a way that surprised me. I could feel it in my body. I’m ready to blossom.

When the dancing started and I found myself standing at the edge, watching like a stone. There was a woman moving so freely, so fully, like she owned every inch of her body. I felt two things: Can I be that? And, this isn’t for me.

I almost walked away. But then decided to choose differently and give myself a chance to find out.

I stepped in. I started small. I went with what was there for me in the moment. Shaking out my stiff hands and feet. Shifting my shoulders. Rolling my neck. Flowing like a weird amoeba to find the nooks and crannies cementing my hesitation. Syncing with the beat. Humming to anchor myself to something familiar inside all that unfamiliarity.

And somewhere in that I stopped thinking about moving. I stopped performing the idea of dancing like no one’s watching. I stayed. I moved. I allowed myself to be seen. For a solid hour. I embodied everything I wrote down in my journal and more. Imagine imitating a seed pushing up through the soil or a flower opening, she me.

Afterwards, I sat with what had shifted.

🌸 I’d always thought the thing holding me back was concrete. Something solid I was embedded in. Something so hard I was not built for breaking through. But in that moment I realized I didn’t have to listen to that version of myself anymore. She didn’t know any better, but I do. It’s always been loose soil. Fertile, rich, and ready.

🌸 I have a way in, anywhere I go. My practices with music and movement, humming and hah-ing, they allow me to be in my body and to belong in the moment, without needing belonging from others. I already belong because I know how to go in and bring myself out.

🌸 Permission starts with me. To explore, to express, to simply exist without needing to explain. My experience matters to me and that’s enough. I don’t want to walk away from that anymore. Also this idea of pushing through discomfort wasn’t working for me. All it did was create more resistance. Instead, I simply allow myself to interact with and respond to what comes up for me.

I don’t think I’m the only one who’s planted seeds expecting them to never grow, flower, or bear fruit. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s stood at the edge of something, watching someone else live it and wonder if it could ever be for me.

If that’s you, I just want to say: Stay. Step in. Start small. You have a way in. You always did. You always do.

And here’s a soul care kit for your practice…

✨ One Song

You might know this song as a dramatic disco classic about heartbreak. I hear it differently, thanks to Alysa Liu. “I’ll never have that recipe again” lands for me like a triple Lutz-triple toe combination reminder that this moment, this version of me, took so long to bake. I don’t think I could take it if I left it (myself) out in the rain.

🪷 One Poem

〰️ One Move

Whatever it takes for you to stay and step in. Start small. You can shake your hands, roll your neck, channel Alysa, sing along with Donna and me.

Allow yourself to interact with and respond to whatever comes up for you. Will you let it unfold with me?

May you trust the seeds you’ve been tending. 🌱
May you have a way in, wherever you go. 〰️
May you stay, step in, and let it bloom. 🌸

With love,
Karen

P.S. The next Soul Care Sunday is April 19. Limited early bird tickets are available until March 31. I’d love to see you there.

P.P.S. If this care kit felt good for your soul, forward it to someone who you’d like to see bloom.

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