In the heart of ancient forests, where the old oaks stand as guardians of time, and atop windswept peaks where the spirits of the wanderers roam, there existed a primal knowledge, whispered by the wild siblings of my lineage. They danced, their movements a rhythmic communion with the earth, a testament to the shared awe and terror of existence.
Anthropologists, seekers of truth in distant lands, marveled at this age-old practice, finding solace in its predictable cadence. Humanity, they discovered, had long held the answers that modern science now seeks, woven into the fabric of our communal rhythms. Perhaps, they mused, it is time to heed the wisdom of our ancestors.
As the music slows, electrons whisper their secrets, urging us to remember. Together, our bodies yield to the calming embrace of the earth, finding solace in shared stillness. Souls find refuge in the gentle curling and rocking, breaths slowing in unison, a collective remembrance echoing through the ages.
In the embrace of the earth, in the rustle of the trees, in the depths of our being, God resides. Embodied in every living form, She speaks through the language of the body, extending an invitation to all. Regardless of age or stature, of ability or circumstance, movement is our birthright, a sacred communion with the divine. And for those whose bodies no longer dance, we shall move in energy, honoring their presence in our collective journey.
In the face of mystery upon mystery, we gather as fellow travelers, our bodies speaking where words fail. For in the dance of existence, we find the echoes of eternity, and in the rhythm of our shared humanity, we discover the essence of our being.
(adopted from: Bessel A. van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score; Jenna Keiper, When Body Speaks)