Please track a motion memory via this picture, much like we did in class. Find all the memories connected to a simple motion.
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my Somatic Blog
http://wan-tee.blogspot.com/
when i see a lemon pop-sickle i remember one summer when i was about ten years old.
ReplyDeletethe pop-sickle was the kind with two sticks.
i can taste the orange that i ate with it every day.
the orange was always cut in half, unusual for me.
i was in my forest.
the sun is filtered through many layers of plants leaving a distinct calmness.
i would play that i was a slave escaping slavery.
i am wearing shorts and saltwater sandals.
i talked aloud during my games.
my dog, bosco, is there.
sometimes i can hear the creek.
i would climb trees with my pop-sickle in hand/mouth.
feelings associated are carefree, energetic, and happy.
Walking in the sand reminds me of my beach house on Long Island when I was a child.
ReplyDeleteThe feeling of sand squishing beneath my feet.
The smell of sea weed.
My parents sitting in lawn chairs.
Making sand castles.
The sight of hundreds of horseshoe crabs during mating season.
The warm sun on my face.
A light salty breeze.
Swimming in shallow water.
Jumping in the waves.
The sounds of sea gulls squawking above.
The green blue color of the bay.
Feeling happy, without a care in the world.
I am 5 years old and I am sitting in in the front our canoe. I hear the loons call to one and other. Their calls echo throughout the cove. Closer, I hear the sound of my paddle as it goes over the water. Softly drip drip drip. Then, as it cuts into the water it makes a small splash. Too loud maybe. My dad says it scares the fish. He told me to do it like the indians used to in this lake long ago. I listen to my dad as he paddles in the back. Drip drip drip. No splash. Drip drip drip. No spalsh. Silence. I start to paddle again. The loons continue to call. We paddle towards the loons. They are fishing too. We listen, waiting to hear the fish jump.
ReplyDeleteThe simple act of stretching reminds me of when I used to practice karate:
ReplyDeleteThe voice of my sensei giving words of wisdom and encouragement.
The taste of the sweat and blood in my mouth.
The odor of the floor mats in the dojo.
Performing katas, punching/kicking routines, body training (banging shins etc).
The ceremonies in which I earned different belts.
The competitions where I succeeded and failed.
The sore muscles, the bruised limbs, and the swollen eyes.
The weapons I learned to use.
Sparring, point fighting, and grappling.
Watching videos on kata and technique.
Street fighting Thursdays.
Feeling confident, strong, and mentally at peace with myself
Wow these are great! Thanks for sharing. I am personally fascinated by this image as a way to REALLY understand the mind-body role in tracking memory. As I read each of yours, I can feel them, like I am there and then my neural networks are excited and I am thinking of times. When I first did Taekwon do I remember the smell of the new Gee's and my instructor always smelled of fish. And the loon's calling reminds me of a still pond in Haines Alaska that loons call from in the silent still day. Your histories read like a poem or a song, it has a depth a 3 dimensionality to them. Its interesting to consider that our body maps can only express the lived moment in feeling thoughts with rhythm, texture, and sight.
ReplyDeleteThe sound of crickets on that recording; the smell of southeastern humid summer nights; the smell of chlorine; lighting bugs; honeysuckles; trying to collect all the drops into a jar; the humidity; bare feet; snow cones with marshmallow; sticky; hot concrete; the place I always fell and scraped me knees; the stale smell of cigarette smoke on her skin; my young mom.
ReplyDeleteGliding forwards along the worn old wooden shop floor, hand planing the edge of a board; the aromatic smell of the freshly cut pine and the crisp slicing noise that told me the plane was really sharp, bob dylan and the hum and whine of power tools in the background. The crisp cool air of a bright fall day on my skin. Warmth inside me of bodies and craft and oatmeal with raisins for breakfast. The pickled smell of the the beach at low tide. The awareness and focus in my hands telling me that I was keeping the plane square to face of the board. And the subtlety of my eye assessing the edge for straightness. The belonging in being part of making something collaboratively.
ReplyDeleteHiking takes me back to the summer spent at the lookout, as does lightning; the high beds raised up so we could see out the windows, the whole top story surrounded with those windows. The incredible storms that would last all night--the intense rumbling thunder, and also the soft, soothing rain that filled the moments between lighting strikes and pounding thunder.
ReplyDeleteThe hike that felt never ending took us to a rather large creek at the bottom of a ravine, we walked across a log about thirty feet up--my legs never felt so stable while my beating heart simultaneously told me to turn around. Arms extended, one foot in front of the other, my six-year-old body crossed the log with intensity and attention to my feet, the log, and my balance.