Yesterday, I went back to D. for an AT refresher and a cup of tea. When I arrived there, I was a bit apprehensive; I have dilligently worked on myself over the last months, added running and meditation to the menu, and overall, I feel that I'm doing well. But there's always the nagging sensation of doubt in the back of my head. The 'what if...' , the 'shouldn't I have...'.
All that disappeared the second we started working. I didn't even need to think about how to free my neck or stay with the moment, it just happened. Somewhere halfway through, something opened up, deepened in a way, and something happened that I guess I can best describe as a real, true, genuine and sincere encounter with myself, with D. and with the world in general.
What a precious experience.
Speechless
July 21, 2007Treacherously simple
February 14, 2007
Note to self:
To let the neck be free is to let the neck be free.
It is not: thinking about the neck, swearing at the neck, hoping for the neck, forcing the neck, judging the neck, feeling the neck, writing about the neck, understanding the neck, learning about the neck, congratulating the neck, moving the neck, looking at the neck.
To let the neck be free is to let the neck be free.
It is not: thinking about the neck, swearing at the neck, hoping for the neck, forcing the neck, judging the neck, feeling the neck, writing about the neck, understanding the neck, learning about the neck, congratulating the neck, moving the neck, looking at the neck.
AT strategy (7)
January 19, 2007
...even now...and now...
Once I have my directions up and running, I choose a simple activity, like lifting an arm or a leg. In doing so, I focus on:
- staying with my directions, especially at the end of an action; I easily fool myself into:"Yeah, I'm there, now I can stop"-type of thinking.
- taking care that I don't turn directing into pushing or forcing; upward is a finite concept, at a certain point upward leads to narrowing in other places. It helps to see directions as pulses, rather than lines or arrows.
Once I have my directions up and running, I choose a simple activity, like lifting an arm or a leg. In doing so, I focus on:
- staying with my directions, especially at the end of an action; I easily fool myself into:"Yeah, I'm there, now I can stop"-type of thinking.
- taking care that I don't turn directing into pushing or forcing; upward is a finite concept, at a certain point upward leads to narrowing in other places. It helps to see directions as pulses, rather than lines or arrows.
AT strategy (6)
January 13, 2007
Work my way up along the spine & free my neck
From the bottom of my spine, I gradually work my way up. What I do, and how I do this, I cannot really explain this in words, but I'll give it a try. Sometimes, when I'm not that agitated, it's actually really easy, I just send a little flow upwards, and *dzjoing* my head flies away.
Most of the time, it doesn't work that fast. In those cases I have a number of approaches that work for me:
1) think of small pulses that travel up through my spine. Each time I send one off, I think of it travelling through the individual discs in my spinal column- not because I want to have an anatomically correct approach or something like that, but just to slow me down. Rather like a flight of stairs: rather than standing at the bottom and looking to the top, I consider each step I need to make to get there. I find that this helps me to actually focus on the task at hand, rather than flying all the way back up in my head again and think about directing, rather than directing.
2) think of the bottom of my spine and the top of my spine - nothing in between. What happens in between is up to my own body; I don't want to interfere with that. Sometimes, this results in spontaneous movement or release of parts of my body; especially my arm sometimes just shoots off on its own.
3) think of a finger or hand brushing up along my body, all the way from my feet to my head; starting with small strokes, ending in one continuous stroke. This thought, too, helps me to come out of my head and into my body.
What I try to avoid, is to repeat any of the words or phrases that I learnt during lessons, because I noticed that they trigger lots of intellectual activity and questions about AT theory. I do ask myself other questions, like 'Where is the top of my spine?', 'What is it that I'm doing now?', 'What does it mean to really let the neck be free?', 'Am I really letting, or am I doing something?'
After a while, these questions kind of start asking themselves within my body, rather than me formulating them in my head. Actually, after a while, it's like my body takes over the thinking, rather than my head. Instead of trying to visualise, say, my arm with my brains, my arm can address itself without my interference.
About freeing the neck: this is the part that I find most difficult to describe, and also the most difficult to put into practise. I try to go about very gently, indirectly, almost sneaky, because if I directly address this point, I stiffen almost instantly.
One idea that does work well for me, is the idea of the head floating on the top of the spine, like one of these compasses where you have a little ball in a small dome of water. It's completely free, but will alway incline towards one specific direction. Another idea that also helps is to imagine allowing my AT teacher (or anybody else for that matter) to take your head anywhere, without meeting any help or resistance from my part.
From the bottom of my spine, I gradually work my way up. What I do, and how I do this, I cannot really explain this in words, but I'll give it a try. Sometimes, when I'm not that agitated, it's actually really easy, I just send a little flow upwards, and *dzjoing* my head flies away.
Most of the time, it doesn't work that fast. In those cases I have a number of approaches that work for me:
1) think of small pulses that travel up through my spine. Each time I send one off, I think of it travelling through the individual discs in my spinal column- not because I want to have an anatomically correct approach or something like that, but just to slow me down. Rather like a flight of stairs: rather than standing at the bottom and looking to the top, I consider each step I need to make to get there. I find that this helps me to actually focus on the task at hand, rather than flying all the way back up in my head again and think about directing, rather than directing.
2) think of the bottom of my spine and the top of my spine - nothing in between. What happens in between is up to my own body; I don't want to interfere with that. Sometimes, this results in spontaneous movement or release of parts of my body; especially my arm sometimes just shoots off on its own.
3) think of a finger or hand brushing up along my body, all the way from my feet to my head; starting with small strokes, ending in one continuous stroke. This thought, too, helps me to come out of my head and into my body.
What I try to avoid, is to repeat any of the words or phrases that I learnt during lessons, because I noticed that they trigger lots of intellectual activity and questions about AT theory. I do ask myself other questions, like 'Where is the top of my spine?', 'What is it that I'm doing now?', 'What does it mean to really let the neck be free?', 'Am I really letting, or am I doing something?'
After a while, these questions kind of start asking themselves within my body, rather than me formulating them in my head. Actually, after a while, it's like my body takes over the thinking, rather than my head. Instead of trying to visualise, say, my arm with my brains, my arm can address itself without my interference.
About freeing the neck: this is the part that I find most difficult to describe, and also the most difficult to put into practise. I try to go about very gently, indirectly, almost sneaky, because if I directly address this point, I stiffen almost instantly.
One idea that does work well for me, is the idea of the head floating on the top of the spine, like one of these compasses where you have a little ball in a small dome of water. It's completely free, but will alway incline towards one specific direction. Another idea that also helps is to imagine allowing my AT teacher (or anybody else for that matter) to take your head anywhere, without meeting any help or resistance from my part.
AT strategy (5)
January 05, 2007
Find my sitting bone
The points I've discussed so far are, all fall under the header of inhibition, as I see it. Although it took me quite a lot of words to describe them, it only takes a relatively short time to realise them, sometimes a few seconds, sometime a few minutes.
After that, I shift my attention to directions. How I do this, depends on the situation: sometimes, when I'm very busy in my head, I say them, so that I have a concrete starting point to work from. But most of the time, I simply become aware of the different body parts. Where awareness is not the same as attention or focus. Awareness, to me, is acknowledging the existence of something, say, my neck, in relation to, or without losing sight of, the rest of my body. Attention or focus is noticing the existence of something, and forgetting about everything else.
This is an important difference for me, because when I wish my neck to be free, my usual reaction is to focus on my neck, rather than becoming aware of the neck-head-back relationship: I start thinking about freeing my neck, trying to feel it out, which leads to narrowing. I think Alexander's directions are a bit tricky in that respect; just because the neck is the first one to be let free, doesn't automatically mean that it's the starting point for direction. I don't know whether Alexander ever talked about this, but I've always wondered whether directions have a source, a starting point, and if so where it's located.
So, even though it is about the neck, it's not about the neck. That's the nasty thing about language: in order to talk about non-doing, you still need a verb, which by linguistic definition is about doing. In order to talk about the absence of a thing, you still need to mention the thing (the classical 'do not think of a pink elephant' paradox).
That's why I usually start conscious direction by finding my sitting bone, or my heels, for that matter and become aware of my entire spine. I've discovered that, for me, this makes it much easier to leave my neck alone. And it's in line with what I was taught; to send directions up along the spine. I find that my sitting bone is always much lower than I think, and that, once I've properly found it, I'm already halfway home.
The points I've discussed so far are, all fall under the header of inhibition, as I see it. Although it took me quite a lot of words to describe them, it only takes a relatively short time to realise them, sometimes a few seconds, sometime a few minutes.
After that, I shift my attention to directions. How I do this, depends on the situation: sometimes, when I'm very busy in my head, I say them, so that I have a concrete starting point to work from. But most of the time, I simply become aware of the different body parts. Where awareness is not the same as attention or focus. Awareness, to me, is acknowledging the existence of something, say, my neck, in relation to, or without losing sight of, the rest of my body. Attention or focus is noticing the existence of something, and forgetting about everything else.
This is an important difference for me, because when I wish my neck to be free, my usual reaction is to focus on my neck, rather than becoming aware of the neck-head-back relationship: I start thinking about freeing my neck, trying to feel it out, which leads to narrowing. I think Alexander's directions are a bit tricky in that respect; just because the neck is the first one to be let free, doesn't automatically mean that it's the starting point for direction. I don't know whether Alexander ever talked about this, but I've always wondered whether directions have a source, a starting point, and if so where it's located.
So, even though it is about the neck, it's not about the neck. That's the nasty thing about language: in order to talk about non-doing, you still need a verb, which by linguistic definition is about doing. In order to talk about the absence of a thing, you still need to mention the thing (the classical 'do not think of a pink elephant' paradox).
That's why I usually start conscious direction by finding my sitting bone, or my heels, for that matter and become aware of my entire spine. I've discovered that, for me, this makes it much easier to leave my neck alone. And it's in line with what I was taught; to send directions up along the spine. I find that my sitting bone is always much lower than I think, and that, once I've properly found it, I'm already halfway home.
AT strategy (4)
January 02, 2007
Don't be serious
Or rather, don't be scared. Or don't concentrate. It doesn't matter really what I call it, as long as I keep myself from tightening, drawing in, turning inwards, closing up. Fear tightens and shortens, it makes you grab and hang on to whatever you've got, harmful as it may be. It causes you to focus on just one thing, blocking out everything else, leaving you unable to adequately address whatever changing situations may come your way.
It may sound funny, but it's true: getting out of the chair is among the most scary things I've ever done. Discovering that I was unable to let go and simply let my teacher take me out of the chair has literally sent me into a panic frenzy on more than one occasion. Afterwards, I always wondered how I'd let it come that far, what on earth made me feel that scared, and why I kept fighting it so hard. What could happen to me if I did let go? After all, it's just me and a chair, how hard could it be? There's no chasms, no jumping out of airplanes, no rollercoaster rides...except in my head.
When I notice the onset of such narrowing, for instance, in situations that involve singing (the 'I sound great in the bathroom, great during rehearsal, so why can't I sound great during performances?' issue), I physically broaden my view, simply by looking around and noticing my surroundings. And, very easy to do: I lift the corners of my mouth. It's just a tiny thing, but it makes it much easier to lengthen and widen if you do it. Give it a try, it's cool.
Or rather, don't be scared. Or don't concentrate. It doesn't matter really what I call it, as long as I keep myself from tightening, drawing in, turning inwards, closing up. Fear tightens and shortens, it makes you grab and hang on to whatever you've got, harmful as it may be. It causes you to focus on just one thing, blocking out everything else, leaving you unable to adequately address whatever changing situations may come your way.
It may sound funny, but it's true: getting out of the chair is among the most scary things I've ever done. Discovering that I was unable to let go and simply let my teacher take me out of the chair has literally sent me into a panic frenzy on more than one occasion. Afterwards, I always wondered how I'd let it come that far, what on earth made me feel that scared, and why I kept fighting it so hard. What could happen to me if I did let go? After all, it's just me and a chair, how hard could it be? There's no chasms, no jumping out of airplanes, no rollercoaster rides...except in my head.
When I notice the onset of such narrowing, for instance, in situations that involve singing (the 'I sound great in the bathroom, great during rehearsal, so why can't I sound great during performances?' issue), I physically broaden my view, simply by looking around and noticing my surroundings. And, very easy to do: I lift the corners of my mouth. It's just a tiny thing, but it makes it much easier to lengthen and widen if you do it. Give it a try, it's cool.
AT strategy (3)
December 01, 2006
Don't use AT to fix a broken leg
When I just started AT, I was so enthusiastic about this wonderful discovery that I thought it could fix anything, from my stiff neck to dealing with stiff-necked people around me. But although I apply AT principles on some level or other in most of my daily activities, I've let go of the dogma of 'The Only Right Way Is AT'. I've realised that some other strategies work better for me in some cases. So, when I end up in a situation where I think my neck could be a bit more free, I first decide whether AT is the thing that will get me there, because, to be honest, sometimes it simply doesn't.
Some examples of other things that I've tried and still use on a regular basis:
- Chi Gong: similar to AT in that it is a way, with both a physical and a strong spiritual/ philosophical element. Different in that it doesn't use any kind of verbal explanation during the exercises, and there's no wrong or right way of doing the exercises posture-wise (although energy-wise, a lot of things can go wrong if you're in the hands of an unskilled teacher), no theory to understand or concepts to grasp. Whereas AT sometimes only increases the speed and number of thoughts in my head, Chi Gong, with its absence of verbal queues, is a relatively easy way to calm my brain a bit.
- Chiropractic: I see this as a shortcut to freeing up the channel through which I send directions. Works wonders, as long as you realise that you're not handling the root cause of your trouble (misuse, overtension, over-stressedness). But it's a great way to fix any physical problems and improve the overall state of your physical well-being.
- Physiotherapy: same. I ended up with a physiotherapist when I jumped myself into a whiplash in my calf muscle at a U2 concert. Not something I can see fixed by a series of AT lessons. We've got an in-company physiotherapist; I sometimes go there to have my shoulder muscles loosened up.
Funny enough, I keep meeting people in the 'physical department', like chiropractors and physiotherapists, that are actually very supportive of AT principles, without knowing about AT. My physiotherapist, for example, talks about the importance of a loose jaw in relation to my shoulders, because "your neck is a key to de-stressing the rest of your body". I think this may be part of a general tendency to move away from 'just a problem in limb/muscle/joint x' to a more integrated approach, which is wonderful and necessary.
Edit: even though I do use different approaches, I try not to mix them. So when I do AT, I don't use Chi Gong principles, even though they both deal with flow/direction, and when I'm being manipulated by a chiropractor, I don't do AT, even though they both involve tables and necks. This way, I don't run the risk of mismapping concepts that may seem similar, but are still slightly different. Of course, I do notice similarities between approaches, but I try to leave it at just that: similarities.
When I just started AT, I was so enthusiastic about this wonderful discovery that I thought it could fix anything, from my stiff neck to dealing with stiff-necked people around me. But although I apply AT principles on some level or other in most of my daily activities, I've let go of the dogma of 'The Only Right Way Is AT'. I've realised that some other strategies work better for me in some cases. So, when I end up in a situation where I think my neck could be a bit more free, I first decide whether AT is the thing that will get me there, because, to be honest, sometimes it simply doesn't.
Some examples of other things that I've tried and still use on a regular basis:
- Chi Gong: similar to AT in that it is a way, with both a physical and a strong spiritual/ philosophical element. Different in that it doesn't use any kind of verbal explanation during the exercises, and there's no wrong or right way of doing the exercises posture-wise (although energy-wise, a lot of things can go wrong if you're in the hands of an unskilled teacher), no theory to understand or concepts to grasp. Whereas AT sometimes only increases the speed and number of thoughts in my head, Chi Gong, with its absence of verbal queues, is a relatively easy way to calm my brain a bit.
- Chiropractic: I see this as a shortcut to freeing up the channel through which I send directions. Works wonders, as long as you realise that you're not handling the root cause of your trouble (misuse, overtension, over-stressedness). But it's a great way to fix any physical problems and improve the overall state of your physical well-being.
- Physiotherapy: same. I ended up with a physiotherapist when I jumped myself into a whiplash in my calf muscle at a U2 concert. Not something I can see fixed by a series of AT lessons. We've got an in-company physiotherapist; I sometimes go there to have my shoulder muscles loosened up.
Funny enough, I keep meeting people in the 'physical department', like chiropractors and physiotherapists, that are actually very supportive of AT principles, without knowing about AT. My physiotherapist, for example, talks about the importance of a loose jaw in relation to my shoulders, because "your neck is a key to de-stressing the rest of your body". I think this may be part of a general tendency to move away from 'just a problem in limb/muscle/joint x' to a more integrated approach, which is wonderful and necessary.
Edit: even though I do use different approaches, I try not to mix them. So when I do AT, I don't use Chi Gong principles, even though they both deal with flow/direction, and when I'm being manipulated by a chiropractor, I don't do AT, even though they both involve tables and necks. This way, I don't run the risk of mismapping concepts that may seem similar, but are still slightly different. Of course, I do notice similarities between approaches, but I try to leave it at just that: similarities.
AT strategy (2)
November 23, 2006
Inhibit the habit to mentally beat myself up about pain, misuse, confusion, the state of the world in general
One of the downsides of AT is that it offers perfectionists like me a wonderful stick to hit themselves with (like I needed another one...). Unreliable sensory awareness, the opposite of wrong is wrong...when you're not in high spirits in the first place, it's quite easy to slip into some kind of gloomy, "see, I'm wrong again, there's even an official theory about it, I won't ever get it, and even if I do, I won't know it, because I don't know when I'm right" state.
So, when I do end up in a situation of physical pain or emotional discomfort, the first thing I try to stop, is the start of the blame-game. Instead of noticing pain and feeling irritated about it, annoyed by it, or guilty because I must have done something wrong, I just try to register the situation as it is, which is simply "I feel a nagging sensation at the back of my shoulder, and it is starting to physically hurt". I try not to judge. I try not to be hard on myself. I try not to distance the part of my body or mind or soul that's hurting from the rest of me. Although it may sound terribly simple on paper, this part of my strategy probably took me the longest to learn.
Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes, I'm just what I am. Not everything happens in a logical or rational way. Which is not the same as accepting the situation and leaving it at that.
One of the downsides of AT is that it offers perfectionists like me a wonderful stick to hit themselves with (like I needed another one...). Unreliable sensory awareness, the opposite of wrong is wrong...when you're not in high spirits in the first place, it's quite easy to slip into some kind of gloomy, "see, I'm wrong again, there's even an official theory about it, I won't ever get it, and even if I do, I won't know it, because I don't know when I'm right" state.
So, when I do end up in a situation of physical pain or emotional discomfort, the first thing I try to stop, is the start of the blame-game. Instead of noticing pain and feeling irritated about it, annoyed by it, or guilty because I must have done something wrong, I just try to register the situation as it is, which is simply "I feel a nagging sensation at the back of my shoulder, and it is starting to physically hurt". I try not to judge. I try not to be hard on myself. I try not to distance the part of my body or mind or soul that's hurting from the rest of me. Although it may sound terribly simple on paper, this part of my strategy probably took me the longest to learn.
Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes, I'm just what I am. Not everything happens in a logical or rational way. Which is not the same as accepting the situation and leaving it at that.
AT strategy (1)
November 20, 2006
A while ago, Nick M. posted the following on the Alextech list:
I do, though, wonder what it is that you do, when confronted with the ache of
a stiff neck, apart from feeling irritated. Do you have an Alexander
strategy for these times whose purpose is to 'let the neck be free'? If
you do, can you describe it?
You may wonder why I ask what someone's 'Alexander strategy' is since
the outline of that strategy - inhibition and direction - is hardly
secret; but the finer details of what this might mean to an individual,
in an actual, living situation, is, in my opinion, woefully documented.
I really liked thinking about this question. Especially because articulation and 'AT confidence' seem to go hand in hand. In my first AT-less period, I still felt very dependent on something outside me, a teacher, a book, an authority or just knowledge. Perhaps too dependent, but I guess that's something you always face when you learn something new and valuable that you don't want to lose. This dependency has taught me a lot, though. I've consciously used every lesson I've taken since to develop my own AT strategy; something that wouldn't have happened if I'd just kept having lessons every week or so.
This list is an outline of my own AT strategy. I'll discuss each point in a separate post over the next few days.
1. Inhibit the urge to mentally beat myself up about pain, misuse, confusion and the state of the world in general.
2. Don't use AT to fix a broken leg.
3. Don't be serious.
4. Find my sitting bone.
5. Work my way up along the spine.
6. Free my neck.
7. ...even now...and now...
I do, though, wonder what it is that you do, when confronted with the ache of
a stiff neck, apart from feeling irritated. Do you have an Alexander
strategy for these times whose purpose is to 'let the neck be free'? If
you do, can you describe it?
You may wonder why I ask what someone's 'Alexander strategy' is since
the outline of that strategy - inhibition and direction - is hardly
secret; but the finer details of what this might mean to an individual,
in an actual, living situation, is, in my opinion, woefully documented.
I really liked thinking about this question. Especially because articulation and 'AT confidence' seem to go hand in hand. In my first AT-less period, I still felt very dependent on something outside me, a teacher, a book, an authority or just knowledge. Perhaps too dependent, but I guess that's something you always face when you learn something new and valuable that you don't want to lose. This dependency has taught me a lot, though. I've consciously used every lesson I've taken since to develop my own AT strategy; something that wouldn't have happened if I'd just kept having lessons every week or so.
This list is an outline of my own AT strategy. I'll discuss each point in a separate post over the next few days.
1. Inhibit the urge to mentally beat myself up about pain, misuse, confusion and the state of the world in general.
2. Don't use AT to fix a broken leg.
3. Don't be serious.
4. Find my sitting bone.
5. Work my way up along the spine.
6. Free my neck.
7. ...even now...and now...
History
November 10, 2006
, a biography put together by a student of Walter Carrington. What an extraordinary story.And what an extraordinary, puzzling and contradictory man. I think that, as with all great teachings, it is hard not to let some of the teaching rub off on the teacher. It's very tempting to assume that a teacher will be the ultimate example of his own teachings. Alexander wasn't. Or was he? Apparently, people who met him were struck with his lightness in movement, his clearness of mind and his overall presence, even when he grew older. So, in that way, AT worked for him. But how come that I'm left with the impression of Alexander as someone who's so afraid? Afraid of attachment, afraid of people stealing his ideas (because without them, what would he be?), afraid of being wrong, afraid of people who had more status or more education than he did, afraid of being caught, afraid that people might find out who he really was andnot love him for it? It strikes me as sad that someone who has taught others how to make most out of life seems to have been in survival mode most of his own time. I hope that others can contradict me, but he doesn't seem to have had many moments of relative hapiness or peace. Losing his voice almost seems like the smallest of his problems.
Fascinating stuff indeed. It's interesting to see how Alexander was a man of his time; if you look at how he writes, the words he uses, the concepts and the ideas, he's very much an industrial revolutionist, raised in an age of large technological inventions which, even more than today I think, changed men's perception of life. This must have caused such a sense of confusion and exhilaration at the same time; on the one hand everything was possible. But on the other, everything was possible. Oh dear. And to discover that it's really not about that, that what other people see as advancement is actually deterioration, as one of the few people of your time. That's impressive.
Moving on
October 25, 2006
Had my last AT lesson today. Well, not really a lesson, more of a last cup of tea. I've decided to stop with AT. Don't know if I'll ever resume, I guess not. I don't feel it to be a very difficult decision, nor a very heavy one. At this time, I'm dealing with questions that cannot be answered by taking a lesson in something. Questions like "who am I in the first place, what do I want and need?" Things to which I myself want to, have to, and eventually will find the answers. I've already had a sneak preview, and oh boy, it's going to be a lovely ride.
So, no, I won't miss being a student. I won't miss AT either, because it will not leave me. It's my own thing, and it's up to me to do something with it or not. I will miss D. though; I just hate it when I have to say goodbye to a really inspiring teacher. Especially because you don't exactly meet them at every streetcorner. So far, I've only met three of them in 31 years, and I'm already counting myself lucky.
And I can honestly say that five years of AT have been a life-changing experience. Fun doesn't do justice to the quality of the lessons, but there was an overall lightness that made it a lot easier to go through the more confronting parts. I'm not an easy learner to please, get bored with things very quickly, my mind wonders all the time, but none of that during D's lessons. And besides learning a lot about inhibition & direction, I now also possess a whole range of funny voices & phrases to suit different occasions, like fake surprise ("O ja joh..."), recovering from a rather intense move out of the chair ("Helleuh!"), and confirmation of understanding AT theory ("Simpol"). Nice fringe benefits, definitely.
And this blog...I don't know yet. I'm still moving forward and up, I still read Alexander's work, and over the next few weeks, I'll probably want to feast you on my AT memoires. Oh puh-lease M, cut the crap, you're not dead yet.
So, no, I won't miss being a student. I won't miss AT either, because it will not leave me. It's my own thing, and it's up to me to do something with it or not. I will miss D. though; I just hate it when I have to say goodbye to a really inspiring teacher. Especially because you don't exactly meet them at every streetcorner. So far, I've only met three of them in 31 years, and I'm already counting myself lucky.
And I can honestly say that five years of AT have been a life-changing experience. Fun doesn't do justice to the quality of the lessons, but there was an overall lightness that made it a lot easier to go through the more confronting parts. I'm not an easy learner to please, get bored with things very quickly, my mind wonders all the time, but none of that during D's lessons. And besides learning a lot about inhibition & direction, I now also possess a whole range of funny voices & phrases to suit different occasions, like fake surprise ("O ja joh..."), recovering from a rather intense move out of the chair ("Helleuh!"), and confirmation of understanding AT theory ("Simpol"). Nice fringe benefits, definitely.
And this blog...I don't know yet. I'm still moving forward and up, I still read Alexander's work, and over the next few weeks, I'll probably want to feast you on my AT memoires. Oh puh-lease M, cut the crap, you're not dead yet.
Thanks for the reminder
August 13, 2006
You translate everything,
whether physical
or mental
or spiritual,
into muscular tension
- FM Alexander
whether physical
or mental
or spiritual,
into muscular tension
- FM Alexander
Good morning...
August 05, 2006
...this is your wake-up call.
You can't change and stay the same.
Bugger.
Buggerbuggerbugger. Bugger.
Bugger.
You can't change and stay the same.
Bugger.
Buggerbuggerbugger. Bugger.
Bugger.
How I feel when I say 'no' to the idea of sitting
August 01, 2006RÉSERVÉ/VOORBEHOUDEN
Het gaat niet ja het gaat wel maar
het kan niet ja het kan wel maar
het mag niet ja het mag wel maar
men heeft hier niet het recht men is
degene die hier staat en die dit zegt.
Het plakt zo nee het plakt niet maar
het schuift zo nee het schuift niet maar
het zakt misschien wel weg en wie zakt
mee. En zelfs niet even gaat het want
men weet hoe even werkt in levens nee?
Joke van Leeuwen
Uit: Laatste lezers. Gedichten. Amsterdam, 1994.
Flying circus
July 28, 2006
I always say that each lesson was the best I've ever had so far, and today is no exception. Not much explanation today, just flying across the room and having fun doing it. Lightness all over the place, I could've sworn that at one point I was floating against the ceiling.
Must be summer. Feels great.
Must be summer. Feels great.