Revelations 1

Years ago, when our Nia forum would come in through email, Ann Christiansen posted about "doing the work" in order to deliver the promise of Nia. As teachers, one way we define Nia is as a movement form that touches all aspects of the self: Body, Mind, Spirit and Emotions.  

I can say in this moment that "the work" for BMES for me is through BMES. At the time, what I received was about listening to the music and spending time with the work.

 I have begun the journey again - to become a Nia teacher. This is a journey I take after each week-long belt intensive. It’s not called an intensive for nothing. 

Black Belt, however, was truly a return to embryonic for me. 

(And I'm sure it was no coincidence that Ann was one of my Black Belt trainers!)

I am learning to breathe again. 

The meaning of Inhalation. What it is to Exhale. 

Like everyone, I began the walk through my life with my first breaths. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Gasp. Pant. Fill. Empty. To fill I must empty. You and I just shared this moment of revelation. Since 1999 I have been distractedly contemplating being empty. Consciously empty. Empty to wait. Uh-hu, yea, got it.

Not At All.

I understood the meaning of each word. I got the jist of the words in this particular combination. 

Two minutes ago I received the meaning in my body. 

In every breath there is fill and empty. Breathing is an autonomic function of the body. I never have to tell myself to breath (outside of those stress-crazy moments). Nor do I tell myself to yawn when I haven’t breathed quite deeply enough to get the oxygen my body knows it needs (thank you, wise body). It happens when it needs to. (Then some genius went and conditioned us to believe that yawning is rude – it means we’re bored of something or someone and we must stifle yawns so as not to offend anyone. Mmmm, sacrificing something healthy so as not to offend anyone… Much eye-rolling.)

I learned ages ago that my lungs must expel the carbon dioxide so that I can take in fresh air to circulate through my body for life. The same goes for my mind, heart and spirit. I must also expel the waste products that have been created by the process of living so that I have room to welcome in new, fresh information, people and events that stimulate creativity, growth, agility and expansion . This is not a catharsis I’m referring to so I’m not going to find some place to go and scream or write letters to people or throw out the contents of my closet. I sense this as more a shift in perspective.

The exhale refers to the waste products I have accumulated and need to release so that I can avoid toxicity. The old ideas I have relative to all aspects of my self, back to Body, Mind, Spirit and Emotions.  Behaviors that I hang on to or resist changing out of fear (what will I do if I don’t do that?). 

The biggest shift will be in how I let the world see me. 

One of the most common comments I receive when someone really gets to know me (or momentarily dives into an intimate element such as music) is “you’re not like I thought you were at all!” This has been nagging at me. Just a week ago I decided that what I want – what I intend to accomplish in the near future is to have ‘the inside of me’ match the ‘outside of me’. In this way, I am temporarily incongruent and this incongruency is creating a life that I don’t want.

So what now...

Beautiful - Inhale

I am my mother’s daughter in a few ways. Aging is not one of them. She and my grandmother, though were my only yardsticks. Neither of them exercised – at all. My grandmother stayed busy. Unfortunately my mother did not. Reading, watching tv and going to eat (in or out) are not considered activities that will keep the human body strong, flexible, agile, mobile and stable.

My outsides look cool, my insides are blue
Every time I think I'm through, it's because of you
I've tried different ways, but it's all the same
At the end of the day, I have myself to blame
Keep on trippin'

Occasionally, when I’m talking about Nia to a certain demographic and the conversation heads in a particular direction I will mention my age. Nine times out of ten the response will be, “Yes, you’re so tiny!” Maybe even 10 out of 10 (and the size of the woman or women in the conversation doesn’t seem to be relevant). I’m not a big woman. I’m a touch above average height and I’m proportioned like an athlete (which is far more acceptable now then when I was in high school). I’m not willowy like my beautiful marathon-running friend Teri, nor am I petite like lovely Kendra, or voluptuous like red-head beauty, Sandi. I’m neat. All that said, I guess it gives context, but it isn’t really the point.

Size isn’t the point. Size does not reflect level of intelligence. Size does not correlate to the level of artistic giftedness. Size won’t assure loyalty, honesty, reliability, motivation, skill level. Nor will size indicate the quality of any human being. I can’t tell how strong or deficient someone is in math by looking at their size. I can’t be certain that they will be able to write in any desirable prose or use a camera with insightful eyes. Size does not offer a view into the abundance of kindness, mercy or tolerance. In short, size means nothing. Put into the perspective that is often expressed as a value of society – size means nothing.

Is this reality?

Warp and twist that perspective there before us lies what almost every teen age girl (and more than a few teen age boys) will know: if you’re a girl you had better be thin. To be accepted, to be a part of a group, to be loved, we must be thin. As young girls, we are so indoctrinated into this sub-culture, that it haunts many of us for the rest of our lives, no matter how we look.

What happened to size doesn’t mean anything? The curious reality is that it still doesn’t. The fascinatingly wicked part is that WE – the same WE who will acknowledge the “size isn’t the point” paragraph – WE have created this. We have decided that size does mean something. We dreamed up, built and maintain the very box to which we object. We do not wish to be objectified, we don’t want to be forced to conform – we want to be individual, different – we want to be ourselves. We know what we know, yet we build an iron maiden for ourselves and we lock it from the inside…

You can buy your hair if it won't grow
You can fix your nose if he says so
You can buy all the make-up that M·A·C can make
But if you can look inside you
Find out who am I, too
Be in a position to make me feel so damn unpretty

I Feel Pretty/Unpretty originally written by Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim / Corey Glover, Michael Cirincione, Dallas Austin, Tionne Watkins

Beautiful - first breath

My outsides are cool, my insides are blue
Every time I think I'm through, it's because of you
I've tried different ways, but it's all the same
At the end of the day, I have myself to blame
I'm just trippin'

What is beauty? What do we consider beautiful? Why do we consider certain qualities and characteristics beautiful? Did someone tell us? Is it a “gut” reaction? Why don’t we all consider the exact same people beautiful?

I’m ok with the number that supposedly represents my age. I don’t volunteer it often unless asked directly. The older I get, the more things change after the number is spoken. When I look at it from a different perspective in which the number is irrelevant - I L O V E my age. I love everything I’ve learned (ok, some things I could have gone my whole life not learning and been ok and, yea, I don’t necessarily love some of the ways in which I’ve acquired certain knowledge/wisdom) – mostly – and I like the vantage point.

You can buy your hair if it won't grow
You can fix your nose if he says so
You can buy all the makeup that M·A·C can make
But if you can look inside you
Find out who am I, too
Be in a position to make me feel so damn unpretty

I feel pretty, oh so pretty
I feel pretty and witty and bright

Recently comments were made regarding Madonna’s performance at the Super Bowl. One of the hosts of the show exclaimed at how amazing it was that she could move that way at her age. Out of the corner of my ear, I believe I heard the number 53 tossed about. I’m not 50 yet but I’m close enough so that I don’t understand the surprise. I wonder how many other Nia teachers out there are also wondering why it should be surprising.

Never insecure until I met you, now I'm bein' stupid
I used to be so cute to me, just a little bit skinny

Why do I look to all these things to keep you happy?

Maybe get rid of you, and then I'll get back to me

(I Feel Pretty/Unpretty originally written by Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim / Corey Glover, Michael Cirincione, Dallas Austin, Tionne Watkins)