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Image 1 of 1
Come back to the only address you'll ever actually live at.
Most of us live about six inches above our own bodies.
We think our way through the day. We manage from the neck up. The body becomes the thing that carries the head around and occasionally files a complaint we ignore -- the tight shoulders, the shallow breath, the knot that shows up in the exact same spot every time a certain name lights up your phone. It's been talking the entire time. We just got very good at turning the volume down.
This weekend turns it back up, gently.
Let me clear something out of the way first, because I know what "movement retreat" conjures. This is not a fitness weekend. Nobody is going to put their foot behind their head while you watch and quietly reconsider your life choices. There's no goal weight, no target flexibility, no one at the front modeling a shape you're meant to approximate. We don't do ordinary here, and the ordinary version of this would be a workout with candles.
What we're actually doing is older and simpler than that. Bodies have always been where humans put the things that were too big for words. Grief lives in the body. So does joy, so does old fear, so does the version of you who hasn't felt safe enough to fully exhale in a good long while. You can talk about all of it for years -- many of us have -- and still find it exactly where you left it, sitting in your hips or your jaw or the space between your shoulder blades. Movement gives it somewhere to go. Breath gives it permission. Rhythm gets past your thinking mind entirely, which is the point, because your thinking mind has been managing this situation for quite a while and has not solved it.
Over the weekend we work with yoga, breathwork, somatic practice, drumming, and sound. Some of it will be soft. Some of it will be loud, and there is a specific kind of release that only arrives when you're holding a drum and nobody has asked you to be dignified about it. There will be stillness too, the real kind, the kind where you finally feel your own weight on the floor and something in you says oh, there I am.
You do not need to be flexible. You do not need to have done any of this before. You do not need a body that looks or moves like anyone else's, and nobody here is watching what yours does -- everyone will be entirely occupied with their own. What you need is a body, which you already have, and a willingness to be inside it for a couple of days.
You will not leave here as the person who walked in. You'll leave more in her.
Come back to the only address you'll ever actually live at.
Most of us live about six inches above our own bodies.
We think our way through the day. We manage from the neck up. The body becomes the thing that carries the head around and occasionally files a complaint we ignore -- the tight shoulders, the shallow breath, the knot that shows up in the exact same spot every time a certain name lights up your phone. It's been talking the entire time. We just got very good at turning the volume down.
This weekend turns it back up, gently.
Let me clear something out of the way first, because I know what "movement retreat" conjures. This is not a fitness weekend. Nobody is going to put their foot behind their head while you watch and quietly reconsider your life choices. There's no goal weight, no target flexibility, no one at the front modeling a shape you're meant to approximate. We don't do ordinary here, and the ordinary version of this would be a workout with candles.
What we're actually doing is older and simpler than that. Bodies have always been where humans put the things that were too big for words. Grief lives in the body. So does joy, so does old fear, so does the version of you who hasn't felt safe enough to fully exhale in a good long while. You can talk about all of it for years -- many of us have -- and still find it exactly where you left it, sitting in your hips or your jaw or the space between your shoulder blades. Movement gives it somewhere to go. Breath gives it permission. Rhythm gets past your thinking mind entirely, which is the point, because your thinking mind has been managing this situation for quite a while and has not solved it.
Over the weekend we work with yoga, breathwork, somatic practice, drumming, and sound. Some of it will be soft. Some of it will be loud, and there is a specific kind of release that only arrives when you're holding a drum and nobody has asked you to be dignified about it. There will be stillness too, the real kind, the kind where you finally feel your own weight on the floor and something in you says oh, there I am.
You do not need to be flexible. You do not need to have done any of this before. You do not need a body that looks or moves like anyone else's, and nobody here is watching what yours does -- everyone will be entirely occupied with their own. What you need is a body, which you already have, and a willingness to be inside it for a couple of days.
You will not leave here as the person who walked in. You'll leave more in her.