The sophistication of sensation
It was a bucket list dream to rest my tired spirit, a wellness retreat on an intimate, 600-acre Horse Ranch in Montana: big blue sky, a herd of horses, a barn cat, ranch dogs, and a traditional country lodge.
My heart told me "Yes," but my body showed mixed signals, similar to the bad boy who tugs at your heartstrings, playing tricks on your mind.
It was July 6, 2022, and I was just shy of the death of my dad and Jax and five months into a Wayfinder Life Coaching Training program. A program unbeknown to me that when I began, my whole world would turn upside down and sustain me in ways I had never envisioned, like a lighthouse at sea.
It was a typical weekday afternoon, sitting across the screen from Analia (one of the women in my coaching cohort) for our weekly ritual of connection, conversation, and practice coaching.
Looking for clarity around a retreat I was considering the first week of August, I asked Analia to practice the Body Compass with me, a tool that tunes into the body collecting evidence based on sensation.
We started the session by calibrating my Body Compass. She asked me to remember an unpleasant event and notice how the memory made me feel – not emotionally, but physically and the sensations connected to the adverse event, asking me to rate the senses on a range from -10 (for negative sensations) through 0 (neutral) to +10 (for positive sensations). Then we repeated the same experience with a pleasant event to find feelings connected with joy and excitement.
Then it was time for the most anticipated slice of the session, where I tuned into my body while visualizing bountiful Montana, great sky, horses, mountain ridges, healthy, home-cooked meals, and more.
The signals were hazy, and my body was gauging feelings of tightness, constriction, and worry. By our 'calibration,' my body was telling me "No."
Willing my body to book the retreat, I was dumbfounded and disappointed. I was not sold on the tool and the numerical naming of senses. It contradicted my years of yoga and study of the body, reminding me to tune into the sensations before words.
Our bodies are extraordinary, and our sensations sophisticated, but the heaviness of grief I carried like a constant companion complicated matter.
Grief settles into the nooks and crannies of our bodies like an unwanted houseguest. For me, it manifests as tension and tightening in my chest, shoulders, upper back, neck, and throat, fogginess and dullness in the brain, and upset in the stomach - hallmark symptoms for tamas, one of the three gunas in Yoga Philosophy, opposite of clarity, lightness, ease, and spaciousness, the qualities of sattva, another guna.
Not convinced about the session's outcome, I took a walk in hopes of creating a shift towards sattva. With the fresh air, movement, and change of perspective, I heard a voice inviting me to revisit the retreat's website.
Returning home, I researched in more detail. As I passed through pictures of the land and accommodations, greeted the team, and read bios of the horses (who would be our "coaches" during the stay), I felt curious and excited, and when I noticed a retreat at the end of August inspiration and expansiveness kicked in.
Early August felt rushed and unprepared, but the end of August felt spacious and inviting. It felt like a YES.
Reflecting on the experience with Analia, I interpreted the tool as a limitation for a specific outcome. However, as with most things, the decision to go was not black or white.
My body had good intentions and, in the end, showed the way towards booking the retreat, but with a caveat, a warning that something was off, creating those unsettling feelings, encouraging me to exert some effort to create a shift and pay attention.
A body in grief is a body in disguise, conveying tension, vagueness, and doubt. What was off was the timing, not the travel itself.
Through the walk, I moved through the stickiness and stuckness of the body and mind and created space. My intuition invited me to take a closer look, be curious, adapt, align, and find the next step toward meaningful action: the website was the way in.
I created a sense of openness by giving myself the time and space to do more research. I made room in my decision to take the leap and book the retreat.
I still worried about getting on a plane since the pandemic, but I had a willingness to lean into those sensations that opened me up. I had enough trust and faith to listen and let the body guide the way, even if I did not have all the answers and cozy feelings figured out. Through experience and practice, I knew I would be OK.
The retreat at Oniya was one of the best decisions I made and one I am grateful for. It came at a time when I needed to distract from my reality of death, let go and surrender into the safety net and big sky of Montana.
Our bodies uniquely communicate clues and information, and our soul's tongue is exclusive to each of us.
It is not easy to discern between body and mind, but when we practice slowing down and learn to tap into its intelligence, it offers wisdom and support we may not realize or know we need and insight we never thought to imagine.
Regarding matters of the heart and body, I am learning to rely less on language and more on the feelings of freedom, lightness, clarity, spaciousness, and ease, tuning into what feels like a subtle switch from closed to open, aligning with what matters most.