Movement

Movement is life.

That is a line from a poem I wrote in anticipation of my son moving away to attend college.

If the heart stops beating, blood stops flowing, lungs stop expanding and releasing, we die.

Since my son was born we have moved, and moved. 5 states, 3 countries, 2 continents. 8 homes in 18 years.

Each time we move is like dying and being brought back to life. It seems like it gets harder each time now. It takes so much out of me.

I love to dance, to run outside, to hike forest trails, do yoga, swim in a lake. Movement calls to me, and I go to it. It is a powerful agent of healing in my life.

I have been in this house nearly 5 months now. I force myself to my healing movement practices. My heart beating, blood flowing, lungs expand and release.

But in truth I am tired.

In truth I have endurance and stamina.

So when there is mention of a recruiter calling from London, I tighten, and want to brace. Curl up hard as stone. Become immovable, but that is not life.

Movement is life.