Body Theology: Living the One Desire
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by Karen Day
Although I have been moving improvisationally for many years, I was surprised by the power of improvising in a contemplative setting. I'll begin with the highlight of our experience at the Shalem Clergy Program residency and then offer some details.
Tears, wet down the cheeks, sliding into/out of nose, mouth, ears. Sounds, deep knowing bursts out in need. Our silent Sabbath movement time has led to this, Julie on her knees sobbing, the three of us circled round, holding, waiting. No need to do anything. We sit as a living, breathing sculpture, my fingers running through her hair, Michael's hand gentle round my injured wrist, the other Karen completing this round form. All of us knowing this is just right, all sensing God with us; breathing our sighs, embracing our wounds. This circle is larger than we could ever make it. There is nowhere to go, nothing to do, time shifts. This musty basement room and harsh concrete floor become our chapel, resounding in silence, our pianist absent. Assurances come to me, 'This is exactly what you're meant to do, to be, right here." Then to myself, "I love these people, this movement, this life. Thank you, thank you, thank you." I'm intoning this one basic prayer of gratitude.
"You have only to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves." Mary Oliver's promise sounds like a gift from God to me here. Having let a simple point of contact move us, we've come into the presence-something of us, radiant in us and yet flowing through us. Like breath, spirit, ruach. Like touch, connection, tikkun.
I say if we're breathing we're dancing, but when two breathing bodies make contact the dance enlarges and electrifies as though the barriers keeping me from sensing God's presence melt into the flowing of that point. Who knew? That the skin's desire could lead to healing, that the touch of a stranger could magnify the divine mystery? We've read ancient stories of healing hands but never expected to receive that gift today, right now, leaning back to back.
How did we get here? In response to Tilden Edward's image of stepping into the wide space from the little self-space, Julie shows us her witchy voices. Our small group enlarges the sounds and movements. Later I invite Julie to share some contact improvisation and Mark to create music. Michael and Karen want to play, too. Before long we're all letting a point of contact lead our movements. We reflect on how this movement stirs our souls, wakes up our creativity and "allows us to experience the grace we tell people about" as Mark says. Deciding to meet during the silent Sabbath opened our awareness to the depth of the spirit moving within and among us.
"Must remember this," says Julie's journal which she e-mails me two months later. Her words are a gift to me, reminding me how to begin to articulate the wisdom of our bodies.
When I thought about writing on body theology some piece of my mind was overwhelmed with words-the concepts and ideas that make up most theology I've read. Even though I knew to start with experience, I couldn't get there. Instead of ideas it's the sensations that make it possible to revisit that moment, to relearn that wisdom. Leaning back-to-back, stroking Julie's hair, pushing Michael's shoulders, yes, I remember how that felt. From there I can trust the desire, the grace that led my body to that contemplative place, to the one desire. Letting "the soft animal of the body love what it loves" allowed me to rest in the embrace of the sacred, in the wide spacious place of just rightness, of nothing more is needed.
Of course as much as I want to remember it slips away. Until I can move again, lean in again, am surprised again at the mysterious beckoning moves of my constant dance partner, the one who breathes me, who dances me. There are no solos. In this dance of life there is always a point of contact. Completing a sacred dance with this human animal partner allows the body to love what it loves. The grace of this moment reveals the One partner who is always dancing my whole bodyself, heart and mind, body and soul.
Karen, a Unitarian minister, is a graduate of Shalem's Clergy Spiritual Life & Leadership Program, Class of 2005.