The Middle Way of Balance in 3 Parts

~~~ Part I

The sweet scent of her body soap transports me back to my grandmother’s home where the little girl’s legs stretch to step into the ceramic tile lined shower. The scent of the familiar maternal soap fills her nostrils as the cold tile submits to the warmth of the water beating down upon it. She lathers up. Acquiring the scent of her grandmother’s favorite soap, of which she knows not the name. The hot steamy water rinses off the traces of dirt and grime from playing and running care-free outside.

Stepping from the shower, she dries her body with the thin towel that seems to scratch more than absorb. The walls lined with ceramic tile bead with sweat from the steamy shower. The tiled floor cools her feet as she struggles to pull the dry clothes over her still damp skin.

Just as soon as the memory arrives, it fades away. The house is no longer filled with the stoic energy of my grandmother who transitioned long ago. Even though her physical form no longer exists, her memories are still held closely in the folds of my heart. A tear rolls down my cheek as I recall the compassion and valor that she injected into my life.

~~~ Part II

Physical memories of my grandmother carry me back into my dream time memories of her. One dream in particular always seems to stand out as I vividly recall her visit to me while I lie in silent slumber from many years ago now.

It is interesting to realize that she came to me in a dream set upon the waters of the bay beach, as the beach was one of her favorite places to be.

The water was tepid like bath water. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel stretched out like a pointing finger, thrusting itself out into the waters that were calm and glassy like a lake. Water swirled around my body, holding me, comforting me, supporting me in its warm embrace. I floated peacefully, allowing the current to take me at its will.  Leaves drifted by, gracefully dancing in the swirling, twirling eddy-like currents.

Gently and calmly, my grandmother’s silhouette appears as an anachronistic vision, even in my dreams. She sits back gracefully in an inner tube. Her bathing suit is modest and humble, as are her large framed glasses that I remember all so well. As she glides by, floating on the reflective, glass-like waters of the bay, she whispers softly to me in a commanding way, “Take the middle path. Take the middle path, my dear.” As quickly as she arrived, she drifts off to the mouth of the bay and disappears off into the Atlantic Ocean. Her words still linger in the air, guiding me to a life of greater balance.

The morning alarm sounds off, waking me from my slumber.  Even today, I continue to hear her voice, “Take the middle path,” especially when troubles seem to abound. I still recall the power of this simple message from my this dream that I dreamt so many years ago.

~~~ Part III

Shame is held here.

The pelvis carries it all.

It balances the load.

Taping helps to bring balance.

Tape the front.

Tape the back.

Hold me in my place.

Hold me in this space; this place of balance.

Force transmission.

Top to bottom.

Bottom to top.

Right to left.

Left to right.

If it ain’t tight, it ain’t right.

Tape me. Hold me. Help me carry this load.

Hold me in this space; this place of balance.

The tape helps to change the muscle memory.

Retraining. Reforming.

Molding me. Showing me.

Remind me what is it like again to be free.

Free from constraint (oh, the irony of being taped to be free…).

Hold me in this space; this place of balance.

The middle way requires focus.

Presence. Awareness.  Attention to detail.

The pendulum swings to and fro.

Back and forth. Forever seeking balance.

Yet the pivot point remains steady.

The middle way,  the balance between opposites.

The point of neutrality.

Releasing the need for duality.

Hold me in this space; this place of balance.

Namaste.