Yesterday was my last day of the craniosacral adventure. The previous entry on this blog was written during the first module of the training, known as C1, it was written on day 3…

I recall thinking and sensing that I had gotten a good idea of the work by then. By day 3!

I would like to make it clear that I had no clue as to what the work really was. Or perhaps, said more accurately, I had no idea as to the potential of the work, the depths which it was able to reach. ….

You see, to have an idea of the depths something can reach means that one already has a concept of those depths, they know how deep the well is and thus can say whether the rope and bucket will touch water… So, it wasn’t so much “the depths which it was able to reach” but more: the depth of the well itself. Or even the diameter of the well. Or even what it is made of.

I recall a post I once wrote called “limits“. That experience comes to mind.

As I sat on the sand and looked out at the ocean, realizing that I hadn’t just tested my limits of fear, I had dipped my toe in the waters of exploring myself – the ocean is vast beyond my ability to understand vastness.

In astrophysics we use light-years to measure distances. A light-year is an inconceivable distance. We have no notion of something that far. We can quantify in numbers how large the ocean is or how far the nearest galaxy is but they are only numbers – our minds have no concept of it.

Leaving both astrophysics and the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, looking inward now, inward turned, us, and acknowledging that we too have an inconceivable depth. Quantifiable, perhaps, yet beyond the minds’ ability to grasp.

Craniosacral workshop and the teachings went on far beyond that third day. The mind began to step out of the way, Bruno began to step out of the way, the experience began to take prime importance over the mind.

When I travel to a new country it takes 8-10 days before I arrive. My body is already there but my mind is not. Not to pick on the mind, it is awesome at doing its thing, and recognizing that living in the present is not what it prefers.

So i, the I, gently began to arrive at the workshop and to step out of the way.

And I began to experience what was there to be experienced. Surrender began to happen. Integration and release. The masks began to fall. I began to feel in the same depths where only those fish with those hundreds of little lightbulbs exist. Fish who have wisely given up their eyes – for those eyes we regard with such high esteem up here are useless down there – useless.

I began to see with new eyes. More accurately: I began to see with old eyes. The eyes that have always been there, closer to those true eyes. And as those eyes saw so unfolding took place. I could feel the thumbs on my teeth reaching far into my being. And behind the force of those thumbs was that force which began it all and moves it all. The recognition which my body felt upon once again being allowed to soak in that force from which it was born.

The body sank, the mind sank, the rush brought tears and sobs and yells and gasps for air. The back arched powerfully yet devoid of effort. I was accompanying, I was observing, I was supporting, I was arching, I was touching every inch of the skin of that Earth, this Earth, and yet I was not there at all.

Birth – Yet that is an event.

Anahata – the sound that is not made by two things striking together. The sound made by the energy of what the Universe is made of. What is that energy, that force, that all pervading radiance?

Call it God or Nature or Energy, call it Ananda – Love

What is it in the contact? What is it in the touch? in the voice? in those eyes and that smile and that eternally flowing hair?

Those are merely gates, passageways to the Essence.

Those are simply sirens, sitting in all their graciousness, upon the rocks of strange and unexplored shores of ourselves. With their voice in my ears and their fingers in my mouth beckoning me closer as I struggle with the breaking waves which they themselves placed there.

For I yearn to be with my siren, to feel her embrace, to hear her spine-chilling voice caressing my soul – the more I struggle to swim to her the closer to exhaustion I get and so I step out of the way, allowing for the currents to take me. My only guide now is myself, my body, my soul, my heart, my mind, trusting that they – I – will recognize home when I arrive there.

Craniosacral – suffice to say that this is magical work, work touched by shamans and lovers.  Healing work.  And I’m very grateful and appreciative of Hugh and Giorgia Milne as well as their assistants and, very importantly, all those who created and shared that healing space which I felt for 11 days.

And all I would want to say to my siren, beautifully expressed by Tim Buckley:

Song to the Siren – by Tim Buckley

Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me
Sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am
Here I am
Waiting to hold you

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks,
For you sing, touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:
O my heart, o my heart shies from the sorrow

I am puzzled as the newborn child
I am troubled at the tide:
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Should I lie with death my bride?
Hear me sing, swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you:
Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you