Centering, a New Language

      

By Renee' Gregorio

I’ve always been fascinated by what happens—or doesn’t—when I sit down at my desk with pen and paper and the intention of writing. When I was younger and my emotional life was more volatile, writing was an urgency. It is still an essential need and desire, but over time I’ve come to experience writing quite differently. Over time I became obsessed with learning through the body, which began for me on the aikido mats and continued with committing to the study of somatics at Strozzi Institute where I became certified as a master somatic coach.   Aikido practice led me to somatic learning and teaching. All along I kept writing my poems. The more I engaged in somatic work—with myself and then with others—the more I began to see the difference it could make in terms of my own and others’ creative lives. One major aspect of somatic learning that is both simple and profound is the concept and practice of centering. Most of us have some exposure to what it means to “center” ourselves. But what you may not have considered is what a difference this could make to your writing.   I always remember the admonition of my aikido sensei, which was to “do everything from center.”  At the time I was just beginning my exploration of the physical center of my body, and yours: the hara. I remember my sense of puzzlement when I considered what it would mean to drive from center, a scary proposition at first! But as I found myself more and more able to settle deeply within and to feel that center, I began to understand the relationship between moving from hara and living from hara. And that knowing came from many years of practice—on the mats in the aikido dojo, yes, but also “on the mats” in my writing studio and of course in my life.   When we begin the practice of centering, it can be disorienting. We’re learning to move differently, to place our attention differently, to let go of old ways of being. It’s a little like learning a new language. So we have to find ways to help ourselves grow in the direction of becoming more aware. And as we become more aware, more options open to us. We begin by centering in and through our bodies. As we practice, we see the fairly immediate effects centering has on our ability to perceive. We begin to understand what center is in our own body. We let ourselves feel the difference that center makes to our writing, yes, and to our daily lives. When we center ourselves physically, we’re bringing our attention into the realm of sensation, firstly. We stand and drop our breath into our hara, relax our knees, relax any tendency we might have to grip or hold.  We let ourselves feel how the force of gravity holds us on the earth. We take the time to be held by this force that we usually take for granted. Although we can tend to close our eyes when we get quiet and start to pay attention in a new way, experiment with keeping your eyes open. This tends to keep our attention both inside ourselves and outside ourselves. We want to build our center as we face into the world as well as into ourselves.   Once settled in this way—relaxed but not slack—begin adding to your practice of centering in this way. Feel into these dimensions, one by one, building awareness as you go. First feel into your length—the way your body occupies the vertical plane. Feel your spine and the spaces between your vertebrae. Both exaggerate and then relax different areas of your length, all along the vertical dimension. You might lift your head higher than you usually carry it; let yourself feel space in the cervical spine, too; let your torso stretch itself up; let your legs elongate, even if only imaginatively. Keep breathing into your length, feeling both uplifted into the sky and grounded by feeling your feet and the force of gravity holding you.   Once you’ve felt into your length for at least a minute, start to energetically feel your width or your breadth. You might want to hold your hands at your sides, but open them palm-up, which will expand your shoulders’ width and open your chest a bit more. Extend your energy to the right, then left of your body. Always bring in curiosity—is it easier to extend on one side of your body than another? Just notice. Your curiosity might start to bring up questions about why you can or can’t feel your width. Let these thoughts go and drop back into sensation—what does it feel like to expand your energy to one side, then the other?   Next you will add in the dimension of depth. Keep feeling your length and your width, but now also feel the field in front of you and the field behind you.  Settle again and feel into front and back some more. You might notice what happens to your length or width as you do this. Or you might not! Again, curiosity is your guide. Let sensations come and go. Keep feeling. As another aspect of depth, now feel into the deep insides of your body—check in with your heart, your gut, the centerline of your body. Just notice.   Finally as you allow yourself to feel all the dimensions—length, width and depth—add in what it is that you care about. Right here, right now, what is most alive for you? Whatever arises, let that be your answer. And let yourself feel yourself in this newly centered state beside what you care about.   Once complete with this practice of centering, walk around your house or yard, just letting yourself feel what it is to come into yourself in this manner. What difference does centering make to your feeling-thinking self? Again, be curious and let yourself have your own experience. Consider what has come alive in you now that was only a glimmer before.   It can be such a powerful move to simply drop our attention into our bellies, into our hara, and to move from there. Hara is much more than physicality. When we drop our attention from our (generally) all-powerful heads, it’s as if we’re acknowledging that there is another intelligence within us. As if on cue, that intelligence comes alive and begins to speak to us! As we begin to live more and more from the physical center of our bodies, we begin to experience what it’s like to feel a new kind of balance in ourselves—not only physically, but intellectually, emotionally and spiritually, too. The Japanese see the belly as a source of knowing and have elevated the concept of hara to an art form: haragei, the art of living through the belly. Haragei echoes the value of developing a sixth sense, which allows you know another’s move or thought because you feel it. With haragei, the Japanese might say they exchange thoughts and feelings from one belly to another, without words. This belly-to-belly quality means we know another through feeling into our own hara and then feeling into theirs.   When we access our hara we seat ourselves more deeply in what we are, which settles and quiets our more frenetic, achieving natures. Rather than getting caught up in others’ opinions, or in ambition or worry, we are left with only the present moment. We become more able to connect with what is emergent, with what wants to live through us. We increase our ability to see and feel what is outside and beyond ourselves—including new ideas and expression. When we’re deeply seated, we have access to what is beyond us.   Center has its own intelligence. From a centered presence we know what to say. Doubt tends to ebb away. Our thinking self quiets. From center we are more decisive. Being in a centered state can lead us into a clearer, fearless means of expressing ourselves. Center also gives us access to a  deeper, wider, more inclusive listening. When we’re centered our peripheral vision opens, and we make ourselves ready for whatever arises. From center, too, you’re settled enough to see anew what you want to create.   Center is a connected place—both within ourselves and outside of ourselves. From centered presence, a state that is alert, attentive, focused, clear, without agenda, open, connected and alive to what is--we can allow language to arise. Feeling into the dimensions of center can allow us to know ourselves anew and create from this newfound sense. In the dimension of length, as we experience “being longer”, we might even feel our “be-longing” anew. We can feel into a sense of our own dignity. In the dimension of width, we might feel how we are able, or not, to include others in our attention. We can be curious about how increasing our width might also let us increase our ability to be inclusive. With depth we feel the core of ourselves and next to that our histories and our longing.   When we’re centered, we’re the most authentic and the most trustworthy we can be. Present to ourselves and to the world that surrounds us, we’re ready to receive whatever is being offered and able to connect deeply with what is inside us and around us. We open our chests and lift our heads, feel our feet on the ground, feel our gravitas, and move into the world and into our writing from this newfound state of openness and connection. We write what we must write.     --Renée Gregorio   https://www.reneegregorio.com