In a recent meditation I had the privilege of perceiving myself as a tendril in the aliveness of the universe. Inside of that, I also recognized how much of my energy goes into managing the experience of my unrelenting aliveness. One minute I am present as pain; in another, pleasure. I often attempt to consciously control the nature of my being, yet these attempts seem only to keep me busy, and perhaps to enhancing my suffering. I can choose certain paths and actions, but even these apparently volitional practices come from deeper drives and desires that I observe and participate in more than direct. My parents used to tell me to find my intrinsic motivation: It’s a never-ending exploration that holds more meaning for me in the light of self-observation than it ever did in approaching schoolwork. The other day I bought a sticker that says “Don’t just do something, sit there!” I take home that in observing myself I can discern the deeper truth of my being, and in practicing such discernment the coordination of my intentions and actions will always be more vital. When we face our inner realities, I think, we can heal the deepest of wounds, whether at the level of movement patterning or life patterning (and they’re the same). This doesn’t mean we’ll be comfortable—life often isn’t—but I find that the deeper I go down the rabbit hole, the more grateful I am to be alive.

Of course I can’t prove any of this highly subjective stuff, but I see it like the light of day. And, I’m intrinsically drawn to share it.

In being,

Matthew

Definitions are boundaries. They give us edges to navigate. When we perceive an object we decode its shape by seeing (or feeling) its edges. I find language to be similar: We rely on the edges of meaning in order to define our communications with each other. We often have different understandings of the words we share; sometimes the edges can be blurry. At the very least, like objects, definitions of words can appear different depending on the perspectives from which we approach them. Yet the bulk and weight of a word’s meaning may still be perceivable even when we can’t quite determine its edges. I think the phrase “movement therapy” functions in this way. Every one of us reading those words has some idea of what they’re referring to, and yet the edges are unclear. Even my own perception of what I do as a movement therapist is constantly evolving. I’d like to share some of the edges I see, and the volume those edges contain.

Lets begin with the more common phrase “physical therapy.” These words are defined not only by physical therapists, but also by a whole system that includes doctors, insurance companies, and universities. I expect certain behaviors and approaches from physical therapists, including the measurement, diagnosis, and treatment of physical injuries and diseases. In order to participate in a standardized system, such injuries, diseases, and disabilities are strictly categorized. I have met many physical therapists who appear to genuinely perceive their patients this way—as representations of defined problems and diagnoses.   I have also met many physical therapists who seem to be working with something much more alive—human beings. Thomas Hanna labels this whole-systems view of a person a soma, complete with their emotions, behaviors, and patterns. Such a view makes a dis-ease much more difficult to define. I have heard this complaint from many somatically-oriented physical therapists as they attempt to fit their well-rounded practices into the square holes of insurance paperwork.

As a movement therapist, I come from the world of art. I am a dancer and choreographer. I engage with aesthetics. To define aesthetics, perhaps we do best to begin with anesthetics. Anesthetics—take asprin for example (try 2)—help us to not feel. To consider aesthetics is to pay attention to the subjectivity of sensation, emotion, and the individuality of our aliveness. Even pain is a vital resource from an aesthetic perspective. To become a movement therapist I learned to consider movement as something that is both discretely physical, and as something filled with meaning. The language system of Laban Movement Analysis (LMA) provides me with ways to define the edges of what I see in my clients’ movements and bodies. Within the framework of LMA, Pilates, and myofascial bodywork I do many of the same things that physical therapists do: I use touch to engage the relationships between my clients’ nervous, fascial, bone, and muscular systems. I have equipment to help create dynamic resistance in specific planes of motion as I help my clients retrain their movement patterns. I observe and speak about my observations. I do not diagnose. Instead, I interact with the whole of the living phenomenon in front of me. There are things that are similar about my work with different clients, but in order to attune to what is meaningful I approach every person and every session as a unique piece of art. In some cases my clients literally end up dancing, although their dances might not be recognizable as such on So You Think You Can Dance.

I have struggled a bit with the difference between the words “therapist,” and “educator.” The International Somatic Movement Education and Therapy Association, of which I’m a member, offers certifications as a therapist or educator based on the same qualifications. I think a good therapist is an educator. I do not fix or heal my clients. People heal themselves when the conditions are right. I help people learn—in their bodies as well as their minds—how to move with greater efficiency, diversity, resilience, and ease. I help people align themselves in space and time to better function and express their vitality. I’ll use any tool through which we can artfully engage in that task together. To me, that’s movement therapy.

Criticality and Compassion
I have always been good at critical thinking. I ask questions, look for holes in logic, and question assumptions. As an academic I was proud of my abilities. Then, at a somatics conference a few years ago, a colleague provided me with a new view of my criticality. He suggested that a critical situation is one in which our life is at stake—it’s about life and death. Suddenly my critical abilities turned on themselves: If I’m always behaving like I’m in a life or death situation, then no wonder I have tended to feel a bit anxious and uncomfortable! Heck, I’ll give myself a heart attack! Ever since that realization I’ve been actively seeking a new balance. I value my criticality: I’m good at keeping myself safe. Yet when I AM safe, then what?
The dictionary definition of compassion revolves around concern for the suffering of others. I use the word compassion to suggest love and generosity. Compassion is a balancing force in relationship to criticality. Ultimately, we will each die, and no level of critical thought will be able to prevent that. Compassion allows me to meet whatever in myself or someone else is not perfect and to find love and acceptance. As a bodyworker and teacher of movement, my ability to be both compassionate and critical at the same time is essential. My goal is not to ‘fix’ clients—we are not machines—but rather to help people in their healing process. We often have the opportunity to find a way of being and moving that brings us greater vitality. Healing requires acceptance of what is so that new paths can be discovered. The more I learn about compassion the more honest and accepting I am.
My wife Kendy and I are teaching Embodying Compassion at Sage Yoga this Saturday in Boise, ID. We began teaching workshops together last summer while traveling the country that combine permaculture, somatics, communication, and even nutrition to better our relationships with each other, our selves, and our live Earth. We call our work Embodied Ecology, and you can find us at www.wearelivingsystems.org. If you’re in Boise, please join us this Saturday from 2-4pm by registering at www.sageyogaboise.com. You can also find additional upcoming events below. If you’re not local, we’re starting to plan an Embodied Ecology tour for next summer—let us know if you’d be interested in hosting or working with us!

Body Flow at Yoga Tree begins Sunday Sept. 25th at 4pm and will run weekly!
Come home to your body with somatic practices melding Pilates, Bartenieff Fundamentals, Feldenkrais, and yoga. We’ll explore the functional connectivity of our fascia along with the expressive connectivity of dance through compassionate non-judgement. We’ll learn the feeling of our own anatomy so that our intentions can be revealed in our actions. We’ll move gently and fully so that when we’re done, we feel like we just got a massage: Connected, in love, and alive. 75min.

Moving Beyond Pain is a therapeutic curriculum launching at Matthew Nelson Movement this fall. The premise of the program is that pain is a valuable signal from our bodies that the ways we’ve been doing things aren’t working anymore. When we learn to listen to the language of our own bodies we can literally move into new possibilities. You can attend a free introductory workshop on Wedsnesday September 21st or Saturday September 24th. Space is limited—sign up now at www.matthewnelsonmovement.com, where you can also find a fuller description of the program!

I have a crazy hobby of working on automobiles. I recently took on head replacement on a 2002 Volkswagen Passat V6 that I bought with a snapped timing belt. It’s the most complex vehicle that I’ve ever worked on. It kept my busy and somewhat terrified for a number of weeks. While not perfect yet, I drove it out of the garage under its own power. Cars either work right or they don’t. They don’t have fears, pains, desires, or unexpressed needs. I do, and so in working with them I take on the challenge of my own patterns and emotions. It’s a bit like running a marathon.

My deeper work is with people. Like cars, we are complex. Like cars, there are times we are not functioning optimally. Yet unlike cars our tissues are dynamic. Our nature as living organic systems means that it DOES matter how we feel about things and what we express. It is completely normal for me to work with someone on a physical and functional issue—scar tissue, movement patterning, flexibility, or strength building—and simultaneously support deep emotional processing. We all have stories of our lives, our pasts, and our dreams. These stories live in our bodies at least as much as in our minds. Our stories affect how we move and how we feel. We are not objects, like automobiles. We are subjects, and the edges of our beings lack the clear definitions of shiny metal objects. I work with cars because they’re simple and predictable. I work with people because it’s the most powerful way I know to be in service, and it’s a joy to be in lively relationship.

We are living systems, made up of living systems, and participating in living systems. The study of how living systems interact is ecology, and my wife Kendy and I like to engage with people from this ecological perspective. We call our work from this viewpoint—a mix of movement, awareness, and relationship building—embodied ecology. On Saturday Sept. 10^th from 2-4pm we’d love to share our new workshop, Embodying Compassion with you at Boise’s Sage Yoga. The flier, with more information, is attached below.

This fall I’m launching a new curriculum, Moving Beyond Pain. My training and experience as a dancer, choreographer, and somatic therapist has given me some clear tools for understanding the language of the body. Like ratchets, torque wrenches, and screwdrivers, these tools can be applied to a wide range of possible situations. I understand pain as a communication from our bodies that the things we’ve been doing aren’t working anymore. If pain is like a check-engine light, Moving Beyond Pain offers a diagnostic tool that can help us move forward in our lives and do the things we love. In Moving Beyond Pain we will look at the basics of how we move, how we build awareness, and how we apply that mindfulness back to our movement. Like working on cars, experience has shown me that it’s never as scary as it seems before we begin. More details will be forthcoming. In the meantime, I will be presenting two free Moving Beyond Pain introductory workshops on Wednesday September 21^st from 7-8:15pm and Saturday September 24th from 10-11:15am at my studio at 760 E. Warm Springs, Boise. There will only be 10 slots available for each of these dates. Please email me at thewnelson@gmail.com to reserve a spot!

Finally, if you’re ready to dance, come jam with me this Saturday for Dance, Play, Love at 10am at my studio. That flier is also attached below!

In my teaching, my therapeutic work, and my own personal practices I value generativity. As living systems we generate vitality. In opposition to entropy—the supposed law of the universe by which concentrated energy disperses—living systems organize and focus energy. We can generate aliveness and share it with others generously when we move together, whether that be through dancing or just conversation. Generativity and generosity are rooted in our embodied experience. For example, it’s very difficult to be generous when in significant pain. And, simultaneously, I often hear and experience that being generous with others is a key part of healing my own wounds. The word love fits in here somewhere, and it’s a significant force for healing! If we take a step deeper we find that making love, a terminology not to be ignored, results in future generations. When we procreate we send the life force we generate forward into the future.

As a parent I am constantly challenged by what I feel I should be doing for my son and my partner. I have ideas about what is and is not generous, and moral dilemmas arise for me as I consider how to best share my energy. I need to be functioning well as a generative being to share the energy I generate with others. If I share energy that I’m not generating sustainably, I will burn out and be unable to share much of worth. I just installed a solar power system in my vanagon that has similar limitations: If I draw more power than I’m generating I will eventually run the batteries down far enough that they get damaged.

Deep patterns are passed through generations. We inherit structures and behaviors from our parents that become us. Psychologists debate back and forth between how nature (genetics) and nurture (environment) create our behavior. The most important understanding to come out of this dualist exploration is that both nature and nurture have their effects, and both are provided to us by our families. I often hear clients speak of ‘congenital’ issues in their bodies that they consider inevitable. I tell the story about how learning new behaviors—including movement patterns—can prevent us from having the injuries and pains so often hopelessly ascribed to genetics. Just as we can inherit the dis-ease of previous generations, we can also heal it. To heal the past is a form of the generosity we send into future generations.

I recognize that my son faces an uncertain future in a world where we are not paying attention to how we generate and utilize energy of all sorts. As a culture we abuse fossil fuels just as we abuse ourselves: We so often use our energy up faster than we’re generating it. From climate change to depression, the results aren’t hard to see. With awareness we can learn how to generate energy in our bodies—I know this because it has been my life’s path. I believe the same is true for the larger living systems of culture and planet. That said, we live first and foremost as the living systems of our embodied selves. It is for this reason that I care so deeply for the study of movement: In our bodies we know how to take care of future generations. We’ve been doing it for longer than we can imagine.

I recently returned from a vision fast. I spent 4 days fasting alone in the wild, supported on either end by integration with a spectacular group of men. I brought only a journal—no books, ipad, camera, or other things to “do.” I brought a tarp, and I used it to find shelter in a cave twenty feet off the ground when it rained. The purpose of this adventure was to find greater clarity in my life’s purpose: I wanted to initiate my egoic ability to function in the world in to the service of my soul. This all appears rather dramatic, and it is indeed a story with personal potency. Yet, the drama of what took place for me is far less important than the simplicity of listening to our shared live earth. I have been initiated in my service to Gaia.

Gaia is the idea and name of the earth as a whole living organism. We are part of this living system that the word “Gaia” represents. When I make meaning of something I experience, then that meaning exists in Gaia because I exist in Gaia. And, Gaia is so much bigger than I am. Cultures more attuned to the language of nature take this for granted, I think, while for me it’s a gentle revelation. I learned lessons from Rattlesnake, listened to rhythms expressed by Rain, and spoke with numerous characters I saw in the rocks of Idaho’s Little City of Rocks Wilderness Study Area.

Movement is a constant in living systems. It is how we gather resources and express our intentions. On the other side of movement is sensation. We constantly take in information about ourselves in relation to our surroundings. Awareness is a form of consciousness by which we notice our sensations and actions. When we interpret our sensations or actions then we are building upon awareness and generating stories for ourselves. Oftentimes stories are given to us such that we organize our awareness into shared structures. The stock market represents such a story: Wealth is generated and destroyed based on a shared belief that these numbers represent something real. Yoga is another version of such a story: Particular movements are given meaning through their practice. In both cases these belief structures have very real effects in our lives: We can gain or lose wealth that buys us food. We can gain or lose flexibility, strength, and connectedness with our bodies. I find that moving in the natural world connects me to a very deep story wired directly into my physical, emotional, and spiritual being. We are living systems, made up of living systems, and participating in the living system of Gaia. When I connect to Gaia by moving and sensing in wild places I build awareness of a life force larger than myself.

We as humans are not acting mindfully within Gaia. We seem largely unaware of how unsustainable our movements are as we create tremendous toxicity through the abuse of our natural resources. Meanwhile, I’d assert this way of life isn’t making us happy. Because we are part of Gaia, and capable of being sensitive to this shared consciousness, movement and awareness in our own bodies are the beginning of saving ourselves on Earth. I don’t think we’ll hurt Gaia that much overall—we’re just a flash in the timescale of Gaia’s aliveness. The possibility that we’ll exterminate ourselves is very real, though. I see it in each of us when we choose not to notice the signals our own bodies give us for healing, when we allow addictions to determine our actions, or when we fail to communicate honestly. I see it in each of us when we choose fearful stagnancy over movement and love for our bodies and beings. I am devoted to bringing myself and others to movement and awareness because I am devoted to humanity as part of Gaia. I am in your service.