I have some work stuff going on and had to miss writing class tonight. I've been thinking of what my final show could be/would be/should be and I've come up with a big fat zero. Blanks. And worse? Tick-tock.
In teacher training the other day this girl I absolutely adore taught a meditation designed to invoke the sense of nurturing oneself. So she started it off by talking about a recent experience of being around children and babies and how it's a reminder that even if you don't have kids there's a part within yourself that can be nurtured. All well and good except that she asked us to close our eyes (check!), picture ourselves as an infant (check!) and then said something like, "now picture that baby floating around inside of you." Uh oh. I think she walked us through being toddler, a child, and a teenager, too, but she lost me with the whole baby and floating stuff. Not her fault -- I just got stuck on an image and from then on, all I could think about was this baby being batted around like a little pinball, tilting at my organs: ricocheting off my spleen and then tipping off the crook of my left lung. Act quick, descending colon! Don't let that baby drop! Then it shoots back up, getting caught in my esophagus before it returns down past the xyphoid process. And so on.
People gave her feedback -- some really liked it - it helped them connect to their childhood. Others preferred to keep the past in the past. Me? I enjoyed it, though probably for the wrong reasons.