17/07/2025
There’s a moment, sometimes, when the parts that have been seeking home for so long suddenly remember they belong to the same body, the same village. When what has been hidden and compressed finds its way back to visibility, not through being fixed, but through being witnessed in their longing to reconnect.
In my work dancing Hakomi with pain and our bodies as wise, I’ve been experiencing this journey from hiding to visibility in the space between us, how our bodies hold languages that our mechanistic frameworks can’t quite capture.
How we can move together from the suppression of essential aspects to this organic emergence of who we’ve always been, our weird ones finally safe enough to come out and play.
The body knows things that words can’t reach. It speaks in rhythms and resonance, in the subtle softening that happens when we meet someone fully in their living body. When we stop trying to reassemble the pieces and start trusting what wants to organically emerge.
There’s something that happens when we witness not just the trauma, but the unwalked paths, the yearning for reconnection, the nonverbal wisdom that exists in what remains adrift.
When we make space for the literal, metaphoric, symbolic, hypothetical, physical, and meta-knowings that are intimately entwined. When we trust that the body is providing exactly the language it needs, even when that language doesn’t fit our contemporary frames.
Sometimes, what’s most needed looks like the careful tending of parts seeking home. And sometimes it looks like pure ebullient-ment, the simple joy of being fully, unapologetically alive in your living body.
The weird one has been waiting. Not to be understood or managed, but to be met with delight in their particular brand of magic. To be celebrated, not just accepted. To be joined in their dance back to wholeness.
What wants to emerge when it’s finally safe to play?
