ENERGY ARTIST

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I was at work, but instead of the usual standing at my desk, I was sitting in a circle of unfamiliar women. There was a large bowl filled with small round pebbles and we all had our hands in the bowl, running the stones through our fingers. There was a woman walking slowly around our circle saying something I couldn’t quite make out. I would hear just a word here and there. “Feelings.” “Sensory.” I realized that I was at some kind of women’s retreat and a pretty lame one if they were having it in my cubicle. Then I clearly heard the woman who must have been the group leader say “Now we will begin the hair cutting ceremony.” I froze with a fist full of pebbles and tilted my head like a puppy. A what, you say? I took a minute to do an internet search for ‘hair cutting ceremonies’ and was rewarded with images of women hacking off long braids of hair with a hunting knife. I had no idea what this would mean for me, someone with no long braids and super short hair, but I was not to keen on finding out how my hair was going to be ceremonially cut.

I straight up noped myself out of that dream.

That very same morning of the hair cutting dream, I scooted to work and had to stop at the street light that I always have to stop at. I saw an elderly gentleman, with an Einsteinian head of hair and beard all white, riding a one-wheel while strumming on a guitar. I believe he was also singing because I could see his mouth moving. Unfortunately, the helmet plus street noise drowned out his tunes. It was the most Portland like thing I have witnessed here in ages. One of the charms that Chris and I discovered about Kansas City was that it had/has some Portland like qualities. We had really wanted to end up in Portland, but Kansas City has been a good consolation prize. For me at least.

There seems to be a bit of woo-woo circling around me. Many of you know how I feel about woo. Just last week, the pendulum that I carry in my yoga mat bag fell out as I was packing up at the end of class. My students noticed it and started asking questions. I told them about my party trick of seeing chakras spin by holding a pendulum over them. I am a scientist. I teach yoga to other scientists. My words were immediately met with skepticism. I raised my hands and said “I know, I know, I know. I was also a skeptic, but I have seen it in action.” I went on to tell them about the section of teacher training that dealt with energy bodies and the number of times I rolled my eyes. I am not a believer in woo. Except some times? I’ll buy into some amount of woo after I’ve done some deep diving scientific research. I don’t know the science behind spinning chakra yet, but you can be sure I’ll look into it.

The Law of Conservation of Energy:

The energy of a closed system must remain constant - it can neither increase nor decrease without interference from outside. The universe itself is a closed system, so the total amount of energy in existence has always been the same. The forms that energy takes, however, are constantly changing.

Most woo has a scientific explanation. Just this week, the New York Times had an article on the interstitium, a newishly discovered network conduit between the skin and fascia. I’ve already geeked out over this when I learned about the interstitium last year, but the discovery of a circulatory system involving the connective tissues validates Eastern medicinal techniques like acupuncture. Acupuncture is considered to be an effective treatment for nausea from chemotherapy as well as relieving chronic pain (there’s a lot of research papers out there on both topics). Acupuncture, to many a Westerner, seems a bit woo-woo. It relies on meridian lines and the flow of chi (vital life-force energy), which sounds straight up woo. Now, we’ve discovered that meridian lines map up to the interstitium and the whole flowing chi stuff is hyaluronic acid.

Science explaining woo-woo.

Jenn came to work one day this week so we could have lunch together and we talked a lot about how we are both having a case of the blahs. We both agreed that hormones played a part in all of this as well as just the current sate of the planet. I said something about how I keep thinking this mood is going to lift any minute and then we discussed moments when it does lift. Roller skating. Scooter rides. Walks outside. Having lunch with Jenn. All of these are moments where I felt lifted from the gunk. Seeing the elderly gentleman on the one-wheel was also a gunk lifting moment.

The forms that energy takes, however, are constantly changing.

Thursday morning, when an issue with one particular microscope that should have been resolved two weeks ago kept me from moving forward with imaging, I locked myself in a bathroom stall and cried for a good five to ten minutes. Then I put on my headphones and stepped outside. I thought I’d just take a short walk down to the Kauffman Gardens, but as I neared the gardens, I just kept going. I walked up to the Nelson Museum of Art, all the way to the front and back around. Eventually, I made it back to the Kauffman Gardens. There were a gaggle of teens at the entrance as I was leaving the garden. There might have been a roll-call happening, but a few of them had hands raised in the air. I high-fived the hand of a young lady as I power walked past her and when I glanced back she was laughing. The interaction made me grin and that joy stayed with me as I headed back to work. High fiving a stranger is highly recommended for a mood booster.

Honestly, the woo is often circling around me. It’s probably why I can be standing somewhere minding my own business and have the oddest duck of a human walk right up to me to start a conversation. I’m just not always paying attention. The lesson of this week, one that I am grateful for, is not just to pay attention to the forms that energy is taking around me, but that I also have the ability choose what form some of that energy takes on. I can imagine twisting and molding the energy like clay and turning it into something I want to be a part of. Energy artist.

We can all be energy artists.