I lie down to open spaces that I cannot access when I’m standing or sitting up.
I lie down when I am at the edges of knowing and not knowing.
I lie down when I am at an ending, when I’m replaying how or why it happened.
I lie down when I am gathering myself, timid to start again, impatient to see if the path chosen is what I want, doubtful if the courage is there.
I lie down when there is annihilation and creation, when I’m both “no more” and “not quite yet”. The voices that show up during decomposition and absorption phases seem to be heard more while lying down. Metamorphosis is under way.
I lie down when all forms of doing have been attempted, and when I discover (yet again) that the doing doesn’t always work. Lying down as an act of surrender, of rest, of soaking in, of smoking out, of symbol speaking, of giving a fuck enough to no longer give a fuck.
I lie down because it’s where my form can be held. Held by mattress or floor, pillow and bolster, and held from the top via a warm covering of a quilt or duvet. The freedom to bend and curl, tuck and burrow. I am reminded that when I lie down, I can be, release expectations and relieve experiences, and return to the Void.
I lie down because the most intimate conversations are shared while on my side or back. The sweetness of being soft, when receptivity is activated, when closeness is encountered, energies penetrated, the romance of being recognized and recognizing. The romance of being with the Unseen, or perhaps, more accurately, the Unseen with me.
I lie down. Lying down reorients me. Lying down as a destination in it of itself.
The voices remind me to not rush to the “getting up” part.
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