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Christine Moore Shimmy Yogini

Christine's blogs

I love to write. I hope my words can somehow inspire you, or help you ponder your own life experience.

Being 55

1/16/2015

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My other annual birthday writings have been about becoming. I wrote about becoming 52, 53 and 54.

This year I’m writing about being. Being in the present moment, fully, because as time revolves not so many days remain. Who can know the number of days left? If we live in the past, we are living as if in a dream, a fantasy of our own imagination and our own reality of what transpired. How many conversations have we all had where one of the participants said, “I don’t remember it that way.” There is a slide show in our mind of the past and future that is ours alone. It’s based entirely on the way our life has shaped us.

As for being 55, I like the number. Two of the same, side by side. It reminds me of my oppositions. I feel as if my life is coming into alignment, like the shadow and the light embracing in the breeze that life sways them to meet in. It makes me think of choreography, once on one side and repeated on the other. Any dancer would recognize this sense of balance. One hand is stronger than the other, one side of the brain it is said, is dominant. I remember sitting on a teeter totter with my best friend in a park in Ojai, next to Natelles house. We were close to the same weight, yet one could hold on and keep the other lifted. A gentle push with the feet and the other goes up. I enjoy the thought of keeping some balance, even when it seems one side has the advantage.

This year, I intend to bring all of what I AM in to play, to create a full bodied and ever changing ten. I hope to embrace all the aspects that life pulses in, to meet me in the days ahead.


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    I dance

    I  dance to quench my thirst

    to reach my fingertips as close as they can come to heaven

    and then slowly flutter them down to feel the vibration from the earth.

    To pulse with all things

    as my heart races in rhythm

    to my inner drum

    beat.

    To wake what lies inside sleeping until it is disturbed

    wrestled awake by the shake of my hips

    rattle of my bones

    slither of my arms

    As I dance, I soar without wings
     ~Christine



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