Communication

✧ A Quiet Conversation That Shapes Reality ✧

There is a moment —
not spoken, not thought —
when the body answers before the mind even asks.
A loosening in the shoulders.
A breath that deepens on its own.
A warmth in the feet that says,
“We are safe now.”

That is how it begins.
Not by commanding the body,
but by becoming the one who listens.

I used to think communication happened through the mind.
Now I see: the body hears me before I speak.
It feels my stance. It reads my truth.
It moves when I’m home.

Sometimes I say it out loud —
“You can let go now, shoulders.”
And they do.
With the ease of a wave folding into itself.

This isn’t magic.
This is how the wave state works.
In that liquid openness,
the body and I are one instrument,
played from the inside out.

This page is a map back to that place.
Not to teach you how to talk to the body —
but to remind you:
You already are.

⸻

Communication with the Body

I was lying down.
The shoulders were heavy — clenched, carrying.
And I didn’t think what to do.
I just said it softly, inside:
“Untie the shoulders.”

And they did.
Not like a machine obeying a command,
but like a friend who’d been waiting for me to speak her language.

That moment changed something.
I saw:
The body doesn’t need to be pushed.
It needs to be met.

And sometimes, yes, it wants a suggestion.
An invitation.
Not a fix — but a co-creation.

We don’t move the body.
We move as the body.
And when we meet it in truth,
it begins to trust us again.

That’s when the healing started to root.
Not in trying to change what I felt.
But in speaking from inside the wave.
Not with effort —
but with rhythm, with presence, with love.

This is how the body becomes what it was meant to be:
Not a battlefield.
Not a burden.
But an instrument of awareness.

⸻

Co-Creation in the Nervous System

It didn’t begin with words.
It began with breath.
A moment of not reaching forward, not collapsing back.
Just being… here.

And in that instant,
the nervous system recognized me.
Not the one trying to fix it all.
The one who listened.

The neck softened.
The breath returned.
The wave passed through.

This is how we co-create.
Not by managing reality.
But by meeting it.

Right here —
where awareness rests in the body.
Right here —
where the nervous system hears:
She’s home.

And then…
the field responds.
Not because I asked.
But because I arrived.

⸻

The Moment of Meeting

Sometimes it’s so subtle.
The fingertips on the marble.
The weight of the hips in the seat.
The sound of a distant bird.

And yet everything ripples from there.
Not because I did something —
but because I met something.

Myself.

It’s not about becoming the perfect version of me.
It’s about letting go of the need to become anything at all.

And in that pause…
the body breathes.
The contact points speak.
The next moment begins to shape itself
around how I meet me.

Not in the mind.
In the breath.
In the hum.
In the way the world leans in
to meet that truth.

⸻

And Then, the Piano

I sat behind the keys,
just to see if my fingers still knew.
And without effort, they moved.
As if the music had never left.

The chords came back,
not from memory,
but from rhythm.
Not from practice,
but from presence.

And I had to be gentle —
not because I feared mistakes,
but because I knew:
each touch rewrites the nervous system.
Each breath of trust becomes the next.

As my fingers walked the keyboard,
the body lit up.
The wave came through.
And I remembered:
This too…
is communication

✦ Module 1 – The Real Start

There’s a moment.
Not big. Not grand.
No thunder, no spotlight, no applause.
Just a quiet something that shifts inside.
A spine straightening.
A breath deepening.
A whisper:
“This time, I stay.”

Not because you’re finally ready.
Not because you’ve got a 12-step plan or cleared your calendar.
But because you’re done with the loop.
You’re done abandoning the one thing that’s never abandoned you —
you.

This is not the start where you try again.
This is not a comeback tour.
This is the moment where the trying ends,
and the showing up begins.

You might still hear the old voices:
“You never finish.”
“You always drift.”
“Who are you kidding?”

Good. Let them speak.
Let them echo through the hallways of your nervous system.
They’re proof you’ve arrived at the threshold.
They only scream when you’re about to leave them behind.

Because now, we’re not chasing.
We’re not performing.
We’re not building to prove.
We’re building because we’re home.

This course isn’t something you take.
It’s something you become.
One lived page at a time.
One nervous system moment at a time.
One breath.
One choice.
One soft “yes.”

You made it to the real start.
Let’s begin here.
Together

🛠 Practice 1 — The Moment You Notice, That’s the Moment You Begin
 
This is the first tool.
It’s not glamorous. It doesn’t wear a name tag.
But it’s real.
 
It’s the moment you notice you’re drifting.
The moment you catch yourself in the loop.
The “oh shit, I’m doing it again” moment.
That is the real start.
And it’s never too late.
 
⫸ Try this:
1.Pause.
Not with force.
Just… stop.
No matter where you are — in the kitchen, in a thought spiral, halfway through a sentence.
You don’t need to fix it.
You just need to notice.
2.Feel where your body touches the world.
Your feet on the floor.
Your thighs on the chair.
Your back against the pillow.
This is the real surface.
And it never left you.
3.Say it softly, inside or out loud:
“This is the moment I begin.”
4.Do nothing else.
Let that one moment register.
Like a stone dropped in a still lake.
That’s enough.
The water knows how to ripple.
 
⫸ Why it works:
Because your nervous system doesn’t need drama to rewire.
It just needs consistency in these tiny moments.
Each time you catch the drift and return to contact,
you are building the track beneath your feet.
Not in your head.
In your body.
 
You don’t need motivation.
You don’t need discipline.
You don’t even need a plan.
 
You just need to notice.
And come back.
 
That’s it.
That’s the practice.
You’re already doing it.
 
⸻
 
🌬 The First Step Is So Small
 
You don’t have to fix anything. You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t even have to feel much.
 
You just need to know how to come back.
 
And that begins with the smallest step we can take:
one breath, one point of contact, and one quiet return.
 
⸻
 
✨ Mini Practice: One Breath, One Spot
1.Sit.
Let your body settle wherever you are. No need to change anything. Just sit.
Feel the contact — your butt on the chair, your back against the wall, your feet touching the floor.
Pick one. Just one.
2.Bring your attention there.
Not with a story.
Just with your awareness. Like a warm hand gently resting on that spot.
No need to fix or change.
3.Now breathe.
Slowly. Naturally.
Let the breath move while your awareness stays.
Let the breath and the contact point be in the same space.
4.Stay for one more breath.
Notice if part of your attention wants to drift.
It’s okay. Just come back.
Each return is the real practice

🌿 The Moment I Remembered My Body Isn’t a Machine

A turning point inside the course — and maybe inside you too.

There’s a moment that came during the building of this course.
Not a dramatic moment.
But one of those quiet, irreversible cracks.
The kind that splits something open without making a sound.

We were shaping a section about nervous system reprogramming. The kind of topic that often triggers an old mode — the mode that says,

“I need to get this right.”
“I must cover everything, be thorough, precise, professional.”
“It matters. The world depends on it.”

That’s when I slipped. Without noticing.
Back into the machine suit.
The mode where the body gets treated like a tool, a thing to optimize.
Where creation becomes a project to control instead of a being to meet.

I forgot I was walking around in you —
in a soft animal of a body.
And I started to make it a machine again.

The moment I saw it, it hurt.
Not in a sharp way.
But in that deep, aching way that only comes when you realize you’ve been pushing away your own aliveness.

⸻

There was a word that caught me: “relational.”
My partner in this creation said,

“It’s not mechanical. It’s relational.”
And suddenly, I saw what I had done.

The whole course was being built for the body, with the body…
But I had stepped over it,
rushed past it,
forgotten to be with it.

It reminded me of old films I watched as a child — The Terminator, half-man half-machine, powered by destruction and code.
Even back then, something in me recoiled.
Not just at the violence — but at the deep truth hidden in the fiction:
how easily something beautiful can be used for control.
How often power becomes disconnection.

⸻

That’s the pattern I’m leaving now.
Right here.
In this moment of weeping.

This course will not be a machine.
It won’t run on steel rails and precision screws.
It will live and breathe and tremble and slow down when needed.
Because it is built from relational presence — not performance.

This is how we reprogram.
Not by force.
Not by tightening.
But by loosening the grip.
By noticing when we’ve left our own side… and coming back.

⸻

You might feel it too, somewhere along this journey.
A place where the project becomes more important than the presence.
Where getting it right matters more than being real.
And if that happens, I invite you to pause here.
To feel the ground beneath you.
To return to your soft animal body.

You are not a machine.
And neither is this path.

We are building something that remembers.
Together

Getting Shit Out
 
Clearing out the old to make space for what’s real
 
Last night I had a dream.
I woke up with the ache still alive in my body — not just a vague impression, but a deep, physical activation. Half my nervous system felt shut off. I tried to dissolve it, to breathe through it, but only part of it moved. Then life happened. The kids needed me, the snow was falling, and my attention was pulled outward.
 
I knew part of it was still active. That’s how these things work: if you don’t meet the imprint directly in the body, it keeps replaying — in dreams, in reflections, in people showing up to trigger the exact same knot.
 
And yes. Of course someone showed up.
A conversation, a situation, a confrontation. The very thing the dream had foreshadowed.
 
But here’s the thing.
By the time it’s playing out in your life, it’s already too late to prevent it. You can’t stop the unfolding. You can stop the reinforcement. You can stop yourself from reacting in a way that lays down the same track again. 
 
This is where the RAA tool comes in —
Recognize. Acknowledge. Accept..
•Recognize what belief system is active. Don’t fight it. Don’t react to the scenery.
•Acknowledge the ache it brings in the body.
•Allow yourself to feel it without bracing, acting, or looping. Accept that it is there, and that it may never go away. 
 
What counts most is where I point my attention —
because attention is what builds tracks. Where your attention flows, life grows. Or in this case tracks. Had I fought the believe that was underneath the scenery, the communication I had going on was; yes this is true about me. And new tracks were layed for future days to ride.
 
If I let the old ache drive my actions, my words, my energetic stance, I’m just laying down another layer of the same reality. Another brick on the same road. But if I can stay aware of it in my body — let the shoulders soften, let the breath deepen, let the tongue move, by doing so let the body know it is save so that it stays open— I can allow the energy to pass through without giving it new words or actions in my world again. 
 
And yes, today was one of those days where I almost gave up.
I couldn’t get the tension out. Not just emotionally — I literally couldn’t shit. That’s how blocked things were. And yet I kept listening. Kept redirect my spiralling thoughts into feeling what is really here. Now. And by doing so I accepted that the situation might never resolve, but for now I choose to switched toward feeling the now. In the body. Until I realised again that I’m the conductor and not the people shouting my old believes. Until I realised it is a beautiful day and nothing really is the matter.
 
And then it started to move. The shit came out on all levels; Yawning. Tears. Snot. Burp. Energy releasing. And yes; finally a successful toilet visit. And that’s the true switching of tracks.
And tomorrow, I build.
From the hum in my feet, from the truth in my spine, from the fire in my hands.
 
Let’s call it a beginning.