The book, "The Elusive Obvious," was once only available in Hardback format — which brings me a special kind of sensorial gratification.

As I flip through the dense and fibrous pages, I digest each word of somatic wonder. My mind starts to bend towards a deeper realization that this work, The Feldenkrais Method®, is so much more than movement. What we discover about ourselves can change everything!

A few weeks ago, I went on a relatively short and easy hike in the woods, a trail I had been on before. It led to a beautiful watering hole where a stream became a waterfall, ultimately flowing into a large pool for swimming before continuing onward. The trail was quite wide and did not have many obstructions to deal with; it was also relatively flat.

Along I plodded, anxious to reach the water to cool off as it was an exceptionally hot and muggy day. Halfway there and my feet and back were already tiring. By the time I reached all the action, which was only a mile in, my feet had moved past tiring to aching.

The movements of Feldenkrais® can serve as a conduit to a deeper connection to yourself and is one of the ways in which it’s similar to yoga. The difference, however, is how we go about those movements. But those differences can vary from person-to-person and from teacher-to-teacher (lineage or style).

For better or worse, cold weather has finally arrived in the Northeast. I actually prefer the cool, crisp air of Winter over the hot and muggy days of Summer.

Still, I am not a huge fan of outdoor walks this time of year. So I was faced with the perennial question, “What can I do to keep moving this winter?” My favorite answer: Swimming! Indoors, that is. Probably not surprisingly, I shiver at the thought of joining one of these ‘polar bear’ clubs where some folks run into icy cold lakes in their skivvies!

Recently a student approached me at the end of class and asked me if experiencing strong emotions while doing Awareness Through Movement was normal. My answer: “Yes.” Emotions don’t surface all of the time, but it does happen, and the intensity of the experience can vary.

When I first started reading Moshe Feldenkrais’ books nearly 25 years ago, I was utterly obsessed with the mind-body connections—specifically how I could shift my emotional base and perspectives by working with my body. I consumed his writings along with those of Ida Rolf, Alexander Lowen, and books like Emotional Anatomy.

Forty years ago, my life was abruptly altered. It was my last year of college, and I woke up one night with so much pain in my ribs – both front and back – that I had difficulty breathing.

It continued to happen night after night, and I knew that I’d better get it checked out.

The Year was 1994, and I was a bicycling dread-head with a desperate urge to grow my consciousness, heal my body, and figure out why the holy heavens I was here on earth.

I had not yet entered my 20’s, and although I had lived in at least five states, all of them were in the Midwest — which by the way, is awesome for oh-so-many reasons. But none the less, my belly ached with a desire to find something different — to be something different.

We have all been told that aging brings with it aches, pains, and loss of function. Many of us have even accepted the fact that joint pain is inevitable and that we will someday have to give up doing those things that bring us the most joy.

But what if there’s another way?

“What sound does the Moon make?” he said to me on our way home from the park.

“I don’t know, what do you hear?” I replied.