Tonight I just got done with a session, a sixth hour of Rolfing® Structural Integration where I had certain goals involving a huge well-established scoliotic pattern.
The pattern was established most overtly through the bottom part of the ribs, the diaphragm, the suspensory ligaments of the thorax, and the in-betweens: that part of mostly soft tissue between the rib cage (oh-so-cagey a rib cage, too) and the top of the hips.
We talked over stuff, I saw her move around a bit, and I developed a plan. The plan included dis-establishing the scoliotic pattern by working on the lower legs including getting some movement through the interosseus membranes and working up to the sacrotuberous ligamentatious parts and working the hip rotator Gemelli brothers as well as some of the others.
Trouble was, when I got to the in-between parts and was scrubbing away at that hard dense stuff and waiting out the changes in the suspensory ligaments, reshaping the rib oh-so-cagey cage, my mind was starting to argue with me. It was getting bored.
It was saying really unproductive things, like, “Just hurry up” and “this picture will never make the Rolf Institute Journal of Structural Integration so just close it up and call it: 5:15 pm”. (I guess I have watched way too much “General Hospital” type shows in the past.)
Still working away, keeping the goals in mind, somehow I began to ruminate on a quote: “Dark Wings Flapping”, still trying to figure out how to quiet down the argument.
Still working away, I remembered that Carol had a film clip on Facebook which talked about leaving poetry in library books. I have begun to leave books lying around my neighborhood, as a way of trimming my collection, and think that I might add poems to them.
Still working away, I began to pseudo-poemize: here ’tis:[Looking UP] dark wings flapping o’er Loosing great gobs of goo goo Missing me: I smile.
The session was a success; I had enough patience to get the goals. Did I share the pseudo-poem? Nope. Just gave her some homework.