When Great Trees Fall

Well, here we are, I went two weeks without a blog! GOODNESS!! Although radio silence can speak volumes. August into September is such a big transitional period for a lot of folks, especially parents with big emotional send-offs and families making big moves. In general, a lot of risky decisions and scary changes happen in that tail end of summer into the first week of school. It can be taxing on every bit of us: emotionally exhausting, physically strenuous, our immune systems become depleted. I can see the toll it takes on us in the studio as bodies crumble to the mat when they walk in. The glazed-over eyes, despondent energy, and a delayed response to my cues. Trust me, I'm not mad at it. I embrace it and completely relate to it. Hence, my own radio silence. We all just need that recalibration period.

My August to September transition my hands weren't just tied up but overbooked. Every digit of my distal body was working overtime. I was gripping a Wacom pen painting backdrops during the night, and yanking on reformer springs during the day - keeping Cuckoo Clock hours. Then there were all the small fires in between: the mountain of back-to-school forms, the race to get in line for aftercare, and being on hold with the bank because of a string of fraudulent charges (which took too long for me to notice). It's like not realizing your boat has a hole in the back of it because you've been frantically paddling forward - didn't see it! Too busy pushing ahead!!

As I was starting to see some light at the end of these deadlines, and the big projects were wrapping up, I got news that my uncle passed. My mom's oldest brother, Uncle Tiger. He had been in and out of the hospital for a while, so we knew his time was near. Still, grieving a loss makes time stand still. It puts you in the strangest fugue state where you're going through motions like you're going forward, but you're also suspended in a past time. His huge swinging hips, bellowing John Lee Hooker songs while scrubbing the dishes on Christmas Eve. His incriminating look with a smile that seems like it's holding back... but not for long. His ability to make you laugh even though he's totally out of line. Uncle Tiger was a giant tree, with a powerful base, booming voice, and the sharpest, edgiest humor. I was a little out of it after his passing. I found myself trying to patch a hole using a mix of logic and distraction, but none of these things were big enough, especially to fill an Uncle Tiger size hole.

The busy schedule and the mourning of my family member did take a toll on my adrenals and the little upkeep I do for both the studio and my home. Checking up, following up, tidying up, and wrapping up loose ends - it wasn't going to happen. Things are just going to have to pile up; laundry, dishes, emails, Instagram posts, BLOGS! After a while of this, guilt starts to pile up. The holiday weekend before school started I was extra disappointed in myself because our family wasn't able to plan an amazing summer getaway with our kiddo - or travel much. I couldn't drum up more Pilates pop-ups or take advantage of these beautiful dry days. My VFX deadlines meant I had to stay close to a computer, at the mercy of an erratic production schedule. Then when I wasn't working, I was just too tired to plan anything.

I thought about this preservation function that cars have. I've written a previous blog about it because it's so absurd. It's called Limp mode. It's when your car senses an issue and significantly slows down your speed limit so you don't cause permanent damage. Gives you time to pull over and tend to it. No matter how much you push on the gas, nope. You're forced to go slow like a mandatory time out. I know about this because I experienced it - on a HIGHWAY! All of a sudden my car turned into a golf cart and I couldn't go past 20mph.

Instead of feeling guilty, I try to think of this slower time as a smart safety function within me. Like Limp mode, I need to move a little slower to reassess and settle into the newness of it all. Also, when you're a big cog in your household's wheel and you need to pause, you duck into your bedroom and mumble to yourself "I just need to lie down," it's amazing to see how the world still functions around you. It might be clumsy and clunky, but nevertheless, everything is still up and running.

I see examples of this in well cared for gardens. On Labor Day, which for me was Limp Mode Day, I sat on the couch with my little girl and we folded laundry while watching my favorite British gardening show. This one was about gardens in the Scottish Highlands and how they are able to endure the harsh weather conditions and whipping winds coming off the lochs. There was one particular garden Noemie and I loved, a modern garden made out of a ruin in the southeast of Edinburgh, Broadwoodside. The way this garden stays protected is because it is a Hortus Conclusus. Which means it is guarded by walls so the inside can stay warm and grow lush. It gives respite from the blustery wind. Monty, the show's host, asked the owners of the property if symmetry is important. They said, “YES!” It is what keeps things in order despite the unpredictable conditions—overgrowth or loss. When there is a solid foundation, highly ordered interconnected spaces, it allows everything to stay in harmony even when things go awry.

I see the studio as exactly this, a Hortus Conclusus. A protected haven within walls to keep us safe from the harsh conditions around us. So no matter what hard elements we are experiencing, overgrowth or loss, once we enter the comfortable studio we can focus on growing strong. Pilates, like our Scottish garden, is built on strong symmetry so when we loosen up the symmetry, give it a sense of play, there is still harmony. This is when it really comes alive with whimsy and a unique, complicated beauty.

Much like the strong roots and big trunk that make up of a family. When the foundation is strong, and that strong pipe tobacco smell has been absorbed into the wood, the love and the humor will continue even after a loss. Reborn in the next generations, who carry out whimsy and a unique, complicated beauty.

I really appreciate you all being patient during this time and know you are allowed to go at whatever pace you need in the studio. It's not a weakness, it's a smart protective function that is trying to tell you something.

Excited to make your bodies sweat, smile, and embrace the pace you're in.

XO,

Celeste  

When great trees fall,


rocks on distant hills shudder,


lions hunker down
in tall grasses,


and even elephants
lumber after safety.



When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,


their senses
eroded beyond fear.



When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.


We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.


Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,


gnaws on kind words
unsaid,


promised walks
never taken.


Great souls die and
our reality,

bound to
them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.


Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.


We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
ofdark, cold
caves.



And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,


slowly and always
irregularly.

Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.


Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.


They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

― Maya Angelou