Monkey Bars

Esalen reminded me of growing up in Vermont in the 70's, before growing and cooking and recycling was being Green, back when you grew and cooked in order to eat and you recycled because you needed that bag for other things. 

That, along with craniosacral and its unwinding of tissues, evoked a memory of monkey  bars, gym class, and first grade. We were all lined up, the rungs so high and the ground so low that the gym teacher, who was also the principal, had to lift us up to reach the bars. It was a hot, humid, Vermont day and the boys started taking off their shirts. I was hot too with a feeling, a rumble inside. 

So I took off my shirt. I knew it wasn't done, girls taking off their shirts, but our bodies all looked the same so I didn't know why. And if something didn't make sense then how could it be right? The teacher muttered "Women's Lib," as I passed by.

At Esalen, that long ago feeling came back in a flash. I knew, even at six years old, that what I had done was not an act of innocence but a great act of being fearless. The glint of sun on metal, the warmth of sun on skin, the feeling of power mixed with doubt as I swung high above a crowd of gasping girls and angry boys. How the only way through was to keep my body moving and trust that the next rung would appear.