The Memory Palace of Bones: Exploring Embodiment Through the Skeletal System 1913426599, 9781913426590

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The Memory Palace of Bones

of related interest Embody the Skeleton

A Guide for Conscious Movement

Mark Taylor

ISBN 978 1 91208 509 5 eISBN 978 1 91208 510 1

The Fluid Nature of Being

Embodied Practices for Healing and Wholeness

Linda Hartley

ISBN 978 1 91342 649 1 eISBN 978 1 91342 650 7

The Four Dragons

Clearing the Meridians and Awakening the Spine in Nei Gong

Damo Mitchell

Foreword by Ole Saether ISBN 978 1 84819 226 3 eISBN 978 0 85701 173 2

THE MEMORY PALACE OF BONES Exploring embodiment through the skeletal system David Lauterstein, LMT, and Dr. Jeff Rockwell Foreword by Gil Hedley Illustrated by Christy Krames

First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Handspring Publishing, an imprint of Jessica Kingsley Publishers An imprint of Hodder & Stoughton Ltd An Hachette UK Company The right of David Lauterstein and Jeff Rockwell to be identified as the Authors of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copyright © David Lauterstein and Jeff Rockwell 2023 Illustration copyright © Christy Krames 2023 Foreword copyright © Gil Hedley 2023 Permissions to reprint passages from the following books have been granted by the following publishers: “On a Degas Bronze of a Dancer” from Collected Poems by John Berger, copyright © 2014 John Berger. Reprinted by permission of Smokestack Books. “Single form” from MARKINGS by Dag Hammarskjöld, translated by Leif Sjöberg and W. H. Auden, translation copyright © 1964, copyright renewed 1992 by Penguin Random House LLC and Faber & Faber Ltd. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Excerpt from THE SOUL’S CODE: IN SEARCH OF CHARACTER AND CALLING by James Hillman, copyright © 1996 James Hillman. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Excerpt from “Kabir: Ecstatic Poems” by Robert Bly. Copyright © 2004 by Robert Bly. Reprinted by permission of Beacon Press, Boston. 2 lines from pg. 143 from Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado © 1983 by Antonio Machado. Published by Wesleyan University Press. Used by permission. “Ode to Ironing.” By Pablo Neruda, from Full Woman. Fleshly Apple. Hot Moon, translated by Stephen Mitchell. Copyright © 1998 Stephen Mitchell. Reprinted by permission of Stephen Mitchell, translator. “The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me.” By Delmore Schwartz, from SELECTED POEMS, copyright © 1959 by Delmore Schwartz. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This book is intended to convey inspiration and information to the reader. It is not intended for medical diagnosis or treatment. The reader should seek appropriate professional care and attention for any specific healthcare needs. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress ISBN 978 1 91342 659 0 eISBN 978 1 91342 660 6 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group Jessica Kingsley Publishers’ policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. Handspring Publishing Carmelite House 50 Victoria Embankment London EC4Y 0DZ www.handspringpublishing.com

Contents Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Foreword by Gil Hedley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Important Note to Readers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Introduction: Welcome to the Memory Palace! . . . . . . . . . 15 Chapter 1: In the Beginning Are the Feet . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Chapter 2: The Song of the Brother and Sister in Your Leg: Tibia and Fibula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Chapter 3: A Life in the Groove: Being Patella . . . . . . . . . . 41 Chapter 4: The Alpha and Omega of the Femur . . . . . . . . . 49 Chapter 5: The Pelvis and Its Wings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Chapter 6: The Sacrum and Coccyx: Portal to the Lower and Higher Ground . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Chapter 7: The Karma of the Lumbar Vertebrae . . . . . . . . . 79 Chapter 8: Thoracic Visions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Chapter 9: The Sternum: Blade and Flower . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Chapter 10: The Trimtab of the Xiphoid Process . . . . . . . . 105

Chapter 11: The Ribs: 24 Ways to Say the Heart Is My Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Chapter 12: The Scapula: Wisdom in the Wings . . . . . . . . . 121 Chapter 13: The Clavicles: Keys to the Shoulder Girdles . . . . 131 Chapter 14: The Humerus and Social Engagement . . . . . . . 141 Chapter 15: Forearms with a River Flowing Between Two Bones: Radius and Ulna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Chapter 16: The Light in the Hands and the Carpal Tunnel . . 157 Chapter 17: The Seven Beauties of the Neck: Lower Cervicals, Axis, and Atlas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Chapter 18: Mandible and Maxilla: What These Bones Tell Us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Chapter 19: Yoga and the Zygomatic Bone . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Chapter 20: Visions of the Cranium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Chapter 21: The Frontal Bone—Doorway to the Inner and Outer Worlds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 Chapter 22: The Sphenoid: Wasp or Butterfly? . . . . . . . . . . 205 Chapter 23: Blessed Are the Soundmakers . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 Chapter 24: Occipital Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Author Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237

I am always trying to convey something that can’t be conveyed, to explain something which is inexplicable, to talk about something I have in my bones, something which can be expressed only in the bones. —Franz Kafka

Acknowledgments

To the memory of my father and mother, with deep appreciation. To my greatest mentors, Drs. Janet Travell, Henri Gillet, Raymond Nimmo, and Robert Fulford, with unlimited gratitude. To David Lauterstein and Peter Ehlers, whose wisdom and work are continuous sources of inspiration. And to Dr. Brigitte Essl, who generously blesses me with her knowledge, helpfulness, and loving presence. —Jeff Rockwell

I dedicate this book: to my co-author, Jeff Rockwell, who inspired this project; to John Berger, brilliant writer and humanitarian; to past teachers Bob King and Dr. Fritz Smith; to John Conway and faculty, staff, and students at The Lauterstein-Conway Massage School; to my son, Jake Lauterstein, and my wife, Julie Lauterstein; and in memory of her mother, Cherry Thomas Harper. —David Lauterstein

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Foreword

In order to remember, one has to have a thought, an experience, a connection upon which to base the recollection. David Lauterstein and Dr. Jeff Rockwell each have accrued decades of such conscious connection, derived from their professional and personal journeys exploring their own bodies and working in service of their clients, patients, and students. Here we have a pair of fellow travelers ideally prepared to build a “memory palace” of bones. A “memory palace,” as they share with us, is an inner world, an inner sanctum, created to bring back to mind a set of ideas, or meanings, or objects with which one wishes to remain in touch in the present. Setting their minds upon the bones, they have created a “memory palace” for us with which to connect, not with something from our past that is otherwise forgotten, but rather with something native to us all in this very moment which we might otherwise not have considered so deeply or felt for so intently. This collection of connected and continuous crystalline structures most deep within our bodies affords us a strength, a resilience, and a certain sense of place and inner knowing that is completely native to us, an inner expression of life unfolded within us. Yet how can we come to appreciate these gifts without taking some time to enter into relationship with them a bit more deeply? Consider The Memory Palace of Bones a chance to contemplate, explore, and experience the gifts of your bones for the sheer joy of it, or to deepen your ability to serve others better for having done so. Our authors use art, poetry, story, science, personal reflections, 11

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and embodiment exercises together to treat the great gathering of bones within us with respect, appreciation, and a sense of wonder. “Every bone bears us a message,” we are told, and these two angels of the bones have set out to help us hear those messages from them all. This is not a book to be simply gobbled like so much information candy. Lauterstein and Rockwell have, rather, created an opportunity for the reader to savor their encounter with their bones, to drop in, and to build a lasting relationship with this “memory palace” within us. Taking time to listen to the messages borne to us, we step into a connection with ourselves that we might otherwise take for granted or miss altogether. Stop and feel your bones, and let their voices ring out. “Bones are as alive as your heart,” we are asked to consider. And what blood would there be spinning through the 60,000 miles of vessels of our whole hearts if not that which is brought to life from deep within our bones? This is not a book about the skeleton. Skeletos means “dried.” The dry bones are quite removed from the experience of bones and bodies. A skeleton, over there, is a rattling thing, an abstraction apart from us. If that is the mirror we look into to enter into relationship with our bones, that relationship will be deeply short-changed. Lauterstein and Rockwell invite us into relationship but not with something dead and over there. The relationship to which they call us is with our own life within us, pulsing, watery, green, resilient, musical, and true. This book is also full of intellectual curiosity and satisfaction for the mind. The authors have soaked in the wealth of offerings from a host of brilliant teachers. They carry forward the intellectual and clinical legacies of a Who’s Who of luminaries from the fields of manual therapies, including Ida Rolf, Bucky Fuller, Fritz Smith, Emily Conrad, Andrew Taylor Still, Daniel David Palmer, and William Sutherland, to name a few. Their “memory palace” is built not only from their own experiences but from their lifelong engagement with several lineages of thought and practice. These traditions of practice, each with its own sophisticated engagement with the bones, afford an even greater leverage with which to dig into one’s own relationship with these marvels living within us all. We don’t have 12

Foreword

to wait for a bone to break before we get to know it. We can take our authors’ lead and benefit from their rich experience with their own teachers. We can enter into relationship not only with our living bones but also with the traditions that love them still. Welcome to your tour of The Memory Palace of Bones: in this hall of mirrors, you will only see yourself more clearly. Enjoy! Warmly, Gil Hedley, Ph.D.

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Important Note to Readers

The Memory Palace is a place to marvel at the life within and around us. One naturally pauses with wonder when contemplating a mountain, a heart, a beautiful poem, a remarkable person. Accordingly, please read this book itself as a Memory Palace. Read each section slowly once or twice and pause between the exploration and embodiment of each bone. We’d recommend reading perhaps just one or two chapters at a time. This book is not meant to be read as if walking quickly through a museum, temple, or palace without pausing. Please slow down, savor, and feel the resonances in your own body, mind, and spirit though your and our reflections upon each bone.

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INTRODUCTION

Welcome to the Memory Palace! Why The Memory Palace of Bones? How can understanding the title of this book help you make the best use of what you read? Here’s the story of how and why we came up with, and were inspired by, this title. David’s first book was on the anatomy, kinesiology, and roles of muscles in our lives. Putting the Soul Back in the Body: A Manual of Imagination Anatomy for Massage Therapists was published in 1984. In early 2020 Jeff told David he wanted to co-write a similar book, but focused on the bones. As we began collaborating in our writing, the notion of “memory palaces” became more and more intriguing and persistent. The practice of creating memory palaces was first recorded around the time of Cicero. Before printing, learning was transmitted through the oral tradition, which required considerable skill in remembering important conversations, events, stories, songs, and sacred texts. So, naturally, methods to enhance memory were invented. One of the fundamental techniques was to create an imaginary structure, called a “memory palace,” in one’s mind. This could be based on a palace one had actually visited or that one simply imagined. The interior of this palace would be constructed with many rooms, called “loci,” each decorated with scenes and objects, designed to trigger certain memories. It could be a dramatic scene in an antechamber to recall the details of a case going before a high court.

The Memory Palace of Bones

The more dramatic and detailed the scene, the more memorable would be the memories triggered. “The classical sources seem to be describing inner techniques which depend on visual impressions of almost incredible intensity” (Yates 1966, p.4). Remarkable feats of memory were recorded using this method. “The art of memory is like an inner writing…depending on inner gymnastics, invisible labors of concentration…” (Yates 1966, p.16). Over time, the concept of the memory palace evolved. St. Augustine explicitly wrote about his challenges searching for and not quite finding God everywhere within his memory. In medieval times, churches began incorporating paintings and frescoes designed to evoke memories, worship, and righteous behavior—the “corporeal similitudes of subtle and spiritual intentions” (Yates 1966, p.76). In the 14th century, Dante created one of the greatest memory palaces in literature through his Divine Comedy, depicting travels through the various levels of hell, purgatory, and heaven. In the 16th century, we find the first explicit attempts to create an actual memory palace. Giulio Camillo, an Italian philosopher of that time, claimed to have made a small building that a person would enter and be instantly flooded with memories and knowledge of all times. The theory and practice of the art of memory then played a role in the writings of the 16th-century Italian philosopher and astronomer Giordano Bruno, who wrote of memory as the art “by which we may become joined to the soul of the world” (quoted in Yates 1966, p.259). All this and more is explored in great detail in Frances Yates’s masterpiece of alternative intellectual history, The Art of Memory. In the 20th century, the idea of constructed places triggering memory and inner knowing was embodied in the writings and architecture of Charles Moore. Moore was deeply affected by the idea that all structures, whether natural or human-made, had the capacity to evoke memory and knowledge. His books Body, Memory and Architecture (Bloomer and Moore 1977) and Chambers for a Memory Palace (Lyndon and Moore 1994) elaborate on this notion. Jeff and I were intrigued and inspired by this notion of memory palaces. As we explored our own bodies, our memories, and our clinical experiences, we wondered: Could the body itself be a memory palace? 16

Welcome to the Memory Palace!

After all, within us live all our memories, all our learning, all our lives. Don’t we walk through this memory palace every time we lay our hands on the human body? And if so, what memories—ancient or recent—are carried within and reflected in our bones? When we say “I just know it in my bones,” is that merely a figure of speech? What might our bones tell us—of ancient lives on the plain, of the evolution from walking on all fours to two-legged locomotion, about the role bones play in the balancing of human structure and energy? So welcome to the memory palace! We hope you enjoy the exploration, and that the messages and memories of the bones will speak to you and deeply support your wisdom, your memories, your lives, and your health. —DL

When I was a child, my family moved to farm country and I spent days roaming through the woods and open fields. I often found rabbit or squirrel skulls, the ribcage of a deer, even the occasional bird skeleton. Fascinated, I took them home to study, later burying them at the side of our house to give them a “proper” funeral. I never found bones or skulls sinister; they were, instead, remarkable pieces of art. In addition to these sojourns in woods and fields, I attended Catholic school, where I was taught that our bodies were the temples of God. At the same time, however, I was taught that the body was sinful. These contradictory teachings tormented and disembodied me for years and eventually drew me to bodywork and the human potential movement of the 1970s. Throughout 2019, I recall wishing and hoping that 2020 was going to be better, kinder, gentler on our nervous systems than recent years; 20/20, perfect vision, I told my friends. And then, just like that, it wasn’t. COVID-19 arrived in the United States. In California’s Bay Area, where I reside, March 17 marked the first day of a state-wide shelter-in-place shutdown. Along with everything else, work came to a screeching halt. Fortunately, being a chiropractic physician and osteopath, I 17

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was considered an “essential” worker. But for two weeks, patients understandably were afraid to leave their homes, let alone come for a hands-on treatment. I wondered what my work might look like—if anything—in a year. I heard about people offering remote or energetic bodywork. I was skeptical but signed up for an eight-week course on long-distance osteopathy. If the shutdown lasted as long as some were afraid it would, perhaps I could offer my services in this manner. The course was well presented by a credible instructor, but I never felt inspired or confident enough to try it on a paying client. However, I received a gift: the assessments and techniques focused on the visualization of bones and skeletal anatomy in extreme detail. Lo and behold, I fell in love, once again, with bones. My love for bones, along with a budding interest in spiritual practices and nature mysticism, led me to pursue careers in chiropractic and later in osteopathy. Somewhere along the line, I read a wonderful article that David wrote on the principles of manual therapy. This inspired me to read his book, Putting the Soul Back into the Body. It was equal parts poetry and science; it was aspirational philosophy plus origins and insertions. I liked his poetic and phenomenological approach to muscular anatomy and included it in the chiropractic courses I was teaching at the time. And I took some of his classes with him. We became friends, bonding over our mutual love for manual therapy, music, poetry, and, of course, bones. After my online course ended, I knew I wanted to write a book on bones—not a scholarly textbook, but something akin to a poem. And I knew I wanted to write it with David. Remember when MTV first appeared in the early 1980s, and then MTV-Unplugged? They played stripped-down versions of Nirvana, 10,000 Maniacs, Eric Clapton—back to the bones of the music. Consider this book “Bones Unplugged,” written by two body-philosophers in love with science, poetry, and the deep sanctity of the human body. Go deep, friends; your bones are ready to welcome you. —JR

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CHAPTER 1

In the Beginning Are the Feet

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To plant a foot firmly on earth—that is the ultimate achievement, and a far later stage of growth than anything begun in your head. We grow down, and we need a long life to get on our feet. —James Hillman (2017, pp.42–43)

One of the great mysteries of the body is how the feet, though constituting only 3 percent of the body’s weight, support 97 percent of that weight. Not only do they balance our weight in standing but, through the complex and dynamic living interactions of the bones, ligaments, tendons, and muscles, they allow us to walk, to run, to jump, and to dance. To connect with the feet, to our souls and soles, let’s start by dancing. The joy that we embody as our feet rhythmically strike the body of the earth is the essence of our earliest celebrations, our ceremonies, even our communications. Various kinds of foot re-soundings upon the earth play a role in all cultures—Native American stomp dance, flamenco dance from Spain, Bharatanatyam from Asia, and Masai jumping from Africa, to mention a very few. Of course, many animals use their feet in mating and in communication. Elephants use foot-stomping and vocal rumblings as part of seismic communication, sending vibrations underground to other elephants far below our level of audible sound; distant elephants “hear” those signals with their highly sensitive feet. It is, therefore, no exaggeration to think of the foot as a kind of eardrum and the body of the earth as a transmitting medium. The foot is first of all a sense organ, later acquiring a motor function. In “civilization,” constantly shoed, we have limited our ability to dance and certainly to listen with our feet! It is time to hear what our soles and souls have to tell us. As we explore the feet, let’s always remember that bones are alive—nourished by blood, connected through nerves, and floating, as do all the body’s parts, in the 60 percent ocean water that we are. They shrink or grow according to the vicissitudes of movement, age,

20

Feet

or physiological state. The bones “listen” to how we use or misuse them, and they talk back! The variety of the communications and celebrations issuing from and through the feet depends on their miraculous ability to support the entire body’s weight through arches. In architecture, an arch is a curved opening in a structure designed to distribute weight. Arches are used in large buildings because they can support a very large mass. Arches are essentially domes—adorning the tops of churches, mosques, and synagogues. We can imagine these living domes as adorning each of the diaphragmatic structures of the human body—pelvic, respiratory, thoracic, palate, and skull. This organic arrangement of anatomical domes begins with the feet. The foot has three arches: medial longitudinal, lateral longitudinal, and transverse. The arches provide the foot with the stiffness it needs to act as a lever, transmitting the forces generated by the leg muscles as they push against the ground. At the same time, the arches allow for sufficient flexibility to function like springs, storing and then releasing mechanical energy. The keystones of the foot’s transverse arch are three bones known as the medial, intermediate, and lateral cuneiforms. Cuneiform comes from the Latin for wedge. The earliest form of written communications, traced back to the Sumerians in the fourth millennium bce, utilized cuneiform, or wedge-shaped characters. So, what the feet, and the cuneiforms especially, have to tell us is “written,” is shared, in the same shapes as the first written script. Imagine the bones of our feet pressing into the ground, into the clay from which we arise, just as the cuneiform characters were initially pressed into moist clay tablets in the first forms of writing. Each cuneiform is like a little upside-down pyramid with its tip pointing downward. With their bottoms narrower than the tops, they form an archway—a portal in the midfoot—giving us the skeletal archetype for the foot’s architecture, especially the transverse arch. The cuneiforms are preceded, almost like passengers on a ship, by the aptly named navicular, from the Latin navis, or boat. The 21

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navicular, with its strongly concave proximal surface, articulates with and distributes force through the talus, through the cuneiforms, to the first through third metatarsals and phalanges. Together these comprise the medial longitudinal arch, vital for its role in support, movement, flexibility, and springiness. Laterally, we have the l­ateral longitudinal arch, created by the calcaneus, the cuboid, and the fourth and fifth metatarsals. The longitudinal arches act as pillars for the transverse arch that runs diagonally across the tarso-­ metatarsal joints. The metatarsals are shaped like little femurs—mighty little twigs—and are considered “long bones.” The small bones of the toes are phalanges, derived from the Latin phalanx, meaning “a number of persons banded together in a common Fulcrum is defined as (1) the cause.” The toes are at our frontier, the point on which a lever rests or is supported, and on which most anterior bones in the body, cenit pivots; (2) a thing that plays turions at the forefront of our lives. We a pivotal or essential role in an can also see each phalange as a precious activity, event, or situation. jewel, often adorned with a toe ring or a In this book we use the term “fulcrum” in both senses of the beautifully painted nail, reminding us of word. When we touch with their transcendence beyond mere utility. fulcrums in bodywork, we are As John Berger writes, “Jewels are by deficreating a resting point, a pivnition small but in them is a luminosity ot, a calm experience around which the client responds. This which offers a message about the infinite” is a structural and energetic (Berger and Christie 1999, p.70). input that gives the client the The feet themselves are fulcrums opportunity to re-orient. They which contribute vastly to the balance can orient to that physical part of themselves and possibly to and health of our body, mind, and spirit. emotions, thoughts, or beliefs The bones of the foot are further to which that part is connectbuoyed by the ligaments and muscles ed. The fulcrum implies we are surrounding them. These act like bownot using a technique from “outside-in”; the fulcrum gives strings, enhancing the natural arches us a balancing point, an opformed by the bones. The whole foot is portunity, unconsciously and/ a “tensegrity” structure in which the soft or consciously, to let go from members (muscles and connective tissue) “inside-out.” are in communication with the nervous 22

Feet

system and together create a geodesic dome that underlies and supports our every move. So let’s honor and acknowledge the complex and profound roles of the feet in our lives. Then let’s go about celebrating our miraculous feet, adding more appreciation, joyful steps, and dances to our lives. —DL

The feet, like all parts of the body, speak for themselves, if we have “ears” with which to listen. Some folks in our field teach that we need to be more embodied in our belly or in our pelvis, with which I agree. But try our approach: start with the feet, our faithful servants that keep us planted on Earth. D. H. Lawrence loved the body, especially the feet. He wrote: Give me the moon at my feet Put my feet upon the crescent, like a Lord! O let my ankles be bathed in moonlight, That I may go sun and moon-shod, Cool and bright-footed Towards my goal. (Lawrence 1930, p.56)

It is sad that feet are so ignored—and often maligned—in our society. Even from a purely anatomical view, the feet are a universe unto themselves: the hindfoot, the midfoot, and the forefoot, a microcosm of the shaman’s upper, middle, and lower worlds. According to tradition, there is a world of help and healing above us, a world of unconditional love and guidance below us, and a world of ancient wisdom within us. These three worlds are part of one universal energy, just as the three parts of the feet make up one structure that is part of the larger structure of the human body. As I walk, rolling from heel-strike to foot plant to toe-off, I acknowledge the three energetic worlds of the ancestors, remembering that it is only through the feet that I can have this experience. 23

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My grandmother used to say, “When your feet hurt, your whole body hurts.” Of course—they support everything above them. She also told me that in Italy, men found a woman’s feet particularly attractive and would whistle at her feet as she walked by. Perhaps one of the reasons we disparage the feet is because they represent our contact with Mother Earth, which our culture dishonors. In non-Global North regions, where people are more in touch—literally and figuratively—with the Earth, they commonly go barefoot in order to feel her energy. The feet show our awareness of being incarnated on this planet. In India, the feet are considered conduits of divine grace, and to touch them confers blessings. At the temple of Bodhgaya, the large stone footprints of the Buddha greet pilgrims as they arrive. The story is told of how Buddha, after his birth, took seven steps in each direction, leaving footprints that later were identified by a wandering saint as belonging to a future world teacher. Today, we speak of student–mentor relationships as ones in which we seek “to follow or walk in their footsteps.” But it is not just the feet of the holy or the wise that are significant. Think of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, thereby announcing a transformation of values for a new age. It is a typical custom of hospitality in countries where roads are dusty, and travelers wear sandals or no shoes at all, to offer water for the washing of one’s own feet, but special guests may have this cleansing performed for them, historically by women. In performing his own version of such a “womanly” task, Jesus reversed the “manly” expectations of the Roman empire. His religion of love was the exact psychological counterpart to the Roman worship of power. It’s sad to see how enthralled today’s leaders are by heartless dominion over others. It’s almost as if Jesus never lived, as if the Sermon on the Mount was never delivered. I appreciate the practical artistry of all the foot bones, but I have a particular fondness for the talus. Because it articulates with so many other bones, it is largely covered by sparkling hyaline cartilage, a beautiful crystal anchoring the temple of the body. The talus is remarkable in other ways as well. In my chiropractic 24

Feet

training, the talus is considered the keystone of the ankle: as goes the talus, so go the ankle and foot. We were also taught that the ankle, influenced by the talus, accounts for 80 percent of knee pain and a significant amount of low back pain. Unlike most bones, the talus has no muscle attachments. Its position, atop the calcaneus and nestled between the distal ends of the tibia and fibula, is quite a “biotensegral” feat. I love to walk barefoot. When I was in high school and a competitive long-distance runner, I even enjoyed running barefoot (inspired by the late Ethiopian Olympic marathoner Abebe Bikila, who won the 1960 Olympic marathon by racing down the streets of Rome without running shoes). I feel a greater sense of freedom when moving about without shoes, the independence that is the soulmate of support or stability. Going barefoot wakes up the small intrinsic muscles of the feet, those same muscles that suffer from the confines of the caskets—I mean shoes—that we seem to live in. I wonder how many podiatrists collaborate with manual therapists. There are certain groups of muscles that go virtually ignored, yet beg for acknowledgment: the muscles of the tongue or the pelvic floor; and the intrinsic muscles of the feet, including the small but mighty muscles of our metatarsals and phalanges. The iconoclastic jazz master Sun Ra recorded an album entitled Space is the Place. Nowhere is that more apparent in my own body than in the feet, especially the metatarsals and toes. Sometimes when I walk, I explore shifting my weight from medial to lateral arch and back again, until I find the weight of my body pleasantly distributed over both arches. Other times, I will stop and wiggle my toes, trying to feel the origin of the movement at the base of the metatarsals. In both cases, I like to finish these explorations by feeling energy flow from my feet up through the top of my head. In doing so, I connect with my core self, from bottom to top. Scientist James Oschman considers the Earth to be “one gigantic anti-inflammatory, sleep booster, and energizer, all wrapped up in one” (Oschman 2016, p.301). I propose that by freeing up our toes and taking them to the earth, we activate an important electrical 25

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exchange between the energy of the ground and our bodies. The toes are more like ten antennas than ten little piggies going to the market, and they draw the Earth’s energy into the larger connective tissue system, which can move it to wherever it’s needed. The late podiatrist Dr. William Rossi wrote in 1993, “The sole of the foot and toes is richly covered with approximately 1,300 sensory nerve endings per square inch” (Rossi 1993, p.39). Through manual and movement therapy, along with interoceptive awareness exercises, we can take full advantage of our connection with our world—with Life—and know what it means to be alive like never before. To explore this, let’s visit two bones in the feet: the navicular and the cuboid. The navicular bone is like a little boat that allows us to float elegantly on land; it also, as a central part of the foot’s inner arch, lifts us skyward. And the cuboid, the sturdy cube on the outside of the foot, helps us ground ourselves, keeping us and our lives from toppling over, all the while allowing us to reach heaven on Earth with each step. The cuboid is cube-like: hence its name. It is a symbol of stability and permanence. Its counterpart, the navicular, is a symbol of that which glides on water. It even remains fluid-like longer than any other bone in the foot, being the last to ossify. The navicular is hidden in the cave of the medial arch and helps to give spring to our steps. The cuboid, along with the base of its neighboring fifth metatarsal, sticks out from the outside of the foot, almost like a training wheel on a bike. These bones, these faithful servants, inspired me to write this poem: Try explaining to a Martian How we walk Or how we swallow. Do you think We really don’t need to know? How we walk Is not a riddle 26

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But our great love, Or lack of it, For our Lives. —JR Each time my feet touched the earth I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine but a living continuation of my mother and my father and my grandparents and great-grandparents. Of all my ancestors. Those feet that I saw as “my” feet were actually “our” feet. Together, my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil. …the idea that I had lost my mother no longer existed. All I had to do was look at the palm of my hand, feel the breeze on my face or the earth under my feet to remember that my mother is always with me, available at any time. (Hanh 2003, p.5)

EMBODIMENT—FEET The Chinese poet/philosopher Lao Tse wrote, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Actually, that’s not quite true. The journey begins by standing there at the starting point, like a fulcrum on the earth. First, stand up and feel the way the weight of your whole body is being balanced subtly and constantly by your feet. Then bring your awareness into the bony living members of the feet. They all work so well together that you may not feel all the separate bones—just visualize them as best you can and remember that bones are as alive as your heart! Next, bring your awareness into the talus under the lower leg and the calcaneus/heel bone below that. Moving forward from the talus, visualize/feel in turn the navicular and the three cuneiforms, 27

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leading to the inner three metatarsals and then to the big toe, and the second and the third toes. Shifting your awareness laterally, feel the calcaneus, leading to the fourth and fifth metatarsals, the fourth toe, and the little toe. Once you have extended appreciation and a deeper awareness to these essential parts of yourself, slowly take a few steps forward and back. Feel that you have 26 bones in each foot that cascade down to the earth as you step. The “foot” is an abstraction. Just as all our words in the English language are made from 26 letters, so our every step is made with 26 bones.

EMBODIMENT—FEET AND ANKLES The joint between the tibia and talus is called the ankle or mortice joint. Although typically considered a hinge joint, it is more accurately a gliding The feet are the body’s founjoint, where the tibia glides forward and dation, and they are also distinguished by having within them back on the talus. what we term in Zero Balancing The joint between the talus and cal“foundation joints.” Unlike freecaneus is called the subtalar joint and is a ly movable joints, such as the hinge joint, allowing for flexion and extenshoulder, elbow, and hip, foundation joints have a very limited sion. What many do not realize is that there range of motion; but because is an extra, posterior semi-foundation joint of that very stability, they are here, permitting only a small amount of better at transmitting force. A opening and closing. This motion, as is small misalignment in the foot, which has foundation joints true with all foundation joints, is critical. between all the tarsal bones, Joints that favor stability over movement can throw the entire body off must have that movement present, or balance. The good news is that large muscles that span the joint (in this even small re-balancings in the foot can introduce healthier case, the Achilles tendon and hamstrings) energy flow and greater ease will contract in an often-futile attempt to through the whole person. mobilize it. Do you have a tight Achilles tendon or tight hamstrings? This exercise might be just what you need. Stand and slowly bend forward at the waist to touch your toes. 28

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Notice where tightness on either side stops your movement. Sit down and, crossing one leg over the other, grasp the calcaneus in one hand and the bone directly above it—the talus—in the other. Hold the talus still while pulling the calcaneus downward to encourage a small amount of movement between the two bones. Take out the slack and hold for five seconds. Pause for a few seconds, allowing the nervous system to “catch up” with what you just did. Repeat two more times. Note that you are doing this on one side only. Stand up and try to touch your toes again. Often, it will now be considerably easier to reach your toes. Walk around for a minute or so; notice the difference in the two feet and the changes that are now present in the legs and pelvis. You can then repeat this process on the other foot.

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CHAPTER 2

The Song of the Brother and Sister in Your Leg TIBIA AND FIBULA

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Brian Doyle, in his book Credo, wrote, “I grow utterly absorbed, as I age, by two things: love, thorough or insufficient, and grace under duress. Only those two” (Doyle 1997, p.57). That seems to me about right. As we face what scientists call a “meta-systems crisis”—common folks building survival shelters and rich folks planning to colonize Mars, and all of them excited at the prospect of extinction—the only thing that makes any sense to me, or appeals to me, is love: love for each other and audacious love for the body of Mother Earth. And that leads me to “grace under duress.” I have just returned from a hiking trip in the Escalante-Grand Staircase National Monument in southern Utah. Out of shape, I nevertheless dedicated two weeks of my time to do this. Why? Because I am in love with this place on Earth. The first hike was not pleasant; my muscles fatigued and cramped early on. But as my muscles failed me, I tapped into something deeper, more reliable: my bones. I tried to meet the trail not with quivering calf muscles but with the long and noble bones of the lower legs—ground meeting ground. The tibias—the second-largest bones in the body—helped me most but the more delicate fibulae were particularly helpful as I navigated the sometimes sandy, sometimes rocky terrain. Anatomists believe the fibula does not carry any significant weight of the body. However, positioned on the outside of the lower leg, the fibulae are analogous to training wheels on a bicycle—similar to the cuboids and fifth metatarsals of the feet—steadying the novice rider. Subsequent hikes were easier, and I have my bones to thank. Unlike most of us, they are completely forgiving: even when we break them, they heal stronger than ever. On that trip, they were my grace under duress. The tibia is connected to the fibula by the interosseous membrane, forming a fibrous joint called a syndesmosis. It allows little movement but helps both bones to absorb ground forces and mechanical stresses. The word fibula in Latin means “clasp” or “brooch” and is used for the bone in question because it resembles a clasp, much like a modern safety pin. The adjective “peroneal” is Greek for the same thing. Without this safety pin, the fibula would be hard pressed to 32

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hold things together well enough to allow even the easiest stroll. I find working with this membrane—the bone that is not a bone—to be very helpful in relieving leg pain, lymphatic congestion, and sometimes even restless legs. I also enjoy paying attention to the head of the fibula. It has a highly irregular surface, with a pointed eminence or styloid process that gives rise to the tendon of the biceps femoris, as well as to the fibular collateral ligament of the knee joint. The tibia is named for the Latin word for flute. While the flute is not exactly the boldest of musical instruments, the tibia itself is strong enough to support the weight of the entire body. While you might think of bones as flat or gently rounded, they are populated with ridges and tubercles, fossae and foramina. The tibia is no different. At its top, the tibia’s superior articular surface presents two facets—like the faces or facets of a diamond. The oval medial facet is concave from side to side. The lateral facet, nearly circular, is concave from side to side, and slightly convex posteriorly. They are soulmates with the condyles of the femur and support the menisci of the knee. While we may not all “wear diamonds on the soles of our shoes,” we are richly endowed with diamonds on the bones above our feet; we are jewels adorned with jewels! The tibia is a goldmine of muscle attachments, and any manual therapist worth their salt has learned to spend a lot of time there. Here is a partial menu of the muscles that attach on this bone: the quadriceps, sartorius, gracilis, the medial hamstrings, popliteus, soleus, and, of course, the tibialis muscles. In Judaism, the tibia (or shank bone) of a goat is used in the Pass­ over Seder plate. Each of the six items arranged on the plate has special significance to the retelling of the story of Passover—the exodus from Egypt—which is the focus of this ritual meal. It is special, as it is the only meat on the Seder plate, symbolizing the Passover sacrifice, or Pascal lamb. It represents the sacrifice of a lamb whose blood was painted on the doorway of enslaved Israelites’ houses so that the grace of God would pass over that house during any plague. There is another type of grace that my hiking trip reminded me of. G.R.A.C.E. is a process developed by Zen roshi Joan Halifax to 33

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help healthcare providers working in stressful situations (Halifax 2012, p.4). It is also a mnemonic that can serve us all with our own challenges. I’ll demonstrate here: • G—gathering attention (lying down after that long hike, “My legs hurt like hell”) • R—recalling intention (“May I help relieve suffering on this planet”) • A—attunement to self and other (when I bring my attention deeper than the pain, I “touch” bone medicine, a steady peace that can’t easily be disturbed; from here I can be with my pain in solidarity with all who suffer. “May all beings be free from suffering”) • C—consider what will serve (prayer, meditation, helping someone else, offering bodywork sessions to prisoners and the homeless in the Bay Area) • E—engagement (when I get back to California, I will undertake three projects to help my community, including endangered land in my county). As fate would have it, I came across the skeletal remains of a deer on that hike. Among the enormous red rocks, pictographs, and a waterfall, I became possessed by the strength and beauty of those bones—their unadorned and shameless presence. While I stood silent as other hikers rushed by, the bones seemed to ask, “Is anybody but me really here?” —JR

The story is told in many cultures of the singing bone. One variation is the Brothers Grimm tale of two brothers who set out to kill a wild boar. The first who did would earn the reward offered by the King—to marry his daughter. The younger brother found and killed the boar, but the jealous older brother struck and killed him on a bridge they were crossing on their way home. The older brother then went to the King with the boar and received the daughter’s hand in marriage. 34

Tibia and Fibula

Many years thereafter, a shepherd was walking over the bridge and saw a little snow-white bone lying in the sand below. Thinking that it would make a good mouthpiece, he picked it up and carved out of it a mouthpiece for his horn. When he blew into it for the first time, to his great astonishment the bone began to sing by itself: Oh, my dear shepherd, You are blowing on my little bone. My brother killed me, And buried me beneath the bridge. “What a wonderful horn,” said the shepherd. “It sings by itself. I must take it to the King.” When he brought it before the King, the horn again began to sing its song. The King understood it well and had the earth beneath the bridge dug up. The whole skeleton of the murdered man came to light and the wicked brother could not deny the deed. He was sewn into a sack and drowned alive. The murdered man’s bones were laid to rest in a beautiful grave in the churchyard. Many of the bones in human and animal bodies have been used in music. The ribcage was no doubt the first xylophone. The use of bones to strike skins constituted the first drums. The hollowed-out long bones of animals and humans, as in the Grimms’ legend, could be used as wind instruments. So every bone in us has, in its own way, its own song, its music. The composer Gustav Mahler based an early work, Das klagende Lied, on the legend of the singing bone. This brings us to the discussion of the tibia and the fibula, the sister and brother of the lower leg. The tibia is the second-strongest and largest bone in the body, next to the femur. In its center is the medullary cavity that produces and stores marrow. After death, the marrow decomposes and a hollow triangular tube remains, like a pyramidal tower, that can act as a wind instrument. The etymological origin of the word “tibia” points us to this use. The tibia was an ancient Greek wind instrument. Archaeological finds and surviving iconography indicate it was double-reeded, like the modern oboe, but with a larger mouthpiece, like the Armenian duduk. 35

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In traditional Western music, the “tibia” would correspond most closely to the beautifully named “oboe d’amore,” the oboe of love! The oboe d’amore was invented in the 18th century and Bach, Telemann, and others employed it in their concertos. The other lower leg bone is the more delicate fibula. Too narrow to be a wind instrument, it looks very much like a violin bow! It is commonly harvested to reconstruct the mandible, itself integral to speech and song, bringing a kind of musical connection of these two bones. The fibula’s proximal head acts as the insertion for the biceps femoris, the lateral-most hamstring. It is the origin for the fibularis longus muscle (also known as peroneus) that travels to the bottom of the foot and forms the deepest tendon in the sole, ultimately inserting into the medial cuneiform and first metatarsal. Also attaching to the fibula are muscles that extend the toes, as well as muscles from the lower leg’s deep posterior compartment that insert into the sole of the foot. The fibula and tibia, like the arm’s radius and ulna, are connected through an extensive interosseous membrane that stabilizes their association while allowing a bit of flexibility between them. At its distal end, the fibula, tibia, and talus form the ankle joint. The tibia owes some of its shape and strength to its role in supporting the weight of the whole upper body and absorbing from below many of the stresses of the foot striking the ground when we walk. More than we think, our bodymind shapes our bones in response to the uses for which we need them. I read about a boy who was born with Like clouds, every bone has a only a fibula, and no tibia. Since the fibula silver lining. This is the transis not a weight-bearing bone, his parents lucent, silvery, dense, irregular were told that he would never walk. Howconnective tissue called periosteum. Basically the skin of your ever, in few years, the boy was walking and bones, the periosteum envelops running about freely. The parents took them completely, except at the him back to the doctor, who, astonished, joint surfaces. X-rayed the lower leg. The boy now had a The periosteum is really two living layers inside you. The tibia, but no fibula; the body had thickened outer fibrous layer is connective and reshaped the fibula because the stress tissue, or fascia. Like fascia elseof walking required a thicker, stronger where in the body, it contains bone. What an extraordinary example of 36

Tibia and Fibula

function determining form. Life, even of the bones, is what we make it! Because we wear shoes, we lack the versatility and shock absorption that nature has bestowed with 26 bones in each foot. As below, so above: the non-flexible foot will convey its stresses to the next bone up. Thus, the tibia too often absorbs and reflects more than its share of stress, as if there is too much pressure within it. Each bone, with its unique position and role in our lives, has its own story to tell. From the tibia and fibula we gain valuable information on how a person relates to their life and the earth they walk upon with body, emotion, mind, and spirit—how they walk their talk. This beautiful brother and sister, the tibia and the fibula, the singing bone and the bow, together give us both strength and delicacy and set a tone for our lives. They do so, usually, without calling much attention to themselves. May these words, thoughts, and feelings help us regard and touch the tibia and fibula with a greater sense of respect, reverence, and compassion. Walt Whitman wrote, “I sing the body electric” (Whitman 2007, p.72). May we sing the tibia and fibula. May the melodies and harmonies, the duet arising as songs of tibia and fibula, be ones which inspire us deeply along our journey. —DL 37

living cells—fibroblasts—that produce fibrous tissue, irregularly woven strands of collagen that give strength and flexibility to this outer covering of every bone. Yet deeper, we discover the cambium layer, from the Latin cambiare, which means “to change.” This cambium is osteogenic: it helps our bones grow and repair through cells called osteoblasts. The periosteum also conveys blood to the bones. The medullary cavity inside bones is so alive with circulation that people receiving transfusions can, if necessary, be fed directly through the inside of the bone. Periosteum contains extremely sensitive nerve endings, so when we bruise it (a “contusion”), the pain is distinct and easily located. Bones themselves do not usually contain pain-sensitive nerves, so it is the periosteum’s job to provide us with this valuable intelligence. In Zero Balancing we use the term “bone gold” to describe a place where we feel an unusual thickness in bone and its periosteum. Just as releasing tension from the neuromuscular system gives us more energy for life, so the release of bone gold awakens the incredible inner resource that is our skeletal system and its miraculous skin, the periosteum. Even gold, it turns out, has a silver lining—your periosteum, this deep, living treasure inside of you!

The Memory Palace of Bones

EMBODIMENT—LOWER LEG The tibia and fibula are encircled by the crural fascia. Whereas the foot has 26 bones through which to distribute the weight of the whole body, the lower leg has just the tibia, since the fibula is barely weight-bearing. So the tibia absorbs way more than its fair share of pressure, compression, and stress, and limits the energy flow through the bone. That radiates out into the surrounding fascia and other structures—the fibula, the interosseous membrane, the lower leg muscles, and the nerves and vessels associated with them. One of the best ways to relieve this pressure is to loosen the crural fascia, especially on the broad, flat surface of the medial border of the tibial shaft. The crural fascia here is very close to the surface of the bone, so when the lower leg holds too much tension, that fascia becomes like a tight binding. The tibia becomes like a flute swathed in plastic wrap with no holes, no breathing room! To begin this exercise, take a few steps forward and back, noting how your lower legs feel. Now place one leg up on a stool or chair. Take your opposite hand and help the crural fascia slide more freely over the bony surface of the tibia, its periosteum, the crural fascia, and the skin. Use your thumb, fingers, or heel of your hand to press into the flat surface and engage the fascia. Make little semi-circles and side-to-side movements, or whatever your intuition suggests or what feels good to shift that fascia. Do this in a series, starting just below the knee; then disengage and re-engage an inch or two lower, again coaxing the fascia to glide more freely over the tibial surface. Work to free the crural fascia in five to seven places, ending just above the ankle. Before you do the other leg, take a short walk. Notice how different the two legs now feel. Perhaps you feel one can breathe, or has more energy flowing through it, or is more alive. Then repeat the work to the crural fascia of the second leg. Take another walk and savor the experience. Now the “flute” of your lower leg has more room for air, more room for breath, more room for joyful support as you move through your life. The flute of the tibia can play a beautiful melody in our lives! 38

Tibia and Fibula

If you are working on someone else, the advantage is that with the receiver lying down, they may feel the release of tension in the legs spreading even more globally throughout their whole bodymind. Use both hands simultaneously on both lower legs, with the sides of your thumbs or the heels of your hands.

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CHAPTER 3

A Life in the Groove BEING PATELLA

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Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field. —Miguel de Unamuno (1993, p.234)

Every bone bears us a message, like a message or a boat in a bottle. These messages, the boats, and the surrounding seas are both individual and ancient. The patella is no exception. Floating in the quadriceps tendon, engaged by every movement of thigh and hip, it is the largest of the sesamoid bones in the body—or second-largest, depending on whether one considers the scapula to be a sesamoid bone. Sesamoid comes from sesamun, Arabic for sesame seed. So here we have a message, a boat, and a seed. The precise message of the patella depends on the individual, but in general it speaks to us of protection—a deeper stability within and around the knee, the largest and most complex joint of the body. The knee is a synovial joint with components of fluid, cartilage, bone, tendon, and ligament. Think of it as at least two joints—the patellofemoral and the tibiofemoral. Within the knee, floating in synovial fluid, are the shock-absorbing menisci (similar to the discs between our vertebrae) and the cruciate ligaments. These make an “X,” sharing the word origin for cross and crux, as in the crux of the matter. Bordered by the lateral and medial collateral ligaments, and posteriorly by the popliteus muscle, it is a miraculous architecture that gives the knee both its strength and its potential for injury. The large movements here are primarily flexion and extension, although with the knee flexed, a small degree of lateral and medial rotation can occur. In knee extension and flexion the patella’s role is to slide in the trochlear groove of the lower anterior femur. At our birth, the patella is entirely cartilage, which may make crawling easier for the infant. It takes quite some time to ossify completely, becoming entirely bone around age five. The patella has above it the suprapatellar bursa, which reduces the friction when the kneecap slides. Associated with it is a little muscle, the articularis genus, which cleverly coordinates the up-and-down glide of the patella with the bursa’s similar movement 42

Patella

to prevent catching the synovial membrane between the patella and femur. The patella is enveloped by the quadriceps tendon that inserts into the tibial tuberosity. This lowest portion of the quadriceps tendon is often called a ligament, since it runs from one bone to another. Underlying the metaphor of a boat-in-a-bottle is the very word “patella,” which comes from the Latin meaning “a shallow dish or vessel.” Among its messages, then, is conveyed the knowledge that all bones are floating bones, vessels with water inside and around them. (Bones themselves are one-third water.) The patella floats in front of the knee, further bathed and cushioned inside by synovial fluid. Thinkers, listen, tell me what you know of that is not inside the soul? Take a pitcher full of water and set it down in the water— Now it has water inside and water outside. We mustn’t give it a name, Lest silly people start talking again about the body and the soul. (Kabir 2004, p.5)

Seed bone, sesamoid—like a seed “syllable.” We can see each bone of the body as a seed of movement, life, and consciousness. Just as parts of our speech give us an understandable grammar, bones and joints are parts of our anatomy that give us movement, or a kinesthetic grammar. In Asian languages there are seed syllables, known as bija. These are considered to be sound vibrations, said to give rise to all things including our karma. The best known is the sacred incantation om. What if we considered each bone as a kind of seed contributing ultimately to the living garland, the field, of the skeletal system? In fact, our living bones do grow and blossom into their adult shape over time. An infant is born with 300 bones (many still cartilaginous), whereas an adult with cartilages ossified will have 206. Consider that each bone is a seed syllable, a mantra, in the non-verbal communication among our bones, contributing ultimately to 43

The Memory Palace of Bones

the living garland of our skeletons. Together, they contribute to the vibrant, living field of body, mind, and spirit. —DL

Once upon a time, we all had small pans or dishes or plates where our patellae now reside. Actually, these terms serve as the etymological origins of our kneecaps. The patella developed in the tendon of the quadriceps muscle group. It has an anterior and a posterior surface, three borders, and an apex. The subcutaneous anterior surface is convex in all directions, perforated by small apertures for the passage of nutrient vessels, and marked by numerous rough, longitudinal striae, to hold its place better within the distal portion of the quadriceps. It is separated from the skin and surrounded by several bursae. The posterior surface is covered with articular cartilage up to 4–5 mm thick. This helps in dissipation of the force but can wear out and lead to crepitus (joint noise) and painful movement. The base or superior border is thick, rough, and sloped downward from behind, giving attachment to that portion of the quadriceps which is derived from the rectus femoris and vastus intermedius. The medial and lateral borders are thinner and converge below, giving attachment to the suprapatellar tendon. The apex is pointed and gives attachment to the subpatellar ligament. In the relaxed standing position, the apex lies just proximal to the knee joint line. The patella articulates with the femur to form the patellofemoral articulation. Not a true synovial joint, it relates to the underlying femur similarly to how the scapulae relate to the ribcage. The patella functions primarily as a pulley for the quadriceps. By increasing the lever arm of the extensor mechanism, it allows for more effective knee flexion, improving the strength of the quadriceps by 35–50 percent. But it is not a frictionless pulley, as once believed. Interposed between the quadriceps attachment and the femoral condyles, the patella also acts as a spacer, protecting the patellar ligament by reducing and absorbing friction and compressive stresses, transmitting those forces to the underlying bones. As Dr. Ida Rolf used to say, “One can run for a short time, or walk for a lifetime” (Rolf 1977). 44

Patella

The patella is found in placental mammals and birds—though I’m not sure why birds kneed them (pun intended). Most marsupials have only rudimentary, non-ossified patellae: squishy kneecaps—but why? In more primitive tetrapods, including living amphibians and most reptiles, the muscle tendons from the upper leg are attached directly to the tibia, and a patella is not present. In 2017 it was discovered that Kermit the Frog and all of his kin have kneecaps, and subsequent research discovered that all frogs do (just kidding about Kermit— he is a puppet and can have as many kneecaps as his costume can hold). The patella arose 400 million years ago when tetrapods first appeared, but it disappeared in some animals. Oddly, ostriches have four kneecaps, presumably to allow them to straighten their legs more quickly, although at the cost of needing more force to do so. Biologists believe this enables the animals to run quickly. This raises a question, though: Why don’t we have elbow caps? Well, our legs move fairly consistently, flexing and extending at the knee. A patella increases the leverage and helps keep things in alignment. These are not issues with elbows, though, as they don’t typically deal with large forces and they have more range of motion. Many myths are associated with the knee, such as knee pain indicating a problem in the knee. Knee pain, in fact, can originate from the low back, hips, ankle, or thigh and can radiate from there to the knee. Another myth is that knee pain is an inevitable part of aging. Dr. Bruce Lipton, author of The Biology of Belief (2016), is quick to point out that the body breaking down with age is more a matter of expectations. If we expect to be able to do less as we age, we create a self-fulfilling prophecy, and we will not be disappointed. Growing older can predispose one to risk factors that can lead to knee issues, but growing older itself is not the cause. Those risk factors include weight gain that places additional stress on your knee; menopausal changes in women that increase the risk of osteoporosis; and “wear and tear” from frequently running or hiking through pain. Some folks develop or are born with “loose” kneecaps, predisposing them to misalignments and dislocations of the patella. Most 45

The Memory Palace of Bones

commonly, the groove in the femur in which the patella runs (the trochlea) when the knee is bent is not deep enough; this is known as trochlear dysplasia. If the kneecap is not kept in place in the groove, it has a tendency to slide to the outside of the knee. If it happens once, it usually happens again. More commonly, hypertonicity of the vastus medialis, coupled with relative weakness in its soulmate, the vastus lateralis, drags the patella against the inside of the groove, wearing its cartilage down; this is called chondromalacia patella. In such cases, physical therapy, manual therapy, and mindful movement therapy such as Feldenkrais Awareness Through Movement or Hanna Somatics can significantly help. There once allegedly existed a Roman deity named Patellana. She was a deity in charge of crops, specifically crops of corn. She is described as unfolding or opening each corn plant, so that its ears might be able to shoot forth. I can’t think of any deep meaning this might have, except that it seems that even our kneecaps are divine. And then there is the practice of genuflecting (genu=knee; flecting=flexion). In 328 bce, Alexander the Great introduced into his court a form of genuflection already in use in Persia and India to show him respect. In the Byzantine empire, even senators were required to genuflect to the emperor. In medieval Europe, one demonstrated respect for a king or noble by going down on the left knee, often remaining there until told to rise. This movement is traditionally often performed in Western cultures by a person proposing marriage. When the folded flag of a fallen veteran is offered to the family, the presenting officer will go down on their left knee, if the recipient is seated. Genuflecting is also a common practice in some forms of Christianity. Somewhere in Christian religious texts, having the faith of a mustard seed is discussed as a prerequisite to moral and spiritual maturation. Let’s reconsider the humble seed called the patella and bow not to kings and gods, but to life itself. —JR

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EMBODIMENT—PATELLA Take a short walk, bringing your awareness to your kneecaps, or patellae. We rarely focus any attention on these areas since the patellae usually work so well; you may be surprised by what you notice. The patella is close to the surface of the body and, unlike most bones, is surrounded by a tendon rather than muscle. Tendons receive less circulation than muscle bellies, so the patella’s immediate environment is cooler than that of most other bones. Begin to explore the patellae by laying your hands on them. Feel the warmth of your hands and feel the appreciation of the patellae as they are surrounded by warmth for a change. Then begin to explore the movements of the patellae gently. The movement quality here is similar to that of a ouija board, as if your hands are being subtly moved by the tissues under them. Very slowly, slower than the rhythm of your breathing, explore the gentle sliding movements of the patellae: down, up, to the left and to the right, diagonal movements. Come back to the center of the patellae and gently press posteriorly, letting the patellae feel themselves against the femurs and tibias underlying them. Imagine the warmth of the synovial fluid floating behind the patellae in the knee joint itself. Now relax your hands, letting them rest with warm appreciation for all the unsung work the patellae do for us. Stand up and take another little walk. How do you feel now? What do you notice? What gains come from including the living patellae in your embodiment?

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CHAPTER 4

The Alpha and Omega of the Femur

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As we begin to talk about the femur, one of the most beautiful and sensuous bones in the body, let’s revisit an old riddle, the Riddle of the Sphinx. During his journeys, Oedipus passed through Thebes, where the great Sphinx sat and asked a riddle of everyone who tried to enter the city. If you could answer the riddle, the Sphinx let you in, but if you could not, then the Sphinx ate you. Nobody had ever solved this riddle: What travels on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening? The answer is a person: as a baby in the morning of our life, we crawl on four “feet”—our hands and knees; as an adult in the noon of our life, we walk on two feet; but when we are old, in the evening of our life, we walk with a cane, or three feet. When Oedipus answered the riddle correctly, the Sphinx was so upset that she fainted, and Oedipus went safely into Thebes. This answer to the Riddle of the Sphinx leaves unexamined why we assume that in our later years we will be so decrepit that we need to rely on a cane to get around. The notion that we are doomed to age this way has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because so many folks stop exercising or exploring movement, or even going for regular walks as they grow older, they lose what they don’t use; the myth of aging is thus fulfilled. Many of my older patients—some only in their forties or fifties— were told by their physicians to stop doing yard work because of their age. My favorite excuse: “You’re not as young as you used to be.” Heck—I wasn’t as young as I used to be when I was two years old! Prescribing less movement or physical activity is sentencing a person to degeneration. The third leg mentioned above is reminiscent of a femur: a long stick or cane with a knob on top, a long shaft to reach the ground, and a flared base for stability. In fact, our femurs are canes on which we are meant to walk, run, explore, and dance. This strengthens them and increases our odds of remaining mobile throughout life, outwitting the myth of aging. The femur is beautiful and, like anything profound, “contains multitudes.” It is an entire human in miniature. Head, neck, two

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prominences or trochanters as arms; its long, sinuous shaft winding its way through the forest of the body; two condyles as feet. The head of the femur looks like a ball and articulates with the socket of the pelvis, called the acetabulum (“vinegar cup or bowl”). From within this joint exits the round ligament; this is not normal for a joint, but being such a highly mobile articulation, it uses this extra piece of anatomy to lend it extra stability. This ligament travels with its blood supply in a very confined area. Coupled with the fact that we sit so much, this makes it even more important that we move. A principle of bodywork is that what we imagine is what we touch. Like some version of the Doctrine of Signatures (which dates from the time of Galen, an early Greek physician, and states that herbs resembling various parts of the body can be used by herbalists to treat ailments of those body parts), when I contact a thigh, I am in contact with the entire person. While that could be said of any bone, muscle, or organ, I am reminded of this most strongly when connecting with the femur. When I want to reach someone as deeply as possible, I seek to touch bone—not with brute force, but with the clinical skill called imagination. If I envision bone, then my client feels my work at that deep bone level. When I want to communicate safety or well-being to the whole person, I connect with the femur with that in mind, and often the client feels met. From an engineering perspective, the femur is a marvel. Twenty-three different muscles attach to it, including such muscular superstars as the psoas, all three of the gluteal muscles, the pesky piriformis, four adductors, three quadriceps, one of the hamstrings, and the gastrocnemius. It forms the hip joint at its proximal end, the joint that Ida Rolf said determines symmetry in the body (Rolf 1989, p.141). Another riddle has served as a kind of koan for osteopaths for decades; I call it “The Riddle of the Thighbone.” Dr. A. T. Still, the founder of osteopathy, would hold up a femur and ask his students what he held in his hands. The obvious answer was a thighbone, but Dr. Still wanted his students to dig deeper (in fact, Still often said that the initials “D.O.,” which ordinarily are short for Doctor of

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Osteopathy, metaphorically stand for “Dig On,” meaning to pursue continual learning).

DR. A. T. STILL HOLDING A FEMUR

The answer he was looking for was “the Alpha and Omega.” Yes, he was holding a femur, a simple thighbone, which also contained the whole body, the whole person, the Universe disguised as a humble bone. He wrote, “To answer all the questions that are suggested by a human thighbone would open and close an eternity” (Still 1992, p.224). What makes the positive changes we routinely observe in massage therapy, osteopathy, chiropractic, Rolfing, and other forms of body (mind)work? To me, it is awareness—not pressure, force, or any other mechanical measures. When I work with or around the femur, I may be addressing hip or low back pain. Perhaps I am intending to relieve some form of pelvic dysfunction. But I also open my awareness to include other deeper things that this bone may represent: territorial stability, familial attachments, losing and regaining one’s bearings.

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But first and foremost, I hold in my awareness the whole person, the fullness of the miracle of human embodiment. —JR

Recently, two of my dear friends died: Giovanni Pescetto and Hilmar Moore. And my dreams have been offering up more images and events that refer to death—temporary stays in hotels, interrupted journeys, threats from tigers. So I’m a little “spooked” by death and feel the loss of and the love for friends. Giovanni and I were the closest of associates through Zero Balancing trainings over more than 30 years. Hilmar Moore was a literate, multidisciplinary gentleman— well read, and a musician, gardener, educator, and bodyworker. Here in my seventies I feel a sense of urgency and desire that what I do in general—and in this writing—might have meaning. Each piece of writing is now a kind of will and a way, just as each bone is a testament to the life that grew upon it. The famous photo of A. T. Still looking at the femur has the quality of the femur regarding him as much as he is regarding it—not like a ventriloquist’s dummy on his knee, or like a baby perched there; they are engaged in non-verbal conversation. Perhaps the femur and Dr. Still, like all of us, are looking for answers. Femur: “Tell me about your life, Doctor.” Dr. Still: “What mysteries and truths do you hold for me?” What messages about life and death might we receive? The longest bone in the body might have the largest stories passing through it, more a novel than a poem. And in its marrow is conveyed the deepest vitality through the red blood cells made and pouring continuously from it during life. When it is done, its form yet remains. The dances, the walks, the leaps that the hip joint took over the course of life have given us both the stability and the freedom we have needed. Indeed, one might imagine Dr. Still lifting the femur overhead in a gesture of triumph: the triumph of the femur, celebrating the role it played in every moment of a life. 53

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As we move down through the shaft to the knee, the more the relationship of the pelvis to the hip flows into the whole body’s relationship to the ground. And it is this living conversation between pelvis, thigh, leg, foot, and earth that is an archetypal alliance, giving common ground to all animals on this planet. The grace from socket and ball, to neck, to trochanters, to the long and graceful shaft, to its swelling into the epicondyles that constitute the tops of the knees has given us the strength to live—not it alone, but without it we can’t make it through with the same sense of support and movement. As noted, Oedipus’s answer to the Sphinx’s famous riddle was “Man: as an infant, he crawls on all fours; as an adult he walks on two legs; and in old age he uses a walking stick.” May we not be struck down when we say the Sphinx and Oedipus were wrong! For most older people, the walking stick, thanks to the femur, is not necessary. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time Oedipus was wrong, as his story goes! This rather slender passageway, this graceful stem of life, adorned by the strong and sexy muscles of the thigh, the loins of the warrior, the thighs that involve us in acts of love and the issuing of new life— these forms speak to us in the language of life. It is an unending story told not in words but in authentic, articulate connection through time as if between one life and another. These joints connect us and let movement happen, from one person to another, from birth to death, from one time to another time, stretching out until our last long walks take us as far as we can go. This discussion evokes one of my favorite poems about the body by John Berger: ON A DEGAS BRONZE OF A DANCER You say the leg supports the body But have you never seen The seed in the ankle    Whence the body grows? You say (if you are the builder of bridges 54

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I think you are) each pose Must have its natural equilibrium But have you never seen Recalcitrant muscles of dancers    Hold their unnatural own? You say (if as rational As I hope you are) the biped’s evolution Was accomplished long ago But have you never seen The still miraculous sign A little in from the hip Predicting nine inches below    Bodies fork in two? Then let us look together (We who both know Light’s the go-between Of space and time) Let us look at this figure To verify    I my goddess    And you the stress. Think in terms of bridges. See, the road of the leg and back Hingeing at hip and shoulder Holds firm from palm to heel Single leg as pier Thigh above the knee Cantilevering member. Think in terms of bridges Over what men once called Lethe. See, the ordinary body we cross through

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Vulnerable, inhabited, warm Stands the strain too. Dead Load, Live Load And Longitudinal Drag. So let the bridge this dancer arches for us Stand the strain of all old prejudice So let’s verify again,    You my goddess    And I the stress. (Berger 2014, pp.40–41) —DL

EMBODIMENT—HIP AND LEG #1 As mentioned earlier, joints that do not naturally have much movement tend to lose that movement before other, more freely moving joints do. For example, the pubic symphysis almost always loses its motion before the sacroiliac joints, and the sacroiliac joints tend to lose their motion before the lumbosacral joint does. This results in widespread shortening of muscles and fascia that cross these joints, as the brain and nervous system valiantly attempt to correct these restrictions. The hip joint—the confluence of the acetabulum and head of the femur—is clearly a freely moving joint. However, because of how much we sit, hip extension occurs less often than flexion and internal and external rotation. This can eventually cause hip problems. Lie prone on a yoga mat or soft carpet. Keeping your knee locked, gently lift one leg. Notice how that feels. How easily and how far can you extend that hip? Repeat on the other side. What follows is a combination of a proprioceptive and interoceptive exercise. Turn onto your back to lie face up. You will press one leg, with the knee locked again, into the floor. And because the brain 56

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thrives on and improves with novel, safe input, we’ll take it slowly. First, notice what your hip joint feels like. Extend your awareness to the shaft of the femur. You may want to move the thigh slightly or touch the bones with one hand. For three seconds press your lower extremity into the floor without straining. Take another three seconds to release the contraction. Place your mind into the hip joint and notice what sensations present themselves to your awareness. Repeat this; then repeat these steps with the other leg. Turn over into the prone position and extend the legs again. What do you notice now?

EMBODIEMENT—HIP AND LEG #2 The femur is a gorgeous bone, long and lanky, curved and easily felt with our hands. For centuries it has been used in some cultures as a musical instrument. Let’s see what kind of music you can make happen as you explore your thighbone. This interoceptive exercise is particularly fun after a hike or bike ride, when your legs feel tired. It helps us to tap into the strength and resiliency of this amazing bone.  Earlier in this book we described what a fulcrum is and how to apply it. To review, a fulcrum is a point of stillness around which work, movement, or growth can occur. To place a fulcrum into a part of the body, slowly and mindfully apply pressure until the tissues you seek to engage meet you and push back into your hand. Hold for a few seconds or more, pause for several seconds (this is important), and continue. Stand and take a sensory inventory of your feet, followed by your lower legs, and then your thighs. Slowly walk around, tuning into the deeper sensations of bone. Expand your awareness to include your whole body.  Sit down comfortably in a chair without arms. Begin by placing bilateral fulcrums into the greater trochanters, the knobby portion of the femur on the sides of your upper legs. Hold for five to seven seconds, enjoying the sensations that are evoked. Release slowly and 57

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pause. Savor any sensations you notice. Continue applying fulcrums down the entire outside of both legs, using fingertips or the palms of your hands. Make sure your hands are at ease doing this. Focus on the sensation of the bones in your fingers meeting the sensation of the bone inside the skin, muscles, and fascia of the side of the thighs. Hold. Release. Pause. Notice. Repeat. When you arrive at the bottom of the femur, you will find that the bone flares to the outside and inside of the thigh. These are the lateral and medial epicondyles, attachment points for some large muscles. Apply a fulcrum simultaneously to the outside and inside of the epicondyles. Hold, release, pause. Then repeat this several times. Attune to any sensations noticed—no judgment allowed. Using your “beginner’s mind,” apply the fulcrum of curiosity. Follow this by placing similar fulcrums into the epicondyles of the other thigh.  Move slightly downward to the patella. While this bone is not part of the fulcrum, it is in direct relationship with it at all times. Using the tips of several fingers, place a fulcrum for several seconds into the top of the patella, followed by the middle and bottom of it. When you are finished with one leg, move to the other, staying alert to any sensations or feelings that arise.  To conclude, walk around again, almost as you would in a walking meditation. What feels different? Can you perceive the bones that center and ground your experience more easily?  Do you feel a sense of ease or relief? Do your legs feel more energized? Where else might you feel relief? The larger the territory that we pay attention to, the more the brain benefits. 

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CHAPTER 5

The Pelvis and Its Wings

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The word “pelvis,” meaning “the container,” first appeared in a 16th-century anatomy text, referring to the deep cavity in the third ventricle of the brain. In 1615 it took on its present and rather pragmatic usage, “a dish which contains parts of the guts, the bladder and the womb.” The pelvis is a container, a pan, a platter used to serve food. It is also home to the first chakra, the Muladhara—the basis of, and starting point for, our development. Our life-force energy begins here; the central nervous system develops from here up to the occiput. Organs develop, offshoots of the spinal cord. That’s a lot of cooking and serving up of life. Energetically, the pelvis asks: “Do I belong here? Am I safe enough to thrive?” The element most associated with it is Earth. Nature-based peoples recognize that separation from the Earth, from our inner sovereignty, leads to severance from our deepest gifts. Chief among these gifts is our reciprocal relationship with the natural world. The pelvis can be considered our basement, dark and often scary. But the voice of the Earth—indeed, the voice of the bones—is asking us to descend into this dark world of mystery, the womb of our beginning. Let’s fire the preachers who taught us that the pelvis was a bad and dirty place, and ignore the gurus’ teachings that we must transcend this lowly area in favor of ascension. Our lives were made to be free in—every child knows this in their bones. People’s ambivalence about the pelvis has given rise to confusion over what to call it. Strictly speaking, the pelvis is the sacrum plus the innominate bones—the ischium, ilium, and pubis that fuse in our early twenties. Variously called “hip bone,” “os coxae,” “innominate bone,” or “pelvic bone,” it is the lower body’s homologue to the upper body’s wings, the scapulae. The “bone with no name” (literally what “innominate” means) is also the bone with numerous names. When I think about what this area teaches us, it is a bone of many structural connections: with the femur, the sacrum, and, via ligamentous attachments, the lower lumbar spine. Even the bone itself is a collection/connection of three bones. It is also an area of both biological and energetic power. The power 60

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of passion dwells here. Life is produced here, from conception to gestation to birth. The sacral and coccygeal plexuses, as well as the first two chakras, arise from here. In many shamanic traditions, the pelvis is referred to as the second skull, the female skull, or the pelvic chalice. The message the pelvis delivers: true power lies in our connectings and connections. Gabriel Kram, Director of the Academy of Applied Social Medicine, describes his occupation as “connection phenomenologist.” Connection phenomenology is: the art and science of awakening connection to ourselves, one another, and the living world…it is the implicit historical foundation of culture itself, for the basis of human culture is connection. The birth of modernity is the deviation from this ancestral awareness. (Kram 2011, p.50)

Through this lens, we might see bodywork—which fosters awareness of our interconnectedness both inside and outside of our skins— as a significant form of cultural repair. Add to that the sense-able assumption that the guiding wisdom of our ancestors hums inside our bones, and it seems that some of the wishful thinking of the 1960s has become a valid tool to heal the many tearings of (or tears in?) our cultural fabric. I have always appreciated things that seem opposites but on closer examination are two sides of the same coin. For example, the pelvic floor—the soft tissues connecting the two sides of the pelvis—has two inherently conflicting functions. One is to close the pelvic and abdominal cavities and bear the load of the visceral organs; the other is to allow the release of babies and waste. I think this is one reason for the confusion as to whether Kegel exercises are helpful or not. Yes and yes. I think it was the physicist Niels Bohr who said, “There are two kinds of truths in this world: trivial truths and profound truths” (quoted in Murdoch 1989, p.130). The human body is many things and chief among them is that it is a profound truth. We just need to have the proverbial eyes with which to see: holistic eyes rather than the eyes of reductionism. 61

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Modern humans are largely characterized by bipedal locomotion and large brains (not that we always take advantage of them). Because the pelvis is vital to both locomotion and childbirth, natural selection has been confronted by two conflicting demands: a wide birth canal and locomotion efficiency, a conflict referred to as the “obstetrical dilemma.” The female pelvis has evolved to its maximum width for childbirth—a wider pelvis would make women unable to walk. In contrast, human male pelvises are not constrained by the need to give birth and therefore are more optimized for bipedal locomotion, albeit oftentimes not for dancing! The primary function of the innominate bones, along with that of the neighboring sacrum, femur, and a dizzying array of muscles, is to bear the weight of the upper body when sitting and standing. It transfers that weight from the axial skeleton to the lower appendicular skeleton when standing and walking, and provides attachments for the powerful muscles of locomotion and posture. Compared with the shoulder girdle, the pelvic girdle is strong and rigid. Shoulder dislocations are common due to the shallow glenoid fossa and the robust head of the humerus. Hip dislocations, however, are rare. While the head of the femur is quite sizeable, so is the acetabulum with which it articulates. It is so deep that you can have a party in it, as long as you are very small and limit your libations to a cup of vinegar. The pubis symphysis, as small as it is, is the most stable of the pelvic joints, primarily due to the strength of its cartilaginous disc. Because it inherently has less motion than, say, the lumbosacral or sacroiliac joints, it is the first joint in the pelvis to lose that motion. It is a classic foundation joint, so the brain will recruit large muscles in the area to mobilize it, keeping harmony among the movable parts of the pelvis. The trouble is that it can create other biomechanical and energetic problems, such as low back or pelvic pain. For this reason, I begin with the pubis symphysis when treating low back or pelvic pain. Both sacroiliac joints, formed between the auricular surfaces of the sacrum and the two innominate bones, are also near-immobile joints enclosed by very taut joint capsules. Placing fulcrums into the upper or lower portions of these joints (or both) is helpful in 62

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relieving low back, pelvic, and posterior thigh pain. It can also help to place fulcrums into the most important accessory ligaments of the sacroiliac joint: the sacrospinous and sacrotuberous ligaments. These stabilize the hemipelvis on the sacrum and prevent the sacral promontory from tilting forward. The iliolumbar ligament—the lower border of the thoracolumbar fascia—is also frequently in need of some tender loving fulcrums. A favorite “secret weapon” of mine for treating low back pain is the inferior parts of the latissimus dorsi. Mainly considered to be one of the major muscles of the upper limb, it arises from the posterior third of the iliac crest and can be a landmine of tender or trigger points contributing to back pain. Another commonly ignored source of low back pain is the abdominal muscles, most of which have attachments to either the pubis or the ilium. If I ask the average person why hospital births typically occur with the woman in a supine, horizontal position, they will usually attempt to offer a scientific reason relating ostensibly to the woman’s welfare. Some may say it is easier on the doctor. But the truth is a classic example of fact being stranger than fiction. As far back in history as 19,000 years ago, in ancient Egypt, women adopted a squatting position to give birth. Centuries later, according to engravings found in the Temple of Esneh in Upper Egypt (circa 70–30 bce), Cleopatra is shown giving birth kneeling in front of a group of women. In ancient Greece, midwives used birthing stools on which the mother would sit and deliver her child through a hole in the stool, one of the midwives waiting below to take the baby in her open arms, while others massaged the mother’s belly during labor. The existence of birthing chairs can be traced back to Babylonian culture 4000 years ago and they have been used ever since. In traditional cultures throughout history, women typically were found to give birth kneeling, squatting, or sitting. My maternal grandmother, assisted by midwives, gave birth to eight healthy babies while squatting in her kitchen; this was normal practice in Italy, where she was born and raised. And all her children lived into their nineties, as did she. It was not until the beginning of the 18th century that the horizontal 63

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birthing position became the norm. And while it is still unclear who started it, many believe it was one kinky king’s desire to observe his women giving birth up close and full frontal that started this practice. King Louis XIV of France, a dedicated womanizer, was determined to see all his lovers give birth, but was frustrated that the birthing stool obscured his view. In pursuit of greater thrills and satisfaction, he promoted a new method: the laboring woman lying down, legs parted, so he could more closely inspect what was going on. He was so happy with this that a special bed was designed to suit his fancy and word quickly spread throughout Europe that the King of France’s physicians were using a new, more advanced way of delivering babies. Voilà—the birth (pun intended) of a “scientific advancement” that continues to this day. When we stop to listen to our pelvis, we may sense its words: “Keep singing, my friend, keep singing.” —JR

The pelvis is the very center of balance, the inner city of our body, through which our energy flows. It balances out and coordinates the forceful movements of the upper and lower body. One could argue that the pelvis is the sexiest place in the body. I read in a yoga blog once that “there is nothing more sexy than empty space.” Unfortunately, attitudes toward the pelvis may reflect the ambivalence people often feel toward sexuality and the body. The beauty of a bowl lies not only in its form but also in how it embraces and contains empty space. Like most bowls, the pelvis is filled largely with fluid. It also houses the internal organs—the bladder, the reproductive organs—as well as the passageways for elimination and birth. The pelvis is bounded as well by fluid muscles—muscles are 80 percent water—among them the gluteals, tensor fasciae latae, the iliacus and psoas, the pelvic floor muscles, and the deep lateral rotators. We can also include ligaments, particularly the inguinal, iliolumbar, sacrospinous, and sacrotuberous ligaments. At first, I had a hard time visualizing the complex geometry of the pelvis’s bones, but a fond childhood memory came to my rescue. 64

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It was none other than Babar the Elephant, who, like many animals who accompanied my childhood, I considered a kind of friend. Babar’s ears could be the ala of the ilium, and, though high, his crown could be the pubis. The ischia are sort of where his tusks are, and the sacrum would be below the crown, its width depicted by the eyes. Another beloved elephant who captured the flying aspect of the ala (from the Latin for wings) of the ilium is none other than Dumbo, who famously When the pelvis is not balanced, flew using his big ears. we do not have the upward In a healthy human experience the thrust that creates zero balance, the sense of weightlessness that pelvis, if not flying, is certainly floating. can be experienced in the body. Too often the pelvis is overly fixated in the When the pelvis is aberrated, it body, as we hold unneeded and chronic does not allow this equipoise, tension in the muscles surrounding it. Ida this tranquility in experience that a balanced pelvis shows. Rolf so valued the free-moving quality of The combined forces acting on a the pelvis that she devoted three of the balanced pelvis are in a moment ten Rolfing sessions to restoring healthy of inertia near zero. It is always position and movement to the pelvis in dynamic action, but the forces balance out to near zero. from below, above, and behind. Only then do the Rolfing sessions proceed to (Rolf 1990, p.40) freeing the head and neck at the other end of the spine. The sensual realm of the pelvis plays more of a role in our embodiment than the realm of the cranium, which is associated more with mind than body. Associated with the first and second chakras, the pelvis gives us the experience of feeling secure on the earth. It grounds us, as the freed pelvis allows force and energy to travel down through each leg, ankle, and foot. The pelvis is linked to sexuality, as well as being the passageway for all new human life. Through it, we have the passageways for urination and defecation. The second chakra, in addition to being associated with sexuality, relates to “generativity”—in this case the generating of life and the overall sense of excitability. The pelvis attaches to the largest bone of the spine, the sacrum, which is the fusion of five vertebrae and therefore holds the greatest energetic charge. No wonder the compellingness (compulsion?) of pelvic excitement can override the 65

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mind and cause mighty conflicts, scandals, and offenses, along with the greatest of pleasures. Through its muscles, especially the gluteals, we have the alluring sway that speaks to our deepest desires, promising through them some of the most wonderful satisfactions. So central is the pelvis to so much of our lives that its social regard is controversial. Many feelings—shame, love, lust, attraction, excitement, revulsion—reside in the collective unconscious in ways that can be unnerving, if we do not befriend this realm. May we welcome this sexy, mostly empty space that lies at the center of each one of our worlds and contributes vastly to the beauty and meaningfulness of our lives. —DL

EMBODIMENT—PELVIS Look at the drawing of the pelvis at the beginning of the chapter and try to sense those beautiful bones inside yourself. Take a bowl from your kitchen and, holding it, sense if you can find your own “pelvic bowl.” Walk around slowly and ask yourself, “If my pelvic bowl were filled close to the brim, would the water spill? Would it spill forward or backward? To the left or right? Or a combination of those directions?” Sit on a flat chair, feeling the weight of your upper body settling onto the chair. Begin to locate the bony pelvis by first feeling the interface made by your ischial tuberosities (your “sitz bones”) against the chair. Next, touch your iliac crests—the curved bones below your waist in the back—and appreciate their shape. Then, locate with your inner sight the pubic bones coming together in the front of your body, immediately above the genitals. Take in the senses of this territory— the entirety of your pelvic bowl. The next steps require moving subtly and very slowly to enhance interoception. Slowly shift your weight onto your left ischial tuberosity, slightly so as not to spill the imaginary water in your pelvic bowl. Glide rather than tilt the pelvis so it remains parallel to the floor. 66

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Repeat in the opposite direction. Pause and appreciate any sensations that you perceive. Then slowly and slightly arch your back, just enough not to spill the water out of the front of the bowl. Like before, don’t actually tilt your pelvis, but allow it to glide forward and back, parallel to the floor. Follow these movements with a flattening of the back. Don’t allow the water to spill out of the back of the bowl. Repeat the movement even more slowly and subtly, keeping the water in the bowl. Notice what sensations arise, with no judgment. Finish by repeating the steps above, but this time allow the bony pelvis to move. For example, as you shift your weight onto the right ischial tuberosity, allow the left one to lift slightly from the chair. This will probably require pushing the weight of your left lower extremity slightly into the floor. When shifting the pelvis forward and back (previously done by subtly arching and flattening the back), allow your pelvis to roll forward and backward on the tuberosities. Keep the movements so slow and minimal that the water will not spill or splash. Notice what your upper body and lower extremities feel like as you practice these micro-movements. Keep the feeling-image of the bony pelvis in mind. If any movement feels choppy or clumsy, repeat it more slowly. Your brain is simply trying out a new way of moving, sensing, and being. Stand up and walk around, asking yourself, “How do my pelvis and its movements feel now?”

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CHAPTER 6

The Sacrum and Coccyx PORTAL TO THE LOWER AND HIGHER GROUND

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As a piece of Nature’s art, the sacrum is right up there with the sphenoid and femur as one of the bones that most takes my breath away. Buckminster Fuller once said to me, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the number of breathtaking moments” (Fuller 1981). Bodywork—and studying and touching bone—has provided me with many of those moments. I like waves and things that look like waves, especially in bones. The sacrum has that sensuous convex curve on its posterior surface, perfect for applying a Zero Balancing fulcrum or decompressing tension in the low back with a myofascial release. Concave on its inner surface, it is home to our pelvic physiology, busy with life being life. The term “sacrum” derives from the Latin meaning “holy” or “sacred.” How and when did this structure come to be known as the sacred bone? According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the term “sacrum” first entered the English language in 1753. Although it was used first by the Greeks, the “holy” significance was added by the Romans, who used literal sacrums in sacrificial rites in order to protect the genitalia (which, in ancient times, were admirably considered holy). I am not so sure how sacred their use was, though, in the context of human sacrifices. The German word for sacrum is Kreuzbein, which means “crossbone” and conveys the holiness associated with the cross of the crucifixion. Another school of thought was that it was in this bony temple that the sacred organs of the female (i.e., the uterus and ovaries) resided. Although the primary meaning of “sacra” is “holy,” it can also mean “large, great, or magnificent.” Lastly, due to its size, the sacrum may resist decomposition more than other vertebrae. Therefore, many ancients may have believed, as in the Jewish tradition, that it serves as the source of resurrection in the afterlife. Similarly, Muslims share the belief that there is a bone in the human body that does not decay, and it is from this bone that the human body will be resurrected; however, they believe that bone to be the coccyx. I do not doubt the sacredness of the sacrum for a second, but other traditional cultures have considered the “sacred

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bone” to be the atlas vertebra, the occiput, and even the teeth, which are more indestructible than bone. In Indian spiritual practices, the area around the sacrum is the seat of the Kundalini. Kundalini is seen as the primordial dormant energy present at the base of the spine, often visualized as a coiled snake. One of the primary goals of some traditions of yoga is the uncoiling, or release, of this more feminine energy at the base of the spine, which can then travel up the central energy channel to unite with the masculine energy in the seventh chakra. This union of opposites is the essential meaning of yoga (“to unite or yoke, bring together”), and is a powerful symbol in many traditional cultures. You probably have heard talk of our “second brain” in our abdomen. There is another second brain that appeared millions of years ago and disappeared with the dinosaurs. The Stegosaurus dinosaur had a greatly enlarged neural canal in the sacrum, which was referred to as its second or posterior brain. The size of the space for this “brain” was twenty times larger than the dinosaur’s cranial brain. It was thought to control lower limb function. This space apparently served other purposes as well, however, and was not unique to the Stegosaurus. It is also, to this day, present (in a much smaller version) in birds. It contains what is called the glycogen body, a structure whose function is postulated to facilitate the supply of glycogen to the animal’s nervous system. It may also play a role as a balance organ. The sacrum is something of a crossroads, joining both the spine and hips to the pelvis. It unites our upper and lower parts: yet another example of heaven meeting Earth within the body. The spinal cord, via its dural covering, attaches directly to the sacral canal, as well as the coccygeal canal, and an altered position of these bones can cause problems throughout the body. Another clinical concern regarding the sacrum is to do with its relationship with the two halves of the pelvis, or the innominates. Viewed from the lateral side, the posterior and anterior iliac spines should be level. If the angle formed by connecting these two points exceeds 5 degrees in a male or 10 degrees in a female, it may tether the lower sacral nerve roots, creating ischemic changes in the nerve 71

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tissues, and possibly resulting in something called pelvic pain and organic dysfunction syndrome. In essence, it can lead to many of the pelvic and pelvic floor complaints our clients suffer from, in addition to organic dysfunctions including incontinence, painful intercourse, erectile dysfunction, and inability to reach orgasm. The coccyx is like another sacrum, only smaller; we might refer to one as the sacrum major and the other as the sacrum minor, two upside-down triangles that collectively form the foundation to the entire spine and central nervous system. The coccyx is often relegated to being thought of as a vestigial tail. This is far from the case, however. The cauda equina, the filamentous end of the spinal cord, attaches directly to the canal within the coccyx. A fall on the tailbone is unlike other falls. A coccyx that is injured or fractured can cause widespread physical pain, as well as mental and emotional distress. I have treated patients who became suicidal following a coccyx fracture that was not treated (or was treated improperly) for many years. Many muscles—the entire pelvic floor musculature, in fact— attach to this small bone. Fortunately, a field specializing in treating pelvic floor musculature, the sacrum, and the coccyx, has recently emerged within the field of physical therapy. While surgery is commonly performed to treat pelvic floor pain, including coccydynia, or coccyx pain, I recommend consulting a pelvic floor physical therapist first, as many of these cases can be successfully treated conservatively. One of the most common issues involving the pelvic floor is incontinence. Incontinence is not a normal part of aging, and Kegel exercises are rarely the solution. Most of us carry too much tension in our pelvic floor muscles, which inhibits their function. These muscles typically are hypertonic and need to be relaxed, not strengthened with exercises. Logan Basic Technique is a chiropractic technique to treat issues of the sacral–coccygeal region. Dr. Hugh B. Logan felt that proper neuromusculoskeletal care should begin at the tail end of the spine. Why? Consider the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Construction of the tower began in 1173, but a shallow foundation and the soft, shifting ground underneath were too unstable to support it. Over the centuries, 72

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architects added height and continued to try to straighten it; of course, the situation worsened and Italy ended up with a popular tourist attraction. Dr. Logan targeted what he felt was the root of the problem: an unstable foundation. His gentle method was so successful that in 1935 he founded Logan College of Chiropractic (now Logan University) near St. Louis, in order to teach it more widely. From a biotensegrity perspective, freeing the coccyx can begin the process of opening to self-development. When the bottom of the coccyx tucks anteriorly, the shoulders tend to round, breathing becomes shallow, and blood flow to the brain is diminished; the last thing on our minds is psychological or spiritual growth. We feel depressed and tired, even with eight hours of sleep. Our attention tends to restrict itself to issues of survival. So, in order to move from survival to “thrival,” it might be wise to free up the base of the spine! .

—JR

If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. —Gospel of Thomas 70

There is a special power associated with the beginnings and endings in the body: the xiphoid process at the end of the sternum, our beginnings in the feet, the hands at the ends of our arms, the top of the body ending with the various bones and functions of the cranium. Beginnings and endings of stories, of anatomy, of loves, lives, and breaths frame our experiences. It is said that the most important impression one can make is the first. That leads one to suspect that the next most important is the last impression. Indeed, many therapies go to the beginnings or ends of the body for greater therapeutic leverage—for example, foot and hand reflexology and craniosacral therapy. The charming but bogus practices of palm-reading and phrenology look for the nature of the person through the hand and the contours of the skull. 73

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Beginnings and endings are temporal as well as spatial. We grow up in time from the ground, from crawling to erectness and a perpendicular relationship to the earth underneath us. And, of course, we end as dust. You can’t have a clear beginning without it being preceded by a clear ending. The tail (and tale) of our coccyx winds up at the end of the middle of us, the end of the spine (or the beginning, depending on your perspective). The coccyx is near GV 1, a point in Chinese medicine on the central channel running up the spine, the “Governing Vessel.” This point, the first along this meridian, is translated as “long strong.” This can lead us to consider experiencing the coccyx (and sacrum) as a source of strength rather than thinking of it merely as our vestigial tail. In fact, the etymology of the word “sacrum” shows that, in Latin, os sacrum was a translation from the Greek hieron osteon, meaning “sacred bone,” and also that hieros can mean “strong,” suggesting that the Latin is a mistranslation on the part of Galen, who named it “the strong bone.” Both the sacrum and coccyx, then, can be seen and experienced as profound yet generally unconscious sources of strength. And how sensible it is, indeed, to see this very root of our spine as a source of nourishment and strength, forming the foundation of spinal alignment, power, and energy. The word “coccyx” is derived from the Greek for cuckoo—kokkyx—named supposedly by Galen (again) because the coalesced bones appear to have reminded him of a cuckoo’s curved beak. The cuckoo has also been singled out in modern medicine in the works of the founder of cranial osteopathy, William Garner Sutherland, who charmingly likened the form and movements of certain cranial bones to the form and nodding movements of the cuckoo. One pioneer who singled out this area is Ida Rolf, who noted that the ganglion impar is regarded in many ancient and modern sects as the seat of the soul. The ganglion impar is a solitary structure located anterior to the sacrococcygeal junction. The ending terminal of the two sympathetic chains, it is the only unpaired autonomic ganglion in the body. Rolf ended each Rolfing session with a settling down of the pelvis, sacrum, and coccyx, leaving the client with a grounded 74

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feeling in the spine, pelvic floor, lower body, and the autonomic nervous system. Irene Dowd in Taking Root to Fly likens the sacrum to a keystone arch in a church. The downward force of the arch keeps the columns in place. In the body the columns are our legs, and far more subtlety is needed to adjust to the constant micromovements we make even when we stand still. Add to that the 19 ligaments in and around the pelvis and the 57 muscles that have a connection to the pelvis and you have a cross over area where there is a translation of the heaven to earth forces…the sense of the spine connecting from the sacrum up to the brain and the doorway to allowing our grounding forces to flow. (Jeff Lennard, Zero Balancing teacher, 2019, citing Dowd 1995)

A most fascinating and mysterious association with the sacrum for me came in some private correspondence with a colleague, the English acupuncture and Zero Balancing teacher Alan Hext. He writes: In Chinese acupuncture traditions the eight sacral foramina (the paired holes at each level of the sacrum) are sometimes known as the eight winds. These can be taken as vents through which the vital breaths of qi and spirit blow, as well as ability to orient to the eight directions (the sacrum in relation to the centre of gravity). This latter allows us to embody pivotal balance so we can adapt and be free to be open to all possibilities. (Hext 2019)

Our explorations of this deep foundational living territory, the realm of the sacrum and coccyx, can, indeed, help us embody a more balanced feeling within ourselves. Its presence in the very middle of our physical (and therefore energetic) body gives it the role of a fulcrum in the center of our being. As with a seesaw, it is the center pole that allows for movement. The coccyx and sacrum are the roots of the central axis within us—the axis mundi (our world). Acknowledging its role in everyone’s life, perhaps it indicates that what is within 75

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us can play a part in saving us. “This real axis would then be the incarnation of an ideal axis, around which mankind in its movement is drawn together” (Jaspers 2011, p.263). —DL

EMBODIMENT—SACROILIAC JOINT There are numerous reasons to choose to live in a more embodied way: to enhance our relationship with ourselves; to deepen our intuition; and to learn to thrive while living with pain. This embodiment exploration deals with the third of these. Lie on your back on a yoga mat or carpet. Bend your knees, keeping your feet flat on the floor. Slowly shrug one hip to the shoulder on the same side. Then shrug the other hip to its shoulder-partner. Repeat several times, sensing if one or both sacroiliac joints could use some lubricating fluid or some tender loving care. Turn onto the side that feels more restricted, being careful not to cause pain (if the area around your greater trochanter hurts, don’t do this exploration). Keeping both knees bent as before, allow that side to settle comfortably into the mat or carpet. Take time to feel supported, held, or nestled by the ground—if possible, even the ground of the earth beneath the floor of your dwelling. Invite that support into the felt sensation of that side of the pelvis and allow that sacroiliac joint to feel protected by your contact with the floor. Slowly shrug the other hip to the shoulder with a small (1-inch/2.5-cm) movement. Do this several times, moving more slowly each time. Pause. Notice the sensations wherever they manifest in your pelvis. Then repeat the movement, making it even smaller, about a half-inch (1 cm). (This can be challenging for those of us conditioned to do everything big.) Repeat several times. Turn onto your other side and repeat the steps above. Turn onto your back again and repeat the pelvic shrugs, alternating from side to side. How does the more “stuck” sacroiliac joint feel now? An optional way of doing this exploration, especially if pain is 76

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present, is to practice mental movement of the painful sacroiliac joint. Perform several actual movements, keeping yourself safe by making your range of motion small and slow. Notice which side seems to want help. Shrug both the hips mentally, visualizing an inch and then a half-inch of movement. Get up and walk around for a minute. Lie back down and see if you can move the sacroiliac joints more easily. Remember that every movement we make is an opportunity to experience pleasure.

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CHAPTER 7

The Karma of the Lumbar Vertebrae

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Delmore Schwartz, a troubled yet influential teacher of rock luminary Lou Reed, wrote a poem called “The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me,” which emphasizes the opposite of what I hope and believe. Delmore, in his evocation of the heavy bear, is uncomfortable with embodiment and carnal desires. However, the poem’s subtitle is “the withness of the body”—so there’s hope yet, in spite of the direction he takes. What would life be without this gift, “the withness” of this body? The lines that leapt out at me as I contemplated the lumbar vertebrae were: The heavy bear who goes with me, A manifold honey to smear his face, Clumsy and lumbering here and there, The central ton of every place… (Schwartz 1967, pp.75–76)

Let’s look at what lumbering suggests. Lumbus in Latin derives from the Sanskrit randhra, translated as “loin.” It also has roots in Old Church Slavonic: legvije means “loins, kidneys, insides, soul.” As a verb, its origin is linked to a Scandinavian source meaning “to move clumsily.” And from that origin we get the noun “lumber” applied to wood, from its being “awkward to move.” The latter is likely the root of Schwartz’s use. The lumbar vertebrae are the largest, strongest members of the vertebral community; they support the most weight. The cervical vertebrae from above look like Mardi Gras masks, while the lumbar vertebrae look a bit more like gargoyles. But they are friendly gargoyles, doing their best to support and help us move our upper body forward, backward, and to either side. The intervertebral facets face right and left, limiting rotation. The ability to swivel freely would compromise their role in managing the weight of the upper body. The lumbars rest upon each other, their shapes slightly larger toward the front and smaller toward the back, giving us—with the muscles’ and ligaments’ support—the characteristic gentle lumbar curve. 80

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THE L3 VERTEBRA

The curvature of the spine allows us to support ten times more weight than if the spine were straight. Gentle curves also distribute the force between all the vertebrae. In a straight spine, all the discs would have to bear the weight of all the vertebrae above, challenging the lumbars most of all. The lumbar curve doesn’t develop until a child begins to walk. The standing and walking child is at first charmingly clumsy, thankfully without adult weight to worry about. Our toddlers take off on their two little legs, lumbering happily from side to side with excited smiles—they are now way up in the air compared with when they crawled. Remember the intoxication of being that much closer to our parents’ and older siblings’ great heights? And the new curve to which we owe this ability is given us by the lumbar vertebrae and their silent, stoical support, their discs, and the associated soft tissues. Over time, our bodies being Schwartz’s “central ton of every place” can be wearying. As we grow older, stress, lack of movement, weight gain, and genetics may compromise the lower back. The muscles can tire more easily or spasm. The discs can compress and even herniate. This may be the price we pay for evolving from four-legged animals to two, and asking the lumbars to support the entire upper body, instead of asking them to perform their four-legged role as more of a scaffolding from which the organs hang down. This is one of the most basic human structural challenges. It parallels the challenges 81

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of mind and emotion with which Schwartz was preoccupied. With self-consciousness and our more highly developed cerebrum, we all have the lifelong task of reconciling the animal responses within us with the rational, decision-making self. The lumbars are five keys to our humanity, anchoring and supporting us, like the pentatonic five-tone scale underlying most folk music. Their music is fundamental and straightforward. Without their solid bass tones, we would lose the ability to enjoy the more graceful movements of our upper body, the melodic voicings of our arms, our hands, and our songs. These five strong, living bones are, in some ways, the very source of our freedom. Schwartz, however brilliant, was wrong. The heavy bear is the precondition for our freedom, and the lumbars are the precondition for our grace. This heavy bear, who may be considered as a totem animal of our lumbars, is one of the greatest and most noble allies in every human life! —DL

Poor Delmore Schwartz—a talented writer, a survivor of childhood trauma, and eventually, a victim of that trauma. Perhaps the Heavy Bear gave voice to something that weighed his spirits down, something that he felt literally in his flesh and bones. It reminds me of the character Mr. Duffy in James Joyce’s short story “A Painful Case,” who “lived a short distance from his body” (quoted in Owens 2017, p.72). During my chiropractic training, I developed quite a fear of the low back. While treating low back pain was the “bread and butter” of many chiropractic practices, it was considered a very challenging and difficult part of the anatomy to care for. I vividly remember a patient I saw in my very first week in practice: a 6-foot-5-inch, 275-pound (1.98 m, 125 kg) young man in unbearable low back pain. His wife phoned my office to request a house call, as he could not stand up and was on their living room floor crying. When I arrived, I found him trying valiantly to urinate in a bottle he kept by his side. He had been lying on the floor for two days. From a purely “meat-suit” perspective, the pathologies of the low back are daunting: increased or decreased lumbar curves, disc 82

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injuries, facet tropism, spondylolistheses, and on and on. The problem, however, lies in part in viewing the lumbar spine as merely a collection of anatomical machinery. Divorced from a whole-person perspective, we are left with fixing parts, much like an automobile bodyworker might bang out dents after a car has been in an accident. But we are, instead, a rich ecosystem, and all the seemingly separate pieces must be acknowledged as the inseparable fabric of body, mind, and spirit that they are. My patient hated his job and drank too much to assuage the pain of growing up with an abusive and alcoholic father. While I simply rubbed sore spots and pushed bones around, he remained in pain. When he quit his job at a meat-packing plant and became a tree surgeon, he came to live—perhaps for the first time—inside his body and he got well. The lumbar vertebrae are big and strong, much like Schwartz’s lumbering bear. They remind me that we, as humans, are quite strong and resilient. This is helpful for clients who avoid doing the thing that might help them the most—movement—because they are afraid it will damage them. They often develop kinesiophobia, or the fear of movement, and it’s a downward spiral from there. The actual spinal cord terminates between the first and second lumbar vertebrae. The nerve tissue that extends below this point is a collection of strands that resemble a horse’s tail—the cauda equina. Yet another powerful animal lives within us. Between each lumbar vertebra exits a nerve root, and these come together again to form the largest single nerve in the human body, the notorious sciatic nerve. This nerve travels through the back of each leg into the feet; thus a lumbar spine problem can cause pain all the way down the leg. Less well known is the sciatic nerve’s role in the autonomic nervous system. Its fibers are composed mostly of sympathetic nerve tissue; this partly explains why my patient responded so well to lifestyle changes that had little to do with the biomechanics of his low back but had everything to do with regulation of a nervous system stuck in “fight or flight.” From an energetic perspective, the lumbar spine is the land of the third chakra—one our culture knows all too well, albeit in an often-distorted form. It is our power center: power with, not power 83

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over. Called Manipura in Sanskrit, it is our inner fire that invites us to honor and celebrate our connection with all-that-is. It is the campfire under the stars around which our ancestors speak our lives into existence through the wisdom of stories. Manipura translates as “the resplendent gem” and “the city of jewels.” Here we are reminded that we are part of an enormous community, and that the treasures we seek outside of ourselves are contained within our bodies. If Mr. Duffy could have become aware of this, I am certain he would have loved living inside of himself, connected to all of life. Delmore Schwartz’s lumbering bear may have better resembled a dancing bear. In fairness to biomechanists, the lumbar spine is somewhat of an Achilles heel. Located at the interface of the upper and lower body, it is subjected to more than its fair share of physical stress. While its spinal nerves, and accompanying radicular arteries, increase in size as you go from L1 to L5, the intervertebral foramina—the small, bony canals through which these nerve and blood vessel structures travel—actually decrease in size. This creates the potential of nerve root problems if faulty movement, misalignment, or inflammation occurs here. The weakest part of the lumbar intervertebral discs is the posterior area—precisely the region that is most pain-sensitive. Couple that with the fact that the posterior longitudinal ligament—the protective barrier between disc and spinal cord—is weakest in this area as well, and you have a recipe for full-on compression of the spinal cord. Sometimes the upper part of the sacrum doesn’t fuse, and you have, in effect, an extra lumbar vertebra and, with it, instability of the lowest part of the lumbar spine (lumbarization). Other times, one of the transverse processes of the fifth lumbar vertebra fuses with the sacrum and you have only four lumbar vertebrae. This creates asymmetric movement of the low back and could result in pain and degeneration (sacralization). There is no doubt that far too many people suffer from chronic low back pain. It is estimated that one in three persons live with it. Twenty percent of the U.S. population will, at some point in their life, be bedridden with acute low back pain. Many of these folks, especially if treated only from a physical/mechanical perspective, will 84

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transition into persistent pain sufferers and, unfortunately, many of these will become addicted to opiates. Why is low back pain such a problem? I recently attended a conference on persistent low back pain, and the keynote speaker said that the number one causative and/or perpetuating factor is adverse childhood experiences (ACES). The number of people suffering from ACES is sobering. Bear in mind that ACES can alter genetic expression, leading not only to chronic pain but to obesity, depression, proneness to accidents, and early death. But also never forget the plasticity and resiliency of the human body and its nervous system. By taking a biopsychosocial—and spiritual—approach to the challenges and opportunities that go with having a body, Mr. Duffy can find a safe haven within his skin, Delmore Schwartz’s bear can dance, and you and I can discover that “this very body is the body of the Buddha” (Osho 2006, p.122), that even the Holy Spirit is made of flesh and bone. —JR

EMBODIMENT—LUMBAR SPINE Much of this embodiment exercise is inspired by the Hawaiian Kahuna tradition that helped birth Lomi Lomi bodywork, which holds bones in particularly high regard. Prepare to meet the five bones of your lumbar spine. Five is the number of balance in many worldviews. The lumbar vertebrae are large and contain a great deal of wisdom and resources from our ancestors. Before you begin, consider that bones possess consciousness, that they are repositories of information, and are responsive to our deepest beliefs, wishes, and thoughts. Bring your attention to the bone that supports the lumbar column (or, as I prefer to view it, the lumbar wave), the sacrum. This is our point of grounding. Ask the (wisdom of the) bone, “If I knew which choices to make, what direction to take, what would that look like?”

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The response does not have to come in words. Let the intelligence of bone speak to you in sensations, feelings, or images. Next, move up to the fifth lumbar vertebra—our seat of belonging. Many people long to belong. Perhaps they do not feel at home in their family of origin or in the world itself. Ask this largest of the lumbar vertebrae, “If I knew where I belonged, what would that look like?” Dwell with the wisdom-sensations that reach out to you; harvest them and, in your time, respond. The next bone, the fourth lumbar vertebra, is associated with both our creative potential and strong, unexpressed emotions, especially grief. One can ask, “What does my creative potential, at this time, look like?” Or, on the other hand, “If I knew how to express my grief safely and responsibly, what would that look like?” It has been my experience that often the answer will show up in dreams or in that half-awake state upon arising. “Travel” to the middle of your low back, the third lumbar bone. This bone carries within it our perception of acceptance by our family. Perhaps our family does not (or did not) approve of our choice of a career or a partner or our sexual orientation. I call this vertebra “the forgiveness bone” because, often, that is the work required here. “If I knew how to forgive my family, what would that look like?” One may need to work with this for a period of time. Go slowly. Be grateful that you are even considering taking this step. The third lumbar vertebra is also about digestion: for our purposes here, digesting our life choices, perceptions, and beliefs. The patient I described at the beginning of this chapter needed to digest and, in his case, eliminate the belief that earning a living had to involve a lot of suffering and sacrifice. The idea that his work could focus on a lifetime love of nature—trees, specifically—was truly foreign to him. After working with the koan “If I knew what I most deeply believed about work, what would that look like?,” his pain went, and remained, away. Interestingly, he had had an MRI taken of his lumbar spine before I saw him that showed a herniated fourth lumbar disc. After he recovered, he had another lumbar MRI taken, which showed the herniation was still present. Did he need surgery, as was recommended to him? Today, such overly structural approaches to low back pain 86

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(LBP) are under question. Examples of the fallacy of the structural model abound: poor correlations between LBP and MRI-confirmed disc lesions, degenerative joint changes, and even scoliosis. Again, we are much more than mechanical bits and pieces: we are physical, emotional, and spiritual beings. The second lumbar bone has to do with our physical and mental capacity to support ourselves in the world (the second cervical bone shares this same quality). This is more common in men. In fact, LBP in general is more common in men. In many of the gazillion discussions and arguments about the causes of LBP, what is often missed is the following: research indicates that the most significant factor underlying LBP in men is job dissatisfaction, not how they lift or how long they sit each day or whether they have a slipped disc (although these could be associated factors). “If I knew what my work in the world was, what would that look like?” Depending on your spiritual or non-spiritual orientation, you might ask, “If I knew what my soul’s mission on Earth was, what would that look like?” Then, sit with the image of that vertebra, or tap into the inner feeling of that bone, and wait for the helpful sensations to reveal themselves. Obviously, this process can apply to women as well. The first lumbar vertebra is associated with stability: financial, relational, and vocational. Research indicates that the leading cause of LBP in women is stress relating to such instability. This vertebra has connections with the 12th thoracic vertebra—the so-called transitional zone—as well as fibers from the diaphragm and psoas major muscles. Settle into a felt sense of this area and ask, “If I knew the best next step to take in my life, what would that look like?”

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CHAPTER 8

Thoracic Visions

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In my room, the world is beyond my understanding; But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four hills and a cloud. —Wallace Stevens (2001, p.60)

The spine consists of three or four hills, two valleys, and a cloud. So, more or less, does the leg. When I gave my first massage, I looked down at the posterior leg and it seemed like a very long way to travel. From the heel, down to the ankle, up the double mound of the calf, dipping down into the hollow behind the knee, then gliding up the gentle slope of the hamstrings, slightly down at their origin and then up the highest hill of all, the gluteal summit. Let’s walk toward a deeper understanding of the thoracic spine through this topography. First, descend the little slope from the apex of the posterior coccyx down to the sacrum. We trace the first gentle hill as we make our way along the uneven, upside-down pyramid of the sacrum toward the valley of the lower back formed by the five lumbar vertebrae. We then take the longest pathway of all, that formed by the thoracic vertebrae. Continuing, we find the beautiful valley of the neck’s cervical vertebrae, followed by another hill created by the occiput and parietal bones. These then form the back wall of the mind, an often-clouded place. This majestic hill of the thoracic spine, especially viewed from the back when it sways, is among the most beautiful and expressive curves of the body. It may be that the thorax’s curving movements naturally express the inclinations of the underlying heart, through these vertebrae shaped in cross-section like a heart with wings and a tail. In traditional Ayurvedic medicine, the channels for energy flow are called nadis. The principal channels run from the base of the spine to the top of the head. The sushumna runs straight up and entwining it are the ida and the pingala. These resemble the classical Western caduceus, or herald’s wand, two serpents intertwined around a central axis. This staff was carried by Hermes and is traditionally associated with healing. It is also known as the rod of Asclepius, the ancient Greek god of healing. 90

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This reminds me of the Biblical stories of hitting a staff on the ground and it turning into a snake. “Then the Lord told Moses and Aaron, ‘When Pharaoh says to you, “Perform a miraculous sign,” then you are to say to Aaron, “Take your staff and throw it in front of Pharaoh.” It will become a serpent’” (Exodus 7: 9). I remember the first time I put my hands on a snake. I’d been doing massage for a number of years and had felt many a back. So I put my hand on the snake and my left brain said, “That’s a snake,” but my right brain said, “That’s a spine. Where’s the rest of the body?” Shifting our focus to Chinese medicine, along the back of the spine runs the meridian called the Du or GV (Governing Vessel). Often the names of the points along this meridian are pregnant with meaning and mystery. Corresponding to the vertebral levels of the upper lumbar and thoracic spine we have the following points along the Governing Vessel: • • • • • • • • • •

GV 4—L2—Gate of Life GV 5—L1—Suspended Pivot GV 6—T11—Center of Spine GV 7—T10—Central Pivot GV 8—T9—Sinew Contraction GV 9—T7—Reaching Yang/Extremity of Yang GV 10—T6—Spirit Tower GV 11—T5—Spirit Path GV 12—T3—Body Pillar GV 13—T1—Way of Happiness.

These names help us remember that the path of the spine is a path a life takes. When Hippocrates recommended learning the anatomy of the spine as an essential first step in understanding disease, he was guiding us to this central source of life and connection, a path deeply involving a knowledge of the structure and energy of the spine. Between the vertebrae we have the intervertebral discs; inside the vertebrae are blood vessels, nerves, and the spinal cord. All these are nourished by movement, by key arteries, and by the cerebrospinal fluid. 91

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From between our vertebrae flow rami that form the roots of the peripheral nerves. It is significant and wonderful that rami means “branches.” We can see the coccyx, sacrum, and lumbars as the roots of the spinal tree. The thorax is the trunk, with the branches being the ribs or perhaps the nerves exiting between the vertebrae to every place within us. This brings us to the thymus gland as well. Out of curiosity I looked up the origin of that word. Thymus is derived from the word “thyme,” immortalized in the line from the Simon and Garfunkel song “Scarborough Fair”: “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. According to the website Songfacts, “Parsley was comfort, sage was strength, rosemary was love, and thyme was courage” (Anon. 2022). The thymus gland is, indeed, the source of the famous T-cells, defenders against all sorts of disease. So yes, it is a source of courage, yet its origin in the herb thyme leads to another beautiful association. The ancient root of the word “thyme” is a Proto-Indo-European word meaning “smoke”! Thyme was used for its scent and was burned as part of rituals. Its smoke also evokes for us, then, the notion that the heart, and by association the thorax, is noteworthy for being fragrant. It is said “Love is the greatest miracle of all” and who can conceive of love without the notion of fragrance? So, this cloud—perhaps also the one Wallace Stevens saw on his walk—gives us an image of the heart as like a fragrant cloud. Just as we can visualize the energy of the spine, we can hear the songs sung through the thorax: the twelve tones, the base of the pelvis like the body of a sitar, the strings of the instrument our spinal nerves, with life plucking at our heartstrings. Finally, let’s remember that everything in the body is moving and alive. I once worked on a radiologist who had spent years looking at X-rays, MRIs, and CAT scans. I asked him what the most incredible thing was he had ever seen. He said it was the first time he saw a spinal cord in a living human—“It looks like it’s dancing to the Rolling Stones.” And as the electricity passes through the nerves floating in the fluid of the spinal canal, they do look as if they are dancing. Then he added, with disarming honesty, “Most of what we are 92

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seeing, we don’t know what it is.” I asked what he thought it was. “We think it’s water.” How beautiful to see that within us are undulating waves, now visible as currents of water in a living ocean. A client I worked on recently said she had felt happy in a sustained way after the first massage we did. She had lots of energy. So, although she wasn’t much of an exerciser, she decided to go kayaking (for two hours!) and she didn’t get tired. She said, “No matter which way I went it was with the current.” May these thoracic reflections inspire us to a similar experience: that no matter where we turn in life, we can go with the current. —DL

When I teach, I have a simple rule: start with science, end with poetry. Like the body, poetry does not lie. The great musician David Byrne has written, “I sense the world might be more dreamlike, metaphorical, and poetic than we currently believe—but just as irrational as magic when looked at in a typically scientific way. I would not be surprised if poetry is how the world works. The world isn’t logical; it is a song” (Byrne 2010, p.104). To which I would add: just like the body. When I looked at illustrations of the thoracic spine by Vesalius and DaVinci, I began to see these vertebrae as poems or haiku. So we’ll ignore my rule and instead start with poetry and end with science: • T1—a narrow bridge between two worlds • T2—a skylight letting in glimpses of heaven • T3—emerging slowly, a promising blossom, spun from an embryo • T4—a great fire, pinned to the heart • T5—a white horse with wings • T6/T7—two lovers kissing at a crossroads • T8—doing its best to bear the weight of my dreams • T9—a pearl steeped part-time in sunshine, part-time in moonlight 93

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• T10—just like the rest of us: electricity! • T11—a waist-high balcony, a certain slant of light • T12—safe passage to the redwoods of the underworld. The thoracic vertebrae are particularly complex, with facets on the sides of their bodies for articulation with the heads of the ribs, as well as facets on the sides of the transverse processes of all but the eleventh and twelfth for articulation of the tubercles of the ribs: wings joined to the Tree of Life. As David noted, the vertebral bodies in the middle of the thoracic region are heart-shaped. The heart must be powerfully contagious, turning bone into loving reminders of what is real, of who we are and why we are here. I include philosophy and poetry in my anatomical teachings because I believe that they are often more truthful. The number 12, for instance, is pretty famous: the number of full lunations of the moon in a year; the number of years in a full cycle of Jupiter, considered to be the brightest “wandering star.” While the thoracic spine inherently has less movement because of its rib attachments (coupled with our often-faulty breathing), it is meant to move with and around the polestar of our lives. In close relationship with the heart, it yearns to wander with us as our lives move in spirals around the brightness of the heart, and as our consciousness expands from clouded obfuscation to diamond-like clarity. Love is the greatest miracle of all and it is protected, nurtured, and literally inspired by a thoracic cage that is, in fact, less a cage than a dance floor. Let’s look at some body-myths. Our thymus—the endocrine gland associated with both the heart and the thoracic spine—seems to shrivel and die as we age. Is that normal and inevitable? The thymus, of course, forms a significant part of our lymphatic and immune systems, producing T-cells. But, according to science, it weakens and, eventually, becomes non-functional as we leave adolescence behind. Scientists even have an impressive name for it: thymic involution. Authoritative proof of this is, however, missing. I contend that it is not normal, but average. As years of poor posture, faulty breathing patterns, and beating up on our immune 94

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systems go by, the thymus does, indeed, suffer. While the number of its cells decreases over time, it still maintains its ability to protect us from illness and stress. Indeed, esoteric anatomists posit that it works in concert with the heart to help us discover and express the wisdom of what many call the cardiac brain. The heart is widely considered to be the seat of the soul, and the thoracic spine is charged with being its protector, flexible and responsive. It is the seat of unconditional divine love, free of ego. When we allow fear and ego to lead us, we become armored and resist forgiving both ourselves and others. The thoracic spine becomes rigid and unyielding. Instead of flinging open this window for our soul to help navigate our precious time in the material world, we guard against that. The thymus literally atrophies, the thoracic spine stiffens, and we become stuck in contraction, avoiding meaningful connections with others. In Sanskrit, the heart chakra is called Anahata, which means “unhurt or unbeaten.” It serves as our center of love, compassion, empathy, and forgiveness. Anahata is associated with the element of air. Not only do the thoracic spine and ribs protect the heart but they also cradle our lungs. Air, like love, is within and around us. By keeping the heart open and the lungs moving with healthy breathing, a flexible thoracic spine can keep our love and creative inspiration flowing, keeping us young beyond our years. Anahata is also associated with the color green, which represents new beginnings, springtime, the lushness of life emerging. Allow your thoracic spine to remain green, young, and supple, regardless of age. Yoga, tai chi, qigong, and Continuum Movement can help with this, as can Zero Balancing and gentle chiropractic and osteopathic adjustments. We all have a limitless potential to connect, to love, to transform and grow from this place. Another “myth of aging” that I have found particularly dangerous has to do with the so-called inevitability of our becoming stiffer and less mobile with age. If we expect that to be the case, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We are all familiar with family members who “shrink” with age. The other day, I asked a new patient her height. Her response surprised me: “I used to be 5 foot 8 but now I am only 95

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5 foot 6. I must have shrunk.” I have heard such things countless times—that wasn’t what surprised me. What I did find astonishing was the fact that she was only 50 years old. Yet, because she saw most of her older family members become vertically diminished with age, she believed this was normal. Normal? No. Average? Yes. There is a name for what buying into this dangerous myth leads to physically. It’s called sensory-motor amnesia, a condition in which the sensory-motor neurons of the voluntary cortex have lost their ability, or forgotten how, to control some of the muscles in the body. The causes are: chronic stress-induced muscular contraction; de-conditioning; habitual misuse of the musculoskeletal system; expecting degeneration as the price we pay for aging; and a long-term inability to forgive ourselves and others. And so, we often end up in pain. Each condition, however, carries a message. Instead of asking, “Why did this happen to me?,” it might be more resourceful to inquire, “What is happening in me?” Pain is an invitation to change. I like this acronym a lot: PAIN—Pay Attention Inside Now. We are water, including our skeletal system, and water yearns to be free. Stay moist, stay green, stay forever young. As the late neuroscientist Candace Pert said, “How we age is governed in large part by the structure and function of our spine” (Pert 1999). —JR

EMBODIMENT—THORACIC SPINE The thoracic spine is the longest region of the spine and is the only spinal region connected to the ribcage. Functionally, the cervical spine involves the first six thoracic vertebrae: when the neck moves, the motions continue to T6. Similarly, when the low back moves, the bottom half of the thoracic spine ideally moves with it. The thoracic spine is also intimately associated with the heart. Consider these facts as you mindfully explore this region. Many people lack extension in the thoracic spine and compensate 96

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by overextending the low back. This may compromise the heart’s capacity to extend love, compassion, and understanding. A temporarily broken heart can become a habitual impediment to love as the thoracic spine holds tension and curves into an exaggerated kyphosis. Lie on a soft surface, with a soft pillow comfortably placed between your shoulder blades. (If even a small pillow causes discomfort, don’t use one for now.) Bring your awareness into an area of the thoracic spine that feels good or at least neutral. Breathe into that area just enough to move these bones slightly. What does that feel like? Next, breathe into the area supported by the pillow. You may notice tension here, as this is the area of greatest convexity and often the most restricted part of the thoracic spine. Don’t strain or breathe into the pain or restriction. Ease off and focus on what feels good. When you feel safe to breathe into the mid-scapular region, do so, bringing awareness, acknowledgment, and acceptance to your experience. Ask yourself, “What is it that my heart wants me to know that I’m not getting?” The heart is one of our greatest teachers and often has guidance it wants to offer us. Sometimes, listening to and heeding the heart’s wisdom can be uncomfortable. Remember that pain and discomfort are invitations to change, grow, and expand. But “no pain, no gain” 97

Here is a version of an exercise frequently taught to patients by the legendary osteopath Dr. Robert Fulford. Walk, as space permits, for a minute or two, moving your arms as you do so. How does that feel? Next, stand comfortably with feet shoulder width apart. Lift both arms 90 degrees to the side, with the left palm facing upward and the right palm facing down. Stretch the shoulders and elbows slightly away from each other to ensure a better stretch. Breathe comfortably in and out through your nose, paying attention both to the upper thoracic spine itself and to the tissues between your shoulders. After 60 seconds, shake the arms out and repeat the process, this time with the left palm downward and the right palm facing up. Focus on any sensations in the lower thoracic spine, the lower ribs, and diaphragm. After 60 seconds, bring both arms over your head, palms touching each other, and hold for several breaths. Lower your arms and shake them out. Place your attention on the entirety of the thoracic spine. Does a particular portion of it draw your attention? Don’t name the sensations; don’t judge them; don’t try to change them. Simply pay attention. Finish by walking around again. How does this feel different now?

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has no place here. “No pain, all gain” is a more appropriate way to view working with expanding the heart’s light. The following Body–Low–Slow–Loop protocol allows safe working with uncomfortable sensations. Breathe into the mid-scapular region, asking your heart for guidance. Then do a full-BODY scan from the feet, working upward. This connects whatever process has been initiated in the heart/mid-thoracic region with the rest of the body. Embodiment ultimately requires the participation of the whole body. If there is discomfort anywhere, locate an area below (or LOW to) it that feels good, safe, or neutral. SLOW down any tendency to react against the discomfort by asking this new area, “If you had a shape/color/texture, what would it be?” Notice what you notice. Pause after each question and collect the sensory data that emerge. Finally, LOOP back to the original body scan by tensing the arms and legs for five seconds, lowering any reactive or stored sympathetic stress in the limbs. Notice any sensations that occur as you slowly release your contraction. Return to the body scan, this time focusing on the intelligent “body” of the thoracic spine. One by one, starting with T12 and one breath at a time, notice the movement, sensation, and any messages of each of the 12 thoracic vertebrae. Begin with T12 and work your way incrementally to T1. Thank your spine, your heart, and your entire body before getting up and taking a short walk.

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CHAPTER 9

The Sternum BLADE AND FLOWER

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I vividly remember when I first realized I had a sternum. It was 1971, and I had just spent a year in Nairobi, Kenya. It was a difficult experience—severe bouts of dysentery; getting jailed (for, of all things, busking in front of the posh Stanley Hotel); living on next to no money. I was eager to return to the States. When I arrived home, my father handed me my draft notice. Shocked, I exclaimed that I would move to Canada. My father lunged across the living room and planted his fist into the center of my chest. I felt my body wrap itself around his fist as I was introduced to a part of my body that I never knew I had. (In all fairness to my father, he was a World War II vet who believed that the United States belonged in Vietnam. He later changed his mind. And it was the only time he ever hit me.) Like many 18-year-olds, I was unconscious of the workings of my body. In spite of the fact that I was a competitive long-distance runner, my body was simply something that I pushed around in the hopes of running faster and farther. My posture was terrible: rounded shoulders, sunken chest, and a stifling of most emotions associated with the heart. After the incident with my father, a friend suggested that I get Rolfed, not only to help improve my posture but to explore why my body took that form and, perhaps, to experience and express some of those trapped feelings. Through my series, I discovered much about myself, including the presence of my sternum. I think of this bone as the centerpiece of what some refer to as the “body temple.” It’s what holds things together—in this case the ribs that attach to it and the heart and lungs beneath it. It’s the part of our body we lead with as we present ourselves to the world. In my case, I felt diminished by my religious upbringing and by the traumas of growing up in a highly turbulent family system. It was almost as if my body was retreating from the world, not allowed to feel what it felt. Along with the hip and other large bones of the body, the sternum is an area where the maturation of red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets occurs. These cells are associated with blood, and at a phenomenological level, blood is associated with one’s identity. 100

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Receiving bodywork in this area revealed that my identity was at stake. I didn’t really know who I was or what was my purpose in life. Fortunately, my therapy became my passion and my vocation. I learned that the body is intelligent; that every structure in the body, from bones to organs to muscles to fascia, is sensing and integrating vast amounts of information, helping us locate our unique personal power. Each part of the body makes a contribution to consciousness. Osteodouce, a French osteopathic approach I practice, considers the sternum a second, anterior spine. Just as the spine may become stuck or painful due to fears and wounds we are unconsciously holding on to, the sternum often holds fears and concerns about moving into our future. —JR

A phrase came to me years ago and still rings true: the sternum’s crystalline role in the production of courage. The three parts of the sternum evoke swords and blades. The top section, the manubrium, comes from the root word meaning “that which is held in the hand.” This area has been described as the “higher heart” by Aminah Raheem, the founder of Process Acupressure. This higher heart is pledged to help those in need, its altruistic spirit transcending the sometimes excessive self-interest of the lower sternum and self-centeredness that the heart can sometimes manifest. This hand at the top wields the longest part of the sternum, the gladiolus, the root word for both gladiator and the wild iris. Gladiolus reminds me of a Dixieland tune or a joyous radio station; it is, appropriately, a ragtime song by Scott Joplin. Below the gladiolus is the xiphoid process; xiphoid also means “sword”! So, the sternum comprises a hand holding a two-part sword. Among its many roles, the sternum can be seen as a shield in front of the heart; it is associated with Chinese medicine’s organ function, the Pericardium meridian, also known as heart protector. Sometimes our heart opens like a wild iris; sometimes it clenches like a fist; sometimes it flashes out like a blade in a knife fight. 101

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These days, challenged by pandemics, political divisions, and climate change, I am often “downhearted,” and my sternum can feel as if a sigh is trapped in it. But as I write this, I want to be true to the sternum’s deeper nature: the breastbone, the center of the chest, out from which flows the milk of human kindness. Looking more deeply at the sternum’s “crystalline role,” we learn more about the anatomy and origin of kindness, dignity, and fero­ city. The manubrium articulates with the clavicles, the bones Rolf considered the most important of the shoulder girdle. On either side of the manubrium and just under the clavicles lies the last point on Chinese medicine’s Kidney meridian, sometimes translated as Elegant Mansion. This mansion is the beginning of the residence of the higher heart and leads to the functions of speech, thought, and inspiration. When we place our fingers on this point, we may immediately amplify a person’s awareness of their shoulders’ ability for free flight, stimulate the awareness of bringing breath into the upper lobes of the lungs, accent the feeling of a noble heart, and restore a sense of human dignity. As we gently descend, the gladiolus articulates with the ribcage. But it’s hardly a cage; rather, it’s like seven rays of light or seven waves as the bones of the ribs radiate around to the middle of the chest. These ribs articulate at the costochondral joints, the bones transitioning to lighter and more flexible cartilages. These proceed medially where they attach through sternochondral joints to the sternum. Just as the sutures between cranial bones allow us to absorb blows to the head without injury to the entire skull, so the joints between the ribs, the cartilages, and the sternum allow us to absorb blows to the heart with a yielding kind of protection. Unjustly, the ribs below these seven are called “false,” the last two additionally “floating.” The eighth, ninth, and tenth ribs do not have their own cartilages connected directly to the sternum; they all join with the cartilage of the seventh rib. But this should not diminish our sense of the truths they carry, connected as they are to our breath, our diaphragm, and the very sustenance of life. Below these are the 11th and 12th floating ribs—a true enough description, except that all the ribs float and move rhythmically with each breath, and subtly 102

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with each heartbeat. Posteriorly, they articulate at three points with the spine in joints resembling little elbows. This allows the delicate living arms of the ribs to take wing along the whole course of the thorax, each rib floating in the water medium that is our body. Important truths live in the sternum and in their conversations with the ribs, with the costal cartilages, with the shoulder girdle, and with the truths that reside in the Elegant Mansion, that memory palace and entry to the majesty of the neck, head, and the heavens above. With each touch and with each breath, may we own these truths that our body holds and speaks to us in languages far older and deeper than words. —DL

EMBODIMENT—STERNUM Lie on your back on a bed or soft carpet. Place one hand over the other and let both rest, palms down, over the manubrium of the sternum. Take several breaths and notice if it feels easy or difficult. Next, place your hands over the gladiolus (sternal body) and the xiphoid process, and do the same. Lastly, place your hands over the center of your belly and repeat. Typically, one area will feel easy to breathe into and one will feel more challenging. Pick the two easiest areas and enjoy breathing into the first one several times, and then move on to the second and do the same. The brain will entrain to this ease of breathing (i.e., cues of safety and freedom) and will almost magically release tension in the more difficult area. Finish the exercise by going to that area and appreciate how much more responsive it is to the breath. Enjoy breathing into that area several times or more. Your “steering mechanisms” are now engaged and you are ready to move, more resourcefully, into the future of which you dream.

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CHAPTER 10

The Trimtab of the Xiphoid Process

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Consider the xiphoid process. I view the sternum, and its quality of helping us move forward into the future, like the rudder of the boat of our body. The xiphoid process, then, reminds me of the trimtab of a boat. Similar to the way that the first seven ribs articulate with the sternum, ligaments from the celiac plexus attach to the xiphoid process. The xiphoid process is also involved in the attachment of many muscles, including the abdominal diaphragm, the only muscle in the body that we cannot live without. The rudder of a boat guides the vessel forward from point A to point B. Trimtabs are much smaller surfaces used to fine-tune and stabilize the boat’s movement without the operator having constantly to apply a controlling force. As the position of the rudder changes, the trimtab allows the operator to reduce the force required to maintain the boat’s position in the water. It’s amazingly energy-efficient—a little thing that does big things. I’ve long been interested in the body as metaphor; it’s one way I clue into what’s going on beneath the surface of a patient’s symptoms. I first learned about the trimtab in an interview with the architect and inventor Buckminster Fuller in the 1970s. As the great man said, Something hit me very hard once, thinking about what one little man could do. Think of the Queen Mary—the whole ship goes by and then comes the rudder. And then there’s a tiny thing at the edge of the rudder called a trim tab. It’s a miniature rudder. Just moving the little trim tab builds a low pressure that pulls the rudder around. Takes almost no effort at all. So I said that the little individual can be a trim tab. Society thinks it’s going right by you, that it’s left you altogether. But if you’re doing dynamic things mentally, the fact is that you can just put your foot out like that and the whole big ship of state is going to move accordingly. (Fuller 2019, p.18)

We may think of ourselves as separate individuals who cannot significantly impact the culture, but Bucky, as he preferred to be called,

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would disagree. We are all trimtabs, and more than ever we need to act accordingly. One of my mentors, Emilie Conrad, the developer of Continuum Movement, frequently advised her students, “Be in the culture, but not bound by it” (Conrad 2007, p.199). The celiac plexus, commonly referred to as the solar plexus, composes a large portion of the gut (or second) brain. It is our center of interoception (i.e., sensing the body from within) and sends approximately eight times more messages to the brain regarding the state of our physiology than the brain sends to the rest of the body. When the brain receives more evidence of danger than safety, it creates an output of pain, fatigue, or anxiety—a mechanism to create a pause long enough to help us change direction. In effect, it stops us from moving forward in our lives until we can—through meditation, bodywork, or somatic psychotherapy—provide the brain with more cues of safety than of danger. Bucky Fuller passed away in 1983, after decades of demonstrating the difference that one seemingly small individual can make in the world. On his gravestone it reads, “Call Me Trimtab.” We are all trimtabs.

BUCKMINSTER FULLER’S GRAVESTONE

—JR

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Trimtab—how useful! The xiphoid process is a flattened, inverted pyramid. It is the very tip of the blade of the sternum. It comes from the Greek word xiphos, meaning “sword.” It has two additional associations for me: it’s like a “flat pick” for a bass guitar, or a pop-top on a can of beer. The xiphoid process plays a crucial, colorful, and unheralded role in every breath and thus in all the moments of life. Its inner surface is where the very front of the diaphragm attaches. The xiphoid process is made of cartilage like the ear and much of the nose, and doesn’t completely turn into bone until one’s forties! So, with the flexibility of being cartilage, the flexible joint (synchondrosis) between it and the gladiolus, and the tensings and releasings of the diaphragm and the rectus abdominis, it is a home for constant, subtle, life-giving movement. If we think of the diaphragm tensing to inhale, we can imagine the xiphoid’s drawing inward on inhalation. But when we consider how the abdominal contents spread out in all directions as we inhale, we can see how the fluid and organs of the abdomen can press it out. Thus “diaphragmatic breathing” implies that it can, indeed, be helpful to feel the outward swing of the xiphoid to initiate inhalation and inward swing on the exhale. The invocation and championing of the xiphoid process present us with this small and dynamic prayer flag waving in the breeze of breath, signaling to us as the cartilaginous entryway to the solar plexus—Manipura in chakral terms—and leading us into the very seat of our power and breath. —DL

EMBODIMENT—XIPHOID PROCESS Sit or stand comfortably and take a few breaths. Locate your xiphoid and feel it moving subtly with your breath. Feel and imagine it moving to the right and to the left a few times. Then visualize and feel it

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flexing and extending in its joint between the xiphoid process and the gladiolus of the sternum. Now see if you can feel it swinging outwardly as you inhale and releasing inwardly as you exhale. Do this a number of times until it feels natural. The freer movement of the xiphoid process will support the solar plexus, the full mobilization of the diaphragm, and the ease of your breath. These, in turn, will facilitate the diaphragm’s support of the lumbar and thoracic spine. Allow and enjoy how this amazing little rudder, when freed, plays its crucial role in every breath you take.

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CHAPTER 11

The Ribs 24 WAYS TO SAY THE HEART IS MY HOME

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Recently, I had been thinking about the ribs and woke up with the Beatles song “Long and Winding Road” in my mind. The trajectories of the human heart have, indeed, been this long and winding road we call history (collectively) and autobiography (individually). The ribs take their long and winding roads around our hearts and lungs. In 24 ways, they embrace the history of our loves, our griefs, our joys, our furies, and so much more. The history of the human heart is the emotional history of each and every one of us. When we know that, the way we touch the realm of the heart becomes clear, strong, and full of compassion. Each of our 24 ribs articulates with the spine’s vertebrae and the discs between them at three points. There is a joint with the body of the vertebra above the disc, a joint with the vertebra below the disc, and a joint with the transverse process of the vertebra below. These three articulations make a triangle of support—the strongest shape in nature. From there the rib takes a long journey around the circumference of the body. The head of the rib articulates with the vertebral bodies. Then the beginning of what is called the “neck” of the ribs articulates with the transverse process. The body of the rib extends to the angle where the iliocostalis muscles attach. At this point the rib twists and begins its journey around the side and then to the front of the body. The anterior ribs are flattened and present oval depressions that articulate with the costal cartilages, which articulate with the sternum. The joints between the cartilage and the sternum (except for the one between the first rib and the sternum) are all synovial, filled with a small amount of fluid. All these articulations with discs, vertebrae, cartilages, and sternum result in the ribs having 90 joints; think of the complexity of their movement now! Calling it a ribcage completely misses the point. Describing only ribs 10–12 as floating similarly adds to the confusion. All ribs are “floating,” and each rib has up to 18 muscles attaching to it! So, the individual and collective movement of the ribs is, though largely unconscious, perhaps the most complex in the body.

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And every rib is alive: remember that bones are as living and responsive as all your other tissues. As such, the ribs provide sensitive, living protection for the lungs, heart, thymus gland, and other tissues within. They provide living support for all the muscles and fascia of the front torso, the back, shoulders, neck, and arms. And they are living participants in what I call the “grandeur of planetary gas exchange”—respiration. So, next time you place your hand on a rib, realize the unique life with which you are interacting. Our ribs have a history, a form, and a function embodying the history of our species. They help write the history of our breath from the first to the last. They articulate the trajectory and history of our heart and its resonant emotions through our whole life. Think of the stories the ribs tell in their own elegant and constant language of movement and form. The ribs may embody stories and feelings of love, heartache, longing, hope, breaths held, sighs, and uplifted spirits. Feel and listen, when you touch, to what the ribs tell you about yourself and about this person you may be touching (especially if you’re a health practitioner). Next time you put your hand on a rib, expand and deepen your awareness and appreciation for its wondrous structural complexity and movement, and its animating role in the life of the heart, the lungs, the breath, and all of you. I wrote a sonnet for the ribs a few years ago: When I touch the ribs of time in your life Arising from your lovely chest, church’s eaves Sing to the sky, ascending birds free of strife Sunward heart’s hope, updraft of colored leaves. Down deep in the bottom the boat’s ribs lie. Forming the self’s hull, pine beams in the back Bearing grand biography’s traces until we die. Life’s sonata, ribs’ keys, they’re white and black,

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Yellow, green and red, the curves of the ribs’ health. Rainbows around your lungs with inscriptions. Messages for all to hear, about the wealth Given by air, wood and blood’s solutions. Thus our great gift to all time and space, Loving ribs freed, looking up with a smiling face. —DL

My bones like to sing and dance, saunter over trails, or mosey on down to my favorite coffee shop to meet with friends. My bones love pleasure. They thrive on it. Speaking of pleasure, breathing can be one of the most pleasurable things to do. It’s strange that people often need to relearn how to breathe. Babies instinctively enjoy the pleasure of unfettered breathing. My cat is a master breather. Emilie Conrad, the developer of Continuum Movement, used to say that every breath we take is an opportunity to experience the pleasure of the life force and of being alive (Conrad 2004). When I take time to notice and honor my breathing, I experience the pleasure of my lungs drawing the world into me on the inhale, followed by an offering of myself to the outer world on the exhale. Sometimes I even experience the pleasure of an altruistic heart and the love that emanates from it. It’s quite a gift. I believe that pleasure is one of the ways that our innate intelligence orients itself to the world. When my clients can begin to sense pleasure in their flesh and bones, I feel we have reached a new depth of contact. To be unaware of this pleasure is a form of body alienation. What better place to awaken from this than the ribs and what goes on inside of them? As David mentioned, all ribs float. I would add that all bones float in a liquid crystalline matrix. Since the body is 80 percent water, we bodyworkers are working inside a fish tank. Imagine that the fish in the tank represent the pains or trigger points or areas of fixity in the client’s body. If we work too quickly or with too much force, the fish abruptly moves away from us. 114

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When I first taught at The Lauterstein-Conway Massage School, I was demonstrating a modality that utilizes very light pressure. Someone in the class asked how that could be effective and what they should do if a person says they want deeper pressure. Because David Lauterstein was in the class that day and literally wrote the book on deep massage, I turned the question over to him. His response: “Deep is what touches a person deeply.” He also shared a quote from a former student of his: “Pressure is a force; deep is a place.” For me, that place dwells most potently within my ribs. I sometimes ask fellow bodyworkers this: If they were allowed to work on only one part of the body, what part would that be? My favorite is the suboccipital area. For others, it’s the pelvis or the diaphragm or the feet. But for Dr. Ida Rolf, it was the ribcage, specifically the 12th rib. I was surprised; but consider that, short as it is, almost a dozen muscles attach to it, including the diaphragm. The 12th rib weds the ribcage to the pelvis. Without them, we would have a difficult time both walking and breathing. They are often “locked” due to our overreliance on flexed postures. Not only does breathing suffer, but the kidneys and adrenal glands potentially lose their ability to glide with each breath. Fear and stress then take up residence in the body, where trust, ease, and pleasure should occur. At the other end of the torso lies the first rib. Although it typically receives more attention than the 12th, successful treatment of misalignment and fixations of this rib continues to exasperate even seasoned bodyworkers. Although it is a “true rib” (in that it connects to the sternum), it rivals the floating ribs for instability. Often, problems with the first rib can be ascertained by looking at the client’s posture; similar to what we found with the 12th rib, they create a forward head posture and a slouching lower back. The client may experience head, neck, jaw, and shoulder pain, breathing difficulties, and arm numbness. All too often, folks opt for surgical removal of the first rib rather than bodywork. Two of the three scalene muscles attach to the first rib, as does the lesser known suprapleural membrane (also known as Sibson’s fascia). Just as many blood vessels, nerves, and lymphatic vessels pass through the diaphragm and attach to the 12th rib, a similar 115

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assortment of important structures passes through this fascia. To treat these soft tissues, I use the bones as levers to affect the muscles, nerves, and fascia, and I apply Zero Balancing fulcrums to the rib. In fact, even though this chapter focuses on the first and 12th ribs, all the ribs are important. When it comes to human anatomy, there’s no such thing as “spare ribs.” I would like to finish with a poem of mine that’s even shorter than a 12th rib: We are not truly upright, We are only On our way there. The diaphragm Still struggles With each breath, Doesn’t it? PS. It doesn’t have to be this way. —JR

EMBODIMENT—RIBS #1 Dr. Ida Rolf said not to teach someone a new way of breathing unless their structure could accommodate it. This was good advice then but, unfortunately, rarely followed, even today. However, we will abide by her recommendation and change our structure before we attempt to change our breathing. There are many reasons that we are a culture of hypo-ventilators—not breathing deeply or often enough; most of these are due to stress and trauma. Even postural reasons typically stem from wanting (probably unconsciously) not to feel what we are feeling. We don’t feel safe enough in our body to enjoy breathing fully. The beginning of this exploration, we hope, will remedy that.

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We are going to use the acronym W.I.S.O. to guide us. W stands for “weight,” I for “inside,” S for “skin,” and O for “outside.” Working with these four components helps relax the armoring that too often restricts healthy breathing. This new way of breathing allows the breath to settle into a new, fuller, and more pleasurable way of respiration. Sit or lie on your back, making yourself comfortable. Notice your breathing without judgment or critique. How do the ribs—all 12 pairs of them—feel as you breathe in and out? Do they seem to bend slightly with your inhalations and exhalations, or do they feel rigid? • Weight: Notice the weight of your body on the chair, bed, or earth (again, with no judgment). Pay attention to and appreciate the fact that you are supported; you are safe. • Inside: With your eyes closed, explore the inside of your bodily realm with curiosity. What interests you? What draws your attention? What feels good? Be mindful of the sensations and feelings present in that area. Let the sensations marinate in mindfulness. • Skin: Bring your awareness to your skin. How do your clothes feel against your body? Can you detect the temperature of the room on your skin? • Outside: Gently open your eyes and scan the area around you. Find three things that are pleasing to your eyes. Close your eyes and feel the sensations that result from focusing on what pleases you. After a few moments, bring your attention back to your breathing. What feels different, and how? We conclude this exploration with a round of 4–7–8 breathing: inhale through the nose for four seconds, hold for seven, and exhale for eight. Repeat this a handful of times, allowing the breath to move your abdomen, diaphragm, and middle and upper chest. Rest in the enjoyment of your new, fuller breathing. Own it and use it, and when you are ready, get up and slowly walk around, noti­ cing your new way of breathing.

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EMBODIMENT—RIBS #2 Mudrās are involved in our work with living ribs. In Zero Balancing we address ribs 1–9 with the client supine. You can do this exercise in the context of any bodywork. I have been doing Zero Balancing with the ribs for over 30 years, and there is always the possibility for deeper learning and new discoveries. For positioning, sit at the head of the table and slide your hands down beneath the client’s upper arms, your palms face down on the table surface alongside the middle ribcage. Let your thumbs nestle into the place where the client’s torso meets the table surface. To get under the body gracefully and easily, rotate and adduct your forearms, bringing the elbows slightly medially. You can do this one arm at a time or both arms at once, whichever is easier. As you do this, gently move your shoulders forward so that, as you get into position, your hands move a bit inferiorly. Now you are under the client’s ribs, palms up, with your distal finger pads resting approximately at rib nine or ten. If the client is somewhat difficult to move, you can ask them to lift their right shoulder, then the left. As they lift, slide your respective hand under. Then gently remind them to relax, so they let go of the feeling of effort.  Often, depending on the size of the person, you will find the little finger sides of your open palms now touching or at least close to each other.    The gesture of bringing the hands inferiorly as they come under has always reminded me of the giving of alms. This reminder was further illuminated this year in my yoga studies, when we were introduced to a variety of mudrās. Mudrās are hand and finger positions with individual meanings that are often conveyed by their Sanskrit names. “A mudrā is a spiritual gesture and an energetic seal of authenticity employed in the iconography and spiritual practice of Indian religions” (Ayurwiki n.d.). When we do bodywork, our hands assume various positions. The more highly we regard the miraculous abilities, structure, and even linguistic capacities of the hands, the more meaningful and sacred

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our hands, their expression, and our work may feel. Thus, we may discover we have been consciously or unconsciously utilizing a mudrā in our work. The way we position ourselves for work with the ribs is, for me, particularly poignant and invokes one particular very wonderful mudrā. This mudrā is called the pushpaputa mudrā, from the Sanskrit. Pushpa means flower and puta means basket; so even before we begin our rib fulcrums, our hands assume this mudrā. This is particularly evocative when the so-called ribcage is involved, as a healthy arrangement of ribs will feel more like a beautiful basket, interwoven ribs that contain and protect the heart, the lungs, and the other structures within and flowing through this living area. Embodying this mudrā imagery and coming into the position to do the work with the ribs are themselves a sacred offering. We might say we are making a sacred offering of a basket of flowers to this miraculous living segment of our bodymind. To evaluate, after we have made this initial mudrā, we move to exploring the ribs. Gently bringing the fingertips of one hand at a time into contact with successive ribs, work your way successively from rib nine up all the ribs to rib one, noting the relative freedom of form and movement. You may find a particular density within a rib or an unyielding movement of certain ribs. Now get into position again (making the mudrā if that imagery appeals to you) and re-evaluate up from ribs nine to one. In this pass, if you feel a density that you’d like to be softer or a rib that could move more freely, place a “fulcrum” there. You do this by curving your fingers so that the ends of the fingertips are brought more into contact with the rib; be still there for a few seconds while you allow the person some time and space to let go. You can work unilaterally or, if you find tensions at similar rib levels, bilaterally. In a Zero Balancing session we usually do two full sets of fulcrums before moving on to further work with the neck, head, shoulders, and arms. In a sense, the ribs express the history of every breath. All the feelings the heart has had and is capable of are manifest through

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the ribs and their relationship with the heart and lungs. The existential gift of the ribs is vast, yet fascinatingly accessible through mindful touch. May these mudrās, clear and powerful, add inspiration to your life and work and the lives of all whom you touch.

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CHAPTER 12

The Scapula WISDOM IN THE WINGS

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Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wings on, testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade, and think of that first flawless moment over the lawn of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made! —Anne Sexton (1999, p.53)

Since ancient times, the scapula has been the bone most frequently used in the practice of divination: “scapulimancy.” The center of the scapula is the thinnest part of the bone; held up to the light, it is transparent. Commonly, in ancient cultures, someone skilled in “reading” the scapula would hold it up to the light and predict good or ill fortune by a clear scapula or one with rather shadowy bits, respectively. As well as being a harbinger of the future, the scapula is also a channeler of the past. In Zero Balancing, we pay particular attention to an area on the scapula: the same location as that most transparent part of the bone used for divination. It is associated with the acupuncture point Small Intestine 11, translated as “Heavenly Ancestor” or “Celestial Gathering.” Neil Gumenick, founder of the Institute of Classical Five-Element Acupuncture in Los Angeles, wrote: This is one of the strongest points on the whole of the body to clean out impurities of the mind and spirit. The ancient Chinese held their elders and ancestors in great reverence. The ancestors had seen it all before, had traveled the path countless times and held the wisdom gleaned from vast experience. They learned what was useful and what was useless. Within all of us is access to such wisdom, which we can call upon for guidance. When it seems to be out of our grasp, this point can provide the connection, revitalizing clarity where there was filth, confusion and chaos. (Gumenick 2004)

When we touch the scapula, we massage the future and the past. The future is a place of pure potential. Here in the present, doing 122

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massage, I will affect it but I can’t know precisely how; thankfully so, since life would lack mystery and excitement if everything was predictable. Everything we do and receive through bodywork can activate potentials from the past that then flow consciously (or not) through the present to the future. It is as if the relationship of the past, present, and future is one which floats within the scapula. We activate ancestral chi, the possibilities dormant within our family constellations, the dreams and plans we have made, our genetic expressions. Yet the future remains, gratefully, always out of reach. May we contribute to and cultivate a present and a future in which the highest potentials in us may grow. The scapula’s links to mystery are further revealed by its unique location and role in the bodymind: • However fundamental it is to the motion of our arms, the scapula is a bone we don’t ordinarily feel in our everyday activities. So, when someone touches the scapula mindfully, we go to a place we usually don’t consciously inhabit. • We have a back, but the scapula lies behind it. It is like a psychophysical koan—what is within a person that is in back of the back? If we think “back” in time rather than in space, then we develop an even deeper feeling for how the scapula is linked with what is behind us in time, and is thus a locus of connection with our ancestors. • Anterior to the scapula is the subscapular space. This is another area not commonly experienced, but it plays an important role in facilitating the freedom of our shoulder’s movement and it may well be a kind of energetic shock absorber. The scapulothoracic “joint” ensures, in the breathing room between the scapulae and the ribs, that stress can “roll off our back” rather than being absorbed by the ribs or the underlying heart and lungs. • The scapula can be thought of virtually as a sesamoid bone, a floating bone. It is like the hub of a bicycle wheel with spokes of muscles and fascia radiating out from it. • The scapula is an intriguingly irregular form arising from a 123

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triangle. From it protrudes the coracoid (crow’s beak) process; along its top is its “spine,” with the ridge formed above it being the supraspinous fossa; and at its lateral end we have the glen­ oid fossa, the barely cupped surface that lightly embraces the head of the humerus. It’s almost as if the scapula is evidence of our fall from grace. As once angels with wings we are now flightless birds, ever grounded. But what is the sacrifice made to ever protect our hearts and to protect the vehicle through which we breathe life into our hearts, to stabilize our emotions, to protect ourselves from that which could come from behind to betray us? Or maybe, as were once winged in some celestial realm either flying with pride over all we foresaw or swimming through the primordial ooze of creation, we in our own desire to know and evolve fell upon the land, and raised our arms to the Sun, with the desire to fly. (Bratcher 2019)

Between the hand and the heart Between a wing and a throat Between the back and empty space I abide. Rising and falling with every breath Coming forth in every embrace In the sea, on the land, and in the air I find myself in so many forms, So many uncountable lives and bodies I have accompanied. Pushing back massively under the yoke Bringing food to my lips Every kiss, every throw, Every shrug, every letting go— Crawling Swimming Flying 124

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I make my voiceless contributions. Yet, actions being louder than words, With all my actions, then I drown them out, Words bow down or perhaps whisper “scapula.” —DL

The etymology of the word “scapula” has gone through quite a few changes, throughout history. From spatula (used to stir food) to blade (to scrape with) to spade (to dig with), it has also been used, at one time, to refer to the entire back. I have suggested in my classes that the back of the body, and particularly the spine, is analogous to the “back burner” of the body. We have all experienced being too busy to handle even one more simple task. “I’m going to put that on the back burner,” we say. These tasks pile up, however, and the back (and the scapula) pays a price. Later, “scapula” came to mean “the back of the chest”—specifically, the back of the heart and lungs. We have probably all experienced being betrayed, deeply let down, or “stabbed in the back.” If we can’t somehow make sense of the event, we may find that, over time, our ability to live wholeheartedly/openheartedly becomes diminished. Breathing might become constricted and, with it, the life force. We become stuck, and often that stuckness ends up residing in the shoulder blades. As unappealing as it may be, the solution often lies partly in forgiveness, more for our own benefit than for the sake of the perpetrator. A practice I often share with clients, especially when shoulder pain and restriction are an issue, is to have them perform Apley’s scratch test, noting any pain or restrictions. The client reaches behind the head and touches the superior aspect of the opposite scapula. With the other arm, the client reaches back and touches the inferior aspect of the opposite scapula. I ask them to tune into the bony “protector of the heart” and have them say to it, “Thank you for your protection. I am sorry for my part in this. Please forgive me. I love you.” They continue until the charge dissipates from the 125

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area and is replaced by a sense of ease or lightness. I may apply Zero Balancing fulcrums to the scapula and associated ribs while the client repeats these phrases. Clients are typically astounded to find how much more flexibility—emotional as well as physical—has been restored to the area. I resonate with Neil Gumenick’s words: The scapula, and specifically the small intestine acupuncture point called “Heavenly Ancestor,” is to be treated with reverence. We can, indeed, purify the bodymind of the emotional toxicity associated with holding on to resentments and be restored to connection with the Great Stream of Life. We become wise in the best sense of the word, gaining the mental clarity to choose love over fear, when freeing these emotional shock absorbers of their burdens. Growing up Catholic, I wore something called a “scapular”: two postage stamp-sized holy images held together by a string and worn over the shoulder and chest. Later I learned that the scapular represented the yoke of Christ, granting spiritual protection. Perhaps, if we lived in a somatically literate society, it would not have been needed, for we all come equipped at birth with two “scapulars” or scapulas, our body’s own protectors of love and gentle wisdom. The scapula, being a rather large and free-floating sesamoid bone, depends more than others for its interconnectedness with the rest of the body. We are like sesamoid bones ourselves: free-floating beings in an ocean of interbeing. We depend on each other. On one level, the shoulders—including the scapulae—have a relationship with carrying the weight of the world, family, work, finances. The shoulders are our “doing center.” When we reach out to participate in the world, our movements begin with the shoulders. If we enjoy what we are doing, our shoulders are much less likely to become tense and rigid. The discomfort that may result from difficult or unwanted tasks could be an invitation from our body intelligence to prioritize discovering what we really want to be doing. Many folks suffer with shoulder pain and, often, the solution is to focus on the shoulder muscles and the glenohumeral joint. However, the driver of healthy shoulder biomechanics begins with a properly aligned scapula. Consider the fact that the glenoid fossa, 126

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the “socket” which the “ball” of the head of the humerus articulates with, is part of the scapula. If the scapula is not in its optimal position, it becomes near impossible to achieve a proper relationship between the humerus and the scapula. The glenoid fossa is playing tricks on us, pointing up or down, inward or outward, keeping healthy articulation of the shoulder at, well, arm’s length. The scapula protects the back of the heart, helping us to stay strong when our emotional and spiritual heart does not feel okay or safe. Working with the scapula can release this stuck energy so that we may dwell in our core and know that we are more than okay: indeed, we are divine. A leaf on a stalk A newborn flower, or kitten A little prince A bone you can almost see through Satie’s Gymnopédies Our intuitions Our responsibilities The richness of our bodymindspirit: Handle with care, but handle. Everything is everything. Everyone is everyone.

One of my tips for treating pesky neck and shoulder pain is to check for hypertonicity and possible adhesions beneath the superior angle of the scapula. This is a difficult area to access, but try with the client prone. Have them place their forearm on their lower back (if pain or restriction prevents this, they may keep their arm at their side). Next, ask them to shrug the shoulder on the involved side to their ear. Stabilize the now-elevated scapula by placing your thigh (or arm, if it is easier) below their forearm and have the client relax their shoulder. This allows the practitioner to gain access to the hidden fibers of five important muscles beneath the superior angle: levator scapulae, subscapularis, serratus anterior, rhomboid minor, and omohyoid. Gently probe the area for tightness and/or tenderness. Apply gentle pressure to the involved tissues, decompressing the muscle fibers away from the scapula. This is more of an intention than a forcing of the muscles to do anything. Keep contact until the area softens.

—JR

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EMBODIMENT—SCAPULA First, we present a fulcrum drawn from Zero Balancing. Then, we apply a similar idea for a self-embodiment exploration. This fulcrum is often experienced by clients as deeply and surprisingly meaningful. The client is supine and the therapist sits at the head of the table. Center yourself. Slide your hands, palms down, alongside the ribcage at the level of ribs two to seven. “Snug” your hands into the side of the lateral ribcage and flip them, together or one at a time, so that your palms now rest under the scapulae, with your middle fingers at the inferior angles of the scapulae. Gently slide your hands toward yourself a few inches until your middle fingertips are right below the center of the triangular shape of the scapulae. Curve your fingers and press up with your fingertips (anteriorly) into the central points on the posterior scapula (in Chinese medicine, “Heavenly Ancestor” or SI 11). Create a clear bilateral fulcrum with stillness and attention, resting into this point simultaneously on both scapulae. Hold for five to ten seconds, then clearly disengage. Often clients will go into an altered state of awareness during and/or after this fulcrum, so allow some time for them to process the experience before moving on to something else. To do this as a self-embodiment exploration, lie down on a comfortable yoga mat or carpet and take a few relaxing breaths. Bring your attention to your scapulae. Take a few moments to appreciate that you have a back, and though you often don’t notice them, in back of your back there are two more living parts of you: your scapulae. Visualize and feel them. Visualize the space between the scapulae and the ribs, and imagine a bit more breathing room there. How can something be in back of the back? It is like a Japanese koan: that which is in back of the back can be seen as what is behind you—namely, your past. Move your attention to the point SI 11 and allow yourself to connect with the support you have received from your ancestors: your teachers, your family tree, your conscious and unconscious influencers from all time. Imagine these ancestors making contact with you and

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empowering you to feel that support from so much more than just yourself. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses—that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things. (Neruda 2001, p.13)

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CHAPTER 13

The Clavicles KEYS TO THE SHOULDER GIRDLES

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The word “clavicle” originally comes from the Proto-Indo-European root klau, meaning “hook, crook, or forked branch.” Later, in medi­ eval Latin, we see clavicula, literally translated as “small key or bolt,” a diminutive of clavis (key). From these same roots come other words such as pianoklavier, enclave, close, include, exclude, and seclude. The clavicle’s rounded medial end articulates with the manubrium of the sternum in a saddle joint; its lateral end forms a gliding joint with the acromion process of the scapula. The clavicles act as struts to keep the scapulae in place so that the arms can hang and move freely. Struts as structural components are commonly found in engineering, aeronautics, architecture, and anatomy—they work by resisting longitudinal compression. The more we contemplate the role of the clavicle in our embodied lives, the more is revealed to us: • The clavicle is anatomically classified as a “long bone.” It is the only long bone in the body that lies horizontally. • It is the first bone to begin the process of ossification during development of the embryo, in the fifth and sixth weeks of gestation. • It is one of the last bones to finish ossification, at about 21–25 years of age. • In birds, the clavicles fuse to form a single Y-shaped bone, the “furcula,” or what we call the “wishbone.” In a 1986 book, The Pale Fox, two French anthropologists, Marcel Griaule and Germaine Dieterlen, note: The Dogon tribe of Mali in Africa hold the clavicle in high esteem as the primary bone in the formation of a human. They say that it is the principal bone of the Nommo (primordial ancestral spirits). Amma (the creator God) made the clavicle in the fetus first; the rest of the bones he suspended from them. (Griaule and Dieterlen 1986, p.394)

The Dogon state, “These images refer to a human’s future work on 132

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Earth; to agriculture—the fundamental skill; and to life—sustained by the basic food—that is to say, to the cultivated seeds” (Griaule and Dieterlen 1986, p.395). Because humans, in our structure and energy, are largely vertical creatures, it is significant to notice the places in us that are structured and flow horizontally. This aspect is dramatically illustrated in the horizontal piece of the cross, a symbol in many traditions. It has been said, “Heaven and Earth meet in the heart which is their designated place of rendez-vous” (Larre and Rochat de la Vallée 1995, p.xii). We can regard the arms, then, as expressors of the heart and the horizontal energy flow through the upper appendicular skeleton. The first skeletal conduit of this horizontal structure and energy is the clavicle. The arms represent the energy not only of love but also of work. The Dogon recognize that as well in their connection of the clavicles to the work of agriculture, which literally means “the cultivation of the field.” Freud said, “Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness.” Here we see an ever-deeper role for the clavicles; as the only articulation between the upper limbs and the torso, they are the key to both the love we feel inside and our work in the outer world. If the axial system is where we live, the appendicular system is how we live, manifested through the actions of our limbs. Chinese medicine recognizes two important points beneath the clavicle. Just below the clavicle’s sternal end, lateral to the manubrium, is K 27, translated as “Elegant Mansion.” This is the last point on the Kidney meridian, which begins on the bottom of the foot as “Bubbling Spring.” Another slightly more lateral point is called “Cloud Gate; it is the second point on the Lung meridian. This point is a gateway parting the dark clouds, allowing the darkness to vanish and the light to reveal what is precious… When life becomes directionless, when someone cannot see for the clouds, this point can give grounding and direction and a clear sense of who the person is. (Gumenick 2007, n.p.)

Says Lizzie Bristow, UK Five Element acupuncturist: 133

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The point Letting Go (“Middle Palace”) is the first point on the Lung meridian. It is considered the first point in the whole of the meridian cycle because it was thought, by the ancient Chinese, to be the point at which qi first enters the body at birth (interesting, bearing in mind the fact that it is the first bone to form in the fetus). It is situated in the delto-clavicular triangle, one “tsun” (thumb’s width) below the acromial end of the clavicle in the first intercostal space. It often feels tender or sweet. It is a point that supports both physical (breathing issues) and spiritual inspiration as well as “letting go” of things no longer apt for us to hold on to. It therefore also supports grieving and a sense of loss of all kinds. (Bristow 2021)

The magical clavicular strut at the top of our Elegant Mansion sets the stage for the higher realms of “heaven,” the upper three energy centers in the area of the throat, forehead, and crown of the head. We can envision this elegant mansion residing in misty clouds, and as the clouds part our way becomes clearer. The shoulder girdle and arm complex attach to the axial skeleton at this exquisite articulation between the clavicle and sternum. With the breadth assured by the clavicles, we find our wingspan, the scapula, arms, and hands freer for their work and for self-expression. When we raise our arm to the side, the scapula follows the clavicle with upward rotation. If the clavicle is chronically depressed and “glued” to the first rib, then the scapula also cannot move freely or smoothly. Thus, those limitations can pass through to the shoulder joint, affecting the rotator cuff and other structures in that area. When I sit at the head and place my hands upon a receiver’s trapezius and clavicles I am directly in touch, it feels, with a sense of the accumulation or absence of an accumulation of their life’s emotions and experience. Touching these exquisite finely shaped bones at interface can help to steady and reassure. Below the lateral tips lie the acupuncture points “Letting Go”—by acknowledging the yoke-like work of the clavicle, and by touching these bones with attention, we may help to release long-held burdens 134

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and also to recharge with courage when a sense of ability to hold life’s burdens is challenged. We may re-establish the deep peace that comes with the re-balanced horizontal configuration of these elegant bones. (Bristow 2021)

It is these wishbones in us that empower and hold our dreams aloft, letting them take flight on the wings of heart, breath, and these beautiful encircling arms of ours. With every breath, every heartbeat, every float of our shoulders and arms we fully take our place on this Earth, in this human life, yet remain connected to heaven through the delicate connection of the upper limb with the sternum and spine. —DL

We often think of bones as what grounds us and connects us to the Earth. Some bones, such as those in the feet and lower extremities, transfer our weight into the ground. Other bones, however, help orient us to a sense of space, like the dens of the axis—that little finger of bone, pointing skyward, perhaps from where we came, or the sphenoid bone, shaped like a butterfly or a bird, soaring into the heavens. But any manual therapist worth their salt can attest that bones work as an interconnected whole, a oneness. A change in the sacrum can affect the occiput or, for that matter, any other bone. Chiropractors and osteopaths have long known that when bones are in optimal relationship with one another, all other systems can function properly. And thus I would like to introduce the clavicle, an avatar of the body’s oneness. The form of the left clavicle resembles the Chinese character for “one.” As well as being a number, this character implies unity, interconnectedness, or oneness. It is the only attachment for the entire upper extremity to the rest of the body. But it goes beyond that: When we bend and touch the ground, we do so because the clavicles allow us to do so. Similarly, when we reach out to someone or point to a planet in the sky, the clavicles unite the rest of the body to permit this. 135

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Oneness is automatic—it always already is. We are all connected to and through the greater whole. That quality is contained within and expressed in the body as the autonomic nervous system (ANS). Osteopaths refer to it as the health that is never lost. Our clavicles can be considered bony members of the ANS. New research on the ANS shows that it is more complex than the two-part sympathetic and parasympathetic branches. Previously, we thought these two systems worked as antagonists: fight/flight versus rest/digest. Through the efforts of American psychiatrist and neuroscientist Dr. Stephen Porges, we now know there is a third component he calls the “social engagement system,” which is the part of the ANS that we engage when faced with novel situations or stimuli. For example, when you walk into a room filled with people you do not yet know, the social engagement system (if functional and available) should accurately assess if you are safe to mingle, to be yourself, to connect. If your nervous system is uncertain about this, you would naturally be inclined to communicate and gather information you may be missing or of which you’re in need. Most people in our fast-paced, fear-based culture do not have healthy social engagement systems, so they resort to the next available division of the ANS: the sympathetic system. Calling it the fight/ flight system is grossly incomplete; instead, we’ll describe it as the part that allows for mobilization with fear. We may flee the room or become irritated or contentious with someone. We can further describe this system as allowing us to mobilize without fear. We may say something humorous to break the ice, or focus on the fact that we got up that morning and walked into that room awake. Playing games, doing work we enjoy, and working out are additional examples of being mentally and physically active without fear. If, due to stress or trauma, the sympathetic system is unavailable to us, we resort to the last and least favorable system (under the circumstances): the parasympathetic system. When we refer to this as “rest and digest,” we are describing its normal function—immobilization without fear—and not its stress response, or immobilization with fear. Cuddling, sleeping, being intimate with a partner, and 136

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meditating are all examples of the former. Under stress, the parasympathetic system responds with dissociation, addictive behaviors, phobias, and depression. If our ANS were not functioning effectively, we might have quietly left the room depressed, gone home, and zoned out in front of the TV while drinking a bottle of wine. The American Medical Association estimates that 70 percent of diseases have their origin in a dysregulated ANS. But what does this have to do with the clavicles? The stellate ganglion is a star-shaped group of sympathetic nerve tissues that sits in a fossa behind the clavicle at the level of the cervical–thoracic junction. Fixity of the clavicles is common in our head-forward, smartphone-driven culture. The long-term effect of immobilized clavicles is prolonged irritation of the fight/ flight system. It can also suppress the digestive and immune systems. In osteopathy, treating clavicular and first rib dysfunctions is considered the place to start to influence the ANS. And the fulcrum described above may result in long-lasting reduction of sympathetic stress activity. Bones are covered by a connective tissue coating called the periosteum (“around the bone”). Other connective tissues, or fasciae, weave the entire skeleton into a state of wholeness. The thoracic inlet, also known as Sibson’s fascia, is an example. It contains multiple organ structures, including the beginning of the digestive tract and respiratory, vascular, lymphatic, endocrine, and neural structures. The right and left vagus nerves, as well as the phrenic (or breathing) nerve, pass through it. If the clavicles lose their movement through restrictions here, the ANS is functionally compromised. Cranial nerve XI, the accessory nerve, innervates the trapezius and sternocleidomastoid muscles, both of which attach to the clavicles. Gentle handling of these muscles can activate the social engagement system and turn down, or inhibit, sympathetic stress. The body is a beautiful phenomenon. The interconnected nature of our skeletal system is a gift, as is “the health that is never lost”: the innate drive toward healing, growth, and evolution provided by the ANS. And the clavicle, the delicate and sensuous bone that is fundamental to one’s alignment, has been referred to as the “beauty 137

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bone.” It is through the integrity and the beauty embodied by the clavicles that we come to appreciate more deeply the miracle and magnificence of this “key” to our lives. —JR

EMBODIMENT—CLAVICLES This is a fulcrum that can help restore structural and energetic function to the clavicle. It can be used by therapists working with a client, as well as when you are alone as a self-embodiment exploration. The therapist sits at the head of the table and the client is supine. Gently place your thumbs superior and posterior to the upper surface of the medial clavicle. Place your fingers inferior to the clavicle with your fingertips curling onto the inferior posterior surface of the clavicle, so that both thumbs and fingers feel a bone-to-bone contact with the clavicle. Now slightly depress your wrists, which will upwardly rotate the clavicle. While maintaining that vector of upward rotation, slightly pull your hands apart, creating a feeling of openness in the sternoclavicular joint. Hold this for five to ten seconds. Then let go of the outward traction, followed by the upward rotation, and disengage, leaving the bones, joints, and the energy to enjoy the sustained feeling of opening. This movement is one we would not ordinarily do on ourselves, so it evokes an uncommon “letting go” in a joint which lives more in our unconscious than conscious mind. With new movement and space between the sternal manubrium (the residence of the “higher heart”) and the remarkable clavicular struts, it is common for the person to take a big breath and enjoy the spaciousness in both the heart and shoulder girdle. To do this fulcrum as a self-embodiment: Breathing with ease, visualize and feel your clavicles spanning the distance from sternum to scapula. Place your fingers above the clavicles about halfway along their length. Place your thumbs on the underside of the clavicles. Gently bring your thumbs and fingers together, encircling the clavicles 138

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as much as possible. Now slightly pull your hands apart, creating more room in the sternoclavicular joint; enjoy a feeling of greater wingspan and more room for breath. Take a big breath, hold it for a few moments, then exhale fully while you maintain that lateral traction of the clavicles and enjoy the new feelings of unaccustomed freedom here. Then allow your hands and arms to let go, rest, and simply feel how you feel.

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CHAPTER 14

The Humerus and Social Engagement

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James Weldon Johnson, in his 1927 novel, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, writes, “Young man, your arm’s too short to box with God!” (Johnson 1927, p.85). As I consider this chapter on the humerus, I think that all of us are too short to fight with anyone. Sure, we can wreak all kinds of damage on one another through words, actions, blaming, shaming, withholding our love, and punching hard with our judgments. Do we ever really win? Physical fighting has never worked for me. Our arms are meant for reaching out and extending and receiving love. And so I share with you the humerus, a long bone that is too small to fight with God. Helen Schucman’s A Course in Miracles (1975) says we are here to perform miracles. I really like its definition of a miracle: any extension of love. And then comes the part that blows me away: “There is no such thing as a small miracle” (Schucman 1975, p.14). The humerus is a long bone in the arm that runs from the shoulder to the elbow. Like all bones, it connects to a lot of other structures; connectedness is the nature of Nature. In this case, the bone connects to the scapula and the two bones of the lower arm, not to mention the soft tissue structures around it. If you think of the shaft of the humerus as shaped like a baseball bat, its head is the baseball—round and rather large. The cup-shaped glenoid fossa of the scapula, with which it articulates, is the catcher’s mitt, albeit a size or two too small. To prevent shoulder dislocations, this joint is bolstered by ligaments and the tendons of the rotator cuff. The word “humerus” is derived from the Latin, meaning (rather mundanely) “upper arm.” I prefer “baseball bat and ball.” Like most bones, the humerus has all kinds of bumps and grooves in order to connect with even more ligaments and tendons. The Rev. Henry Melvill wrote, “Our lives are connected by a thousand threads” (Melvill 2017, p.156). So it is with the body. So it is with everyone we come in contact with, but that’s a story for another time. As a bodyworker, I would say that, in the past, folks have come to me suffering with three kinds of complaints: low back pain, neck pain and headaches, and shoulder pain. Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic things changed; now I see far more patients with shoulder pain. While this pain may not have originated in the bones, the 142

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deepest of emotional and psychological tensions often eventually anchor themselves in bone. Shoulder pain can have a relationship to stress and how we use our bodies: sitting at a desk all day, scrolling through our cell phones, poor posture. But many people are guilty of these things and do not have pain. One of the main shoulder muscles is the trapezius. As discussed earlier, it receives its innervation from the newly recognized third branch of the autonomic nervous system, the social engagement or connection system. This nerve, along with cranial nerves V, VII, IX, and X, sends messages of alarm to higher centers of the brain when they sense danger, real or imagined. Sadly, 2020 and 2021 brought new reasons to be on guard, to be looking over our shoulders for impending trouble. Much of our clients’ pain is not physical in origin but psychological and social. I am astonished at how extensively people’s bodies have changed in the last few years, becoming denser and more sensitive as fear becomes “concretized” in their tissues. When I make contact with the humerus or the scapula or the nearby upper ribs, patients report feeling not only that are they carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders, but that the weight has dramatically increased. When I was a young child in rural New Jersey, I often collected deer skulls and other bones—rabbit, squirrel, skunk, the occasional fish. I loved these bones but my parents didn’t share my enthusiasm for them, so I would bury them in a makeshift cemetery in my backyard. In this book, we speak poetically about the possible meaning of a bone; these poetic comparisons should not be dismissed as being solely subjective. The poetic or artistic part that lives in any form of nature is a valid means of observation. As bodyworkers—or even as humans—it is important to be open to an order in the multitude of shapes that compose the human form, especially the long-lasting structures of bones. So I allow the humerus to speak to me as, for example, a long bone designed to intertwine with another’s, promoting goodwill, companionship, and a sharing in life’s adventure. Or with arming 143

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citizens to vote, reaching out to ensure a working democracy. Or to handle firearms, which I would happily use my arms and hands to bury alongside the animal bones of my childhood. Or to be up in arms, inspiring us to act to end racism, sexism, homophobia, and violence to our environment. I am reminded of something the psychosomatic pioneer Wilhelm Reich wrote: “As a result of thousands of years of social and educational distortion, masses of people have become biologically rigid and incapable of freedom. They are not capable of establishing peaceful coexistence” (Reich 1980, p.94). Whenever I touch a patient, the potential for personal and, dare I say, societal change is on the menu. Let’s put down our arms—the weapons of division— and employ our literal arms and hands to craft a better home for all of us. —JR

What is the ideal relation of our humerus to our fellow humans, to nature, or even, if we allow such imaginings, to God? The humerus is an out-reaching limb and instrument of self-expression and communication. The upper arm, forearm, and hand take actions and make gestures. They are involved in the fashioning of all our creations and in each embrace. They convey the meanings of what we say beyond the words we use. Studies show that 7 percent of communication is verbal but 93 percent (!) comes from tone of voice and from gestures. As I ponder the connections of action and gesture in communication it brings to mind a scene outside a church. Here, I submit a poem that I hope captures the essence of what the humerus represents in our lives. FOREVERLAND Outside the Christian church, after the service for Asian Americans A man in his 70s in brown pants and white short-sleeved shirt And a woman in her 60s with a floral blouse and a linen skirt Hugged each other. They hugged and hugged and hugged.

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Long after some attendees had hurried off home to early Sunday dinner or to McDonald’s, We stood and watched them, Their arms wrapped around each other’s backs Their humeri pressing each into the other. They had just exited from the church’s eaves, As if from the ribs of a large boat from heaven That had perhaps also borne them upon an ocean, A voyage from China to the new continent. Hearts can reach that far through arms. Neither was young. And with their heads bent down, Nestled into their shoulders and necks, We couldn’t see their faces, nor the fronts of their bodies, Only their backs and those encircling arms. Those humeri arising from the shoulder blades, The ball and socket speaking in a language of completeness And freedom—movement through the union of opposites. Their shoulders were free to move—but now he and she were wrapped in stillness, A stillness we all could feel like wings of embracing herons, Each disappearing into the oneness of four still wings. Or in China they would be seen as one large flame, An illustration of the fire element coursing through the arms: The heart meridian, the inner sea of fire, Pericardium, the “heart protector,” now opened wide, Triple warmer, three depths of love through pelvis, belly and chest, The small intestine meridian leading to a point called “Heavenly Ancestor.” She and he shared ancestors in the fires of stars. They leaned back, faces shining, still hugging, Yet now each reflecting the light of the other in their faces. 145

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In their hug we could feel the vast generations of upper arms, Humeri assuring the embrace until new life became possible for all On a new continent formed by a love that we lived in then, Joints connected the countries of history. They had come full circle and stopped: we were all their children. They invented a new kind of time. There we were, all the begats of the Bible, Living in the world we wanted, through a hug in the promised land. The humerus is the skeletal origin of our reaching out to life. It bears the messages of the heart more truly than just words. We reach out for each other and for the lives we want. We reach out, even fight if we must, for the things we hold most dear. Let’s allow ourselves to feel that in our bodies, flowing through the humerus. In Chinese medicine the arms express the energy of fire and of air. In the open air, with the fire and integrity of authentic passion, and through each gesture and action, our arms make the world each day. —DL

EMBODIMENT—HUMERUS The humerus, along with the scapula, forms the glenohumeral joint, perhaps the most freely moving joint in the body. However, restrictions can and often do occur in this joint; this may affect the thoracic inlet or Sibson’s fascia (a horizontal partition of muscles and fascia through which important blood vessels and nerves pass). The following embodiment is inspired by the late osteopath Robert Fulford. Stand or sit comfortably. Cross your arms over your chest, placing your right hand over your left humerus and your left hand over the right humerus, hugging yourself. How does this feel? If this were a test to gauge your self-worth, would the sensations you notice in the humeri give you a passing grade? 146

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Abduct both arms to 90 degrees. Keeping your elbows extended, arms stretched out to either side, turn your left palm up and right palm down. This places a spiraling fulcrum into the thoracic inlet, as well as through the entirety of the upper extremities. Breathe into the area between your shoulders and extend your exhalation through both humeri for about a dozen breaths. Can you sense the spirals inherent in these long bones? Does the spiral of energy, breath, and sensation travel through the forearm, wrist, and hand, or does it get blocked somewhere? If you notice a blockage, deliver this silent message to it: “The emergency is over. You are safe. Thank you.” Shake out your arms and repeat. What has changed? How do your arms feel different? Does your breath flow more easily into the upper lungs? Repeat this process, this time turning the right palm up and the left palm down. Does the spiral of your breath match the spiral of the humeri? Proceed as in the previous paragraph. Shake out the arms and repeat. Next, raise both arms above your head, palms touching. Allow the spine to lengthen. Inhale and exhale several times before slowly lowering the arms to your side. Contact the humeri as you did at the beginning of this embodiment. Did you “elevate” your self-worth? If so, offer a wish that all beings come to recognize their inherent worth and goodness.

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CHAPTER 15

Forearms with a River Flowing Between Two Bones RADIUS AND ULNA

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The word “radius” is Latin for “ray,” and is so named because the bone, like the radius of a circle, rotates around the ulna. The ulna acts as the center point of the circle, and when the forearm is rotated, it does not move. But we can also think of the radius as embodying rays of light as it reaches out in a handshake or hug. In Zero Balancing, fulcrums are placed into the less mobile foundation and semi-foundation joints of the body. I predict that in the (possibly near) future, similar attention will be placed on ossification centers, where compression and increased tension can occur. For example, the radius is ossified from three centers: one for the body and one for each of the ends. The same is true for the ulna. In fact, this is a common pattern in the long bones of the body. I think of the osteopathic maxim, “Before a bone can be in proper relationship to another bone (i.e., a joint), it must first be in proper relationship with itself.” The ulna is a bone whose beauty astonishes me. Slightly longer than the radius, it is also thinner. It contains the hefty, hook-like olecranon, the part of the elbow we use to lean on a table or to perform a deep tissue or myofascial treatment, yet its distal end has a delicate styloid process. Near the elbow, the ulna has two concave articular cavities: the semilunar and radial notches. It never ceases to amaze me that from the humble union of sperm and egg, bones and muscles and organs are created with their unique and idiosyncratic features. One could not find a better scripture than an anatomy textbook. And so, I once again bow to the miracle of the body. The radius and ulna are connected by the interosseus membrane. While this serves as an attachment site for the muscles of the forearm, it also absorbs much of the load placed upon the forearm. This thick sheet of fascia takes quite a beating: from the physical trauma of falling on an outstretched hand, to the repetitive overuse of typing on a computer all day, to the emotional stress of not “reaching out” for what one wants in life. Working with this membrane can be very helpful to our clients. Peter Ehlers, a Structural Integration teacher and master of all things fascia, surprised me during a discussion about what bones mean to us. “What do you think about the bone called fascia?” he 150

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asked. The next day he sent me a book by Stephen Levin, the father of biotensegrity, entitled Bone is Fascia (2018). In it, he examines the various roles of fascia, showing how bone qualifies as part of this specialized crystalline matrix. He refers to bone as “ossified fascia.” So what, you might ask? I would respond that even though great strides have been made to bring awareness to fascia, it is probably the least understood system in the body, yet among the most important. Fascia is a continuous, web-like structure that wraps, interweaves, and connects all body parts and processes. It is literally the organ of wholeness and connection. There is no part of the body—not one single cell—that doesn’t touch fascia. Of course, then, bone is fascial, an integral part of the whole connective tissue system! From a fascial perspective, we can probably add therapeutic fulcrums to any place in the body and create the altered states that allow our clients to connect safely to the worlds within and outside them. Eckhart Tolle, a German-born spiritual teacher now living in Vancouver, wrote, “Resistance is an inner contraction, a hardening of the shell of the ego. When you surrender, a new dimension of consciousness opens to us” (Tolle 2004, p.63). Fascia contracts, and with it, bone, and in so doing stores energy for future healing and growth. It makes sense to me that the deeper, stronger contractile responses to overwhelming stimuli would occur in bone. Inviting relaxation to these tissues opens one to the consciousness of wholeness and “the health that is never lost.” With a new client, I typically use the assessment triad of ART: asymmetry of both form and function; range of motion restrictions; and tissue texture abnormalities. Asymmetry of form—posture—is a tricky and controversial thing. I am frequently asked what the best posture is and my answer is always the same: the best posture is the one that changes often. Imagine if we had been taught when growing up that, instead of standing at attention and sitting for hours in chairs designed for the imaginary “average person,” we followed Dr. Andrew Taylor Still’s philosophy that “movement is health.” Posture represents a snapshot of what is happening in the nervous system and in the fascia. It is a graphic expression of how we habitually feel and think, reflecting our past experiences, our current 151

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attitudes and ruminations, our beliefs and patterns of behavior. Perhaps a client stands before us with one forearm pronated (turned inward). Rather than coercing the forearm into its “proper” position, I instead invite the client to bring awareness to this area, perhaps inquiring what it might be trying to tell the person. Then, through fulcrums, I communicate safety, organization, and wholeness to the nervous system and its fascia, and observe what the body does with that communication. A question I have recently encountered is whether or not manual therapy has lost its soul. I feel the answer is a resounding “yes.” In that spirit I conclude with the words of Dr. A. T. Still: “The soul of man, with all the streams of pure, living water, seems to dwell in the fascia of his body” (Still 2012, p.119). —JR

Shall my soul meet This curve, as a bend in the road On her way to form? —Dag Hammarskjöld (2006, p.171)

The radius and ulna have traveled together for 500 million years. For most of those, they were fused; they still are in horses, dogs, and most tetrapods, restricting rotation in the forearms. Could you imagine a horse with rotation in its forelegs? The radius and ulna are adjacent but unfused in cats and primates. As a result, these fellow travelers have developed a more complicated and elegant choreography. At its proximal end, just below the elbow, the radius takes on a disc shape, like a lifesaver or a little pedestal. Around this disc-shaped end is a ligament, the anulus, which stabilizes its movement, with enough give for the radius to be able to rotate with respect to the ulna, allowing for pronation and supination of the forearm. Needless to say, apes’ nimble lives in the trees would not have been possible without the flexibility afforded by forearm rotation. 152

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The radius and ulna correspond, respectively, to the fibula and tibia in the leg. Whereas the latter end in the two malleoli, the radius and ulna each have a styloid process at their distal ends. “Styloid” comes from the same root as “stylus,” originally from the Greek for “pillar” and later used primarily as a word for the writing end of a pen and for the diamond needle used to play a phonograph record. Between the disc of the radius rotating around the ulna and these styloid processes, we have a connection to the beautiful coordination of forearm, wrist, and fingers in every graceful gesture. Between the radius and ulna, these two compatriots who have accompanied our species for eons (and since the sixth week in utero), is the interosseous membrane. I call it the river flowing between two bones. In Chinese medicine the energy flows down and up, alongside and in between these bones. Flowing down the middle anterior forearm is the Pericardium—the heart protector meridian—and down the center of the posterior forearm is the triple warmer meridian. Both are identified with the fire element and the season of summer. The Pericardium protects the heart emotionally. While, on a physical level, it helps regulate blood flow in and out of the heart, it also facilitates the expression of joy, so is a heart opener as well as a heart protector. The triple warmer is our internal thermostat that looks after physical temperature and level of emotional arousal. These meridians are fiery and warm expressors of the heart. Think about the infinitely varied ways we can freely wave our arms about, almost like the flames of a fire. The interosseous membrane connects these two bones with fascia that is woven, such that when we pronate, the membrane slackens, and it becomes taut when we supinate. Most people do not commonly experience or know that their forearm contains two bones, so to touch this river is to navigate a largely unexplored territory. Every time we touch a body area that has lived largely in the unconscious, we expand the possibilities of our being. Freud said one goal of therapy is to make the unconscious conscious. What better, more obvious places to start than these places that have not yet come to the light of conscious experience? Who knows what inner resources have lain there untouched? What 153

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memories? What knowledge, since our earliest days in the trees and even earlier as quadrupeds on the ground? Let these bones and their connections speak to us. In their silent curves of rotation, in the spin of the radius’s disc, in the bend of the elbow, and in the graceful dance of the wrist’s movement are imbedded and embodied gestures and discoveries from ancestral arms that embrace us through the whole of our history. —DL

EMBODIMENT—FOREARM For Part 1 of this Embodiment, sit or stand comfortably. Bring both arms in front of you, elbows flexed, with the left hand grasping the proximal end of the right forearm, and the right hand grasping the proximal end of the left forearm. With the left hand, squeeze the upper right forearm, extending your intention down to the radius and ulna. Do the bones feel supple or springy? Do they feel hard? Or perhaps simply neutral? Repeat on the other side. All bones have a fluid aspect to them—a slight “bendiness” or resiliency. Press down with both hands on the proximal ends of the forearm. If the bones are in proper relationship with themselves, you should notice a slight bending of the bones. Repeat several times, enjoying the fluid feel of your mostly aqueous body, manifesting in the long, slender radius and ulna of each upper extremity. If the bones don’t feel springy, release your contacts and place pressing fulcrums or finger pressure along the length of the radius and ulna. Apply pressure every 2 inches (5 cm) or so, holding for five seconds; release, and pause for three seconds. Repeat several times. Do the first part of this Embodiment again. What feels different? Harvest the sensations for a minute or so, then walk around, sensing the fluid nature of your entire body, the memory palace of your skeletal system. Begin Part 2 of this Embodiment as you did Part 1. Slowly raise

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your upper extremities to your forehead and back to the starting position several times. Can you sense the radius and ulna supinate and pronate as you move the arms in these two directions? They are designed to do just that, as long as no restrictions exist here, especially in the intraosseous membrane. If you can’t feel these small motions, try again, moving more slowly. If the forearms feel stuck, add the pressing fulcrums, as you did in the third paragraph above. Then try the lifting and lowering of the forearms again, appreciating these subtle movements.

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CHAPTER 16

The Light in the Hands and the Carpal Tunnel

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Like the phalanges in the foot, the carpal bones in the hand have felt to me somewhat underappreciated. These two rows of bones, nestled together by their ligaments, bridge the wrist and palm. They are little gems, their names and ancient derivations reflecting their shapes. The proximal row from thumb side to little finger side, lying just beyond the radius and ulna, consists of these bones: • • • •

scaphoid—boat-shaped lunate—half moon triquetral—three-cornered pisiform—pea.

The distal row articulates with the metacarpals: • • • •

trapezium—four-footed trapezius—table capitate—head hamate—hook.

These could all be included in a surrealistic still life, or viewed as disparate elements in a story about a pirate with a three-cornered hat, or seen as a charm bracelet of precious stones. The arrangements of two rows of four bones could also be heard as chords, like a harpsichord providing a harmonic foundation with chords to accompany the melodies we play with our fingers. The carpal bones are connected through what in Zero Balancing we call foundation joints, which allow little movement but facilitate the transfer of forces up and down the arm and hand. I find it easy, at first, to ignore the metacarpals and phalanges. What is fascinating to me about them is not their form but what they do, the creativity in which they engage. Similar to music and languages, there is an infinite variation of which they are capable. Human handi­ work (and its extension through technology) is more impressive and consequential than the brain itself, for without the hand-making, we would have no lasting or sophisticated human creation. The little femur-shaped metacarpals within the palm are like 158

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twigs interconnected by a latticework of ligament and muscle. The phalanges in the fingers, especially the thumb, are represented by relatively enormous areas in the brain, giving us a picture of the vast importance assigned to them by Mother Nature. We are graced with the ability through our hands to work with steel and wood, to grasp, console, pluck the guitar, strike, touch with love, slap, sculpt, and write in scripts that impart and preserve wisdom. We can signal direction, speak or amplify speech, form sacred mudrās, shoot a gun, perform surgery, plant seeds, and massage. “Nature is the art of God,” Dante supposedly said. So if hands really do make the world each day, and hands are made in turn though divine creation, then in truth we are really just apprentices, hand-making some of this world each day. If we want to change our world, we can do so through new, inspired, soul-mediated uses of our carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges. Pablo Neruda, in his “Ode to Ironing,” says, “hands make the world each day.” This evokes my godmother’s hands as she lovingly showed me how to iron as a young child. ODE TO IRONING Poetry is white: it comes from the water covered with drops, it wrinkles and piles up, the skin of this planet must be stretched, The sea of its whiteness must be ironed, and the hands move and move, the holy surfaces are smoothed out, and that is how things are made: hands make the world each day, fire becomes one with steel, linen, canvas, and cotton arrive from the combat of the laundries, and out of light a dove is born: chastity returns from the foam. (Neruda 1998, p.235) —DL 159

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The carpals, as a group, refer etymologically to something with which we “pick” or “pluck.” The Roman poet Horace expanded the meaning to “seize, make use of, or enjoy.” Hence, the famous dictum: carpe diem. While one cannot strum a guitar with one’s wrists, I can envision the carpal bones vibrating delightedly as a person plays their music. I first memorized the names and positions of these bones many years ago in chiropractic college; some of the mnemonics, unfortunately, were a little crude and sexist. Later I learned better ways to name them. One names the bones in a circular fashion, starting with the proximal row from the radial side, then the distal row, starting from the ulnar side: “So long to pinky, here comes the thumb.” Others move from the radial to the ulnar side for both rows, proximal then distal: “Sally left the party to take Cathy home,” or the more risqué “Some lovers try positions that they can’t handle.” I am fond of each of these bones: the lunate bone that is the most commonly dislocated of the carpals; the scaphoid that is the most commonly fractured. My favorite is the sesamoid pisiform. In chiropractic treatments, this is one of the bones most often used in adjusting a vertebra. In upper cervical chiropractic, where the doctor adjusts only misalignments of the occipital, atlas, and axis, the pisiform is the contact. My pisiform used to glow pink after a day of drills to help us master adjusting this part of the spine. Chiropractic means “practiced by hand,” but perhaps should be renamed “piso-practic.” Applying mechanical energy to bone creates piezoelectricity (could also be known as piso-electricity). Many people see a bracelet in the carpals. Years ago, I had my palm read by a woman from Mumbai, India (who also had a Ph.D. in psychology). She spent as much time reading “the bracelet of the wrist” (her words) as she did the palm itself. The bracelet lines are located on the underside of the wrist at the junction of the arm and the hand. They hold great significance in palmistry and allegedly foretell one’s life expectancy, health, financial well-being, and more. As teachers, David and I may put our heart and soul into our teaching, but much of our work is done by the wrists and hands. Hands amplify the spoken word, especially for those of us of Italian 160

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descent! The hand would not possess such a wide range of gestures, however, were it not for the complexity of the wrist. Observe how your wrists and hands move as you communicate; note the difference between communicating disagreement versus agreement, disappointment versus enthusiasm. It’s nearly impossible to talk about the wrist without also discussing the hand. I come from a long line of people who worked with their hands: carpenters, electricians, plumbers, and chiropractors. I have images and icons of hands throughout my home and in my office, and once received a beautiful hamsa as a gift. A hamsa is a palm-shaped amulet popular throughout the Middle East and has been used as a sign of protection and to provide defense against the “evil eye.” I once took a workshop in 2009 with the mythologist Michael Meade that made a deep impact on my life. He described how the father of a family places an “evil eye” on his children through his own unhealed conditioning. This becomes a sort of koan with which the child wrestles. Years later, the child grows up to be an adult and is not known for greatness in any one thing. Instead, the adult one day “awakens,” surprised to discover that they are happily proficient in many things. The child, who has grown to be an adult themselves, needs to ward off the “evil eye” of the father and this can come in the form of the hamsa. After the workshop I continued to chew on the larger ramifications of this in our patriarchal society. When I find traces of this rising up in me, I raise my right hand and say out loud, “Release and clear,” several times, until the brittleness of that energy dissipates and its evil eye is warded off. Then, acknowledging my other hand, I gently but firmly say, “I connect to the physical sensation of Divine Love.” I continue this process until I feel the shift to a more balanced position. What excites me the most about the wrist and hand is their connection to the heart and to the greatest energy of all: love. The heart is the first physical structure to appear in the embryo and, soon after, the hands emerge from the heart. Eventually, the upper arm and forearm fill in between them. During my bodywork sessions, I 161

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often wait until the heart inside my hands tells me to make contact. I trace its pulse into my hands and fingers. And then I wait for the heart to whisper, “Touch, now.” —JR

EMBODIMENT—CARPAL TUNNEL What is the “carpal tunnel”? The main nerves and tendons going to your palm and your fingers run through the middle of the wrist. On the palmar side of your wrist there is a ligament running above them called the transverse carpal ligament. This ligament is basically the roof of the carpal tunnel—it helps hold these tendons (NINE tendons!) and the median nerve in place. The sides and the floor of the carpal tunnel are formed by the carpal bones of the wrist. Sometimes the transverse carpal ligament is too tight and/or the tendons or nerve become inflamed from overuse. The tendons and nerve may rub against that ligament, as there is not enough room in the carpal tunnel for these important structures to move freely. This can cause a downward spiral of inflammation, irritation, pain, and weakness. The surgical approach to this is quite drastic—cutting through the transverse carpal ligament. Some people with carpal tunnel syndrome find the surgery to be less effective than they’d hoped, though about 50 percent feel it to be very effective. It is therefore appropriate to explore conservative therapies first. Primary among them is massage therapy because this is essentially a myofascial problem (which can then also irritate the median nerve); working with the muscles, tendons, and ligaments is the most direct treatment approach. If you are a therapist, first evaluate whether other muscles may be contributing to pain or tenderness in the wrist. Spend some time focusing on the shoulder girdle muscles—pectoralis minor and subscapularis—which can impinge nerves and vessels on their way down to the arm. After this, muscles of the upper arm and forearm can be addressed 162

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through moderately deep massage and body mobilizations. Finally, if the client is not experiencing irritation there, working directly with the transverse carpal ligament can be incredibly effective. Rather than snipping through it, as a surgeon will, you can, with sensitive cross-fiber (“deep transverse”) friction, systematically restore length to that ligament without incurring the risks involved in surgery. That said, sometimes surgery is the best solution. Therapists should always have a list of surgeons to give to their clients, to steer them to other health professionals as appropriate. If you are not a therapist or want to do this on yourself: Depending on how much tension or overwork you feel, spend some time gently massaging your forearm. Then apply cross-fiber friction to the transverse ligament forming the connective tissue “roof” of the carpal tunnel. To do this, use a thumb or the fingers to stroke across the palm side of your forearm and hand, from the forearm near the wrist across the wrist, ending at the edge of the palm. Do this six to ten times.

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CHAPTER 17

The Seven Beauties of the Neck LOWER CERVICALS, AXIS, AND ATLAS

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Every manual therapist seems to have a favorite bone. For me, it has always been the atlas and axis, the first and second cervical vertebrae. I studied bodywork because I wanted to find God, or at least taste enlightenment. My Rolfing sessions in the mid-1970s were a means of personal growth, not a treatment for musculoskeletal pain. Even though it lived up to its painful reputation, I did feel more grounded and centered—more embodied—after a session. In Ann Arbor, Michigan, in 1978, I discovered chiropractic for the first time through a young chiropractor named Bob Rose. Bob was a student of Dr. Bill Bahan, and for both of them chiropractic was a path of spiritual development. I took classes and had sessions with Bob, who loaned me a copy of The Chiropractor by D. D. Palmer, the founder of chiropractic. In it, the author stated that the purpose of his new profession was “to unite God the Spiritual with man the physical” (Palmer 2010, p.24).

D. D. PALMER, FOUNDER OF CHIROPRACTIC

Shortly thereafter, I matriculated to Life Chiropractic College in Georgia (now Life University), a school that was chiropractically conservative: “spine only, hands only.” We were taught that other schools that treated other parts of the body, that focused on treating symptoms rather than only correcting misalignments, or used electrical 166

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physiotherapy tools were not true chiropractic schools. They were referred to as “medi-practic” schools, as a form of disparagement. We were a “straight” or pure school, as opposed to a “mixer” school. Our college was even more conservative than most other conservative schools, focusing mainly on the upper cervical spine. We had four different courses teaching us how best to adjust the atlas and axis. Both the atlas and axis are considered “atypical vertebrae.” Both are structured to allow greater ranges of motion than any other bones of the spine. The atlas’s chief peculiarity is that it does not possess a vertebral body, having sacrificed it to the axis during embryo­logical development, when it became the finger-like projection called the dens or odontoid process (resembling a tooth). Because the atlas looks like a ring, or arms embraced in a hug, it is considered a feminine vertebra, sometimes the “mother vertebra,” and issues involving it may point to a need to develop the capacity to nurture one’s self. The somewhat phallic appearance of the axis has led to it being considered a masculine (or “father”) vertebra, and may suggest a greater need for self-reliance. (Pardon these somewhat gendered associations, which date back to an earlier, less socially enlightened era.) There is no intervertebral disc between occiput and atlas, nor between atlas and axis. This, combined with the dens of the axis inside the ring of atlas, makes this part of the spinal cord especially vulnerable to stress and injury. In addition, this is an area of extreme neurological significance, as the brain stem travels inside both of these bones. Altered position or movement can do more than just cause pain; it can disrupt brain and body. Not only was the atlas named because of its association with the Greek god who holds up the world, but its name is also derived from the Latin word alta, which means “highest.” The axis gets its name from the Latin word for axle. The axis has been described as “the point between heaven and Earth,” the center of the universe, and the “navel of the world” (weird, right?) by esoteric anatomists. I think what the metaphysicians of old were getting at was that the Sacred dwells in the body, like a totem pole, a Bodhi tree, or a stick of incense. 167

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The bones of the upper cervical spine are covered with many muscles and ligaments; something has to hold these slippery bones in place. One muscle, rectus capitis posterior minor, attaches to the dura mater, the “tough mother” connective tissue around the brain stem. Tension in this area can mechanically deform the brain, the softest of soft tissues. A histamine response often occurs and so, in addition to headaches, we may experience anger, depression, insomnia, excitability, anxiety, and difficulty concentrating. The dura mater also protects the brain and spinal cord from pathogens and physical trauma. The central nervous system tissue is the stretchiest in the body; it floats in cerebrospinal fluid and is anchored by durable membranes to maintain its position and keep it from herniating through the bottom of the skull (the brain has the consistency of soft tofu). However, the dura mater attaches only in four places: the foramen magnum and the axis, as well as the sacrum and coccyx. Shortening of the dura creates unwanted tension in the spinal cord and, as they say, all hell breaks loose. Dr. Alf Brieg, M.D., a prestigious neurosurgeon, identified what he called “adverse mechanical cord tension” (AMCT) as a result of this phenomenon (Brieg 1978, p.104). He found a strong correlation between AMCT and multiple sclerosis (MS), and discovered that correcting spinal mechanics and relieving ACMT could, in many cases, reverse MS. Other symptoms and conditions, such as headaches, cognitive disturbances, central sensitization, scoliosis, loss of spinal curves and associated pain, have been found to occur due to this condition. Another European doctor, Dr. Henri Biedermann, M.D., discovered what he called the KISS syndrome: kinematic imbalance due to suboccipital strain (Biedermann 2004, p.97). This is associated with birth-related strain of the suboccipital muscles, particularly the rectus capitis minor, which results in dysfunctional movement of the upper cervical spine and symptoms ranging from scoliosis and colic to ear infections and tonsillitis. For much of the first half of chiropractic’s history, chiropractors often only adjusted, and then very gently, the atlas and axis (some also adjusted the occiput); they believed that whole-body and mind health could be enhanced through this area. From the 1920s through 168

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the 1950s, a number of chiropractic facilities housed and adjusted people with mental health disorders. One of the first was the Forest Park Sanatorium in Davenport, Iowa. Another facility in Iowa, the Clear View Sanatorium, was run by Dr. B. J. Palmer, the son of chiropractic’s founder. Patients were diagnosed by medical doctors, adjusted by chiropractors, and re-assessed. The endeavor was very successful, eventually closing its doors due to the lasting impact of World War II. I’m not sure if being a chiropractor brought me any closer to God or spiritual enlightenment, but it has provided me with a way of being of service to my fellow man and woman—and that, in my book, is about as good as it gets. —JR

The vertebrae that often attract the most attention in the neck are the first two, since they are essential not only for neck movement but also for all the movements of the head in relation to the neck. There are whole branches of manipulative therapy that concentrate exclusively on the relationships of occiput, atlas, and axis. Yet every single one of the cervical vertebrae is a unique beauty, complex in its form and in its function, and deserves to have its story told. These seven beauties all collaborate in their miraculous dance of movement and support. Why seven? Seven days of creation; seven heavens, according to Islam and Judaism; seven angels, seven trumpets, and seven stars in the Book of Revelation. Oh, and seven chakras! Seven is the consistent number of cervical vertebrae in nearly all mammals. Even the giraffe has just seven, though each can be over 10 inches (25 cm) tall! (And each of the giraffe’s neck joints is a ball and socket, adding to their graceful and astonishing movement potential.) As I looked at the seven cervical beauties of the neck, referencing their physiological and anatomic correlations, as well as relevant meridian information, I made up some names (and remember, as you picture these, that all bones are alive!): 169

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• C1 (Atlas): “Wind Pool” in Chinese medicine, corresponding to Gall Bladder 20 (just off the lateral tips of this vertebra) and just below Governing Vessel 16 (“Wind Mansion”) on the center line, just below the occipital bone. – Living at the level of the base of the nose and the hard palate. • C2 (Axis): “Heavenly Pillar,” corresponding to Bladder 10 (just off the tips of the transverse processes) and to Governing Vessel 15, on the center line just below C1. – Living at the level of the teeth in a closed jaw. – C2’s dermatome handles sensation for the upper part of the head. • C3: “Ansa” for the ansa cervicalis, a loop of nerves in the cervical plexus innervating the infrahyoid muscles. – Living at the level of the mandible and the hyoid bone. – C3’s dermatome covers sensation on the side of the face and back of the head. – On a lighter note, C3 is sometimes associated with the condition known as C-3PIA: linked to the third eye, the pia mater, and the rare symptom of triple vision, apparently associated with chronic fatigue from repeated viewing of “magic eye” pictures. • C4: “Two Rivers Mind-Source,” lives at the bifurcation of the common carotid artery leading to the brain. – Just as the heart and the fourth chakra lie in the middle of the seven chakras, C4 lives in the middle or the “heart” of the seven beauties. – C4 helps control upward shoulder movements and, along with C3 and C5, helps power the diaphragm. The C4 dermatome covers parts of the neck, shoulders, and upper arms. • C5: “Neck Song.” – Living at the level of the thyroid cartilage that protects the larynx and thyroid. – C5 helps control the deltoids and the biceps. The C5 dermatome covers the outer part of the upper arm down to the elbow. 170

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• C6: “Encircling Airway,” at the level of the cricoid cartilage, the only complete ring of cartilage around the trachea. – C6 helps control the wrist extensors and provides some innervation to the biceps. The C6 dermatome covers the thumb side of the hand and forearm (and corresponds to the final point on the Lung meridian). • C7: “Shoulder Root” (also known as the vertebra prominens). – This is the first vertebra rising up beyond the thorax. Just below it is Governing Vessel 14, “The Great Hammer.” – C7 helps control the triceps and wrist extensor muscles. The C7 dermatome goes down the back of the arm and into the middle finger (and corresponds to the final point of the Pericardium meridian). • T1: honorary cousin to the seven beauties; alongside it, Gall Bladder 21 (“Shoulder Well”), lateral to C7 and TI. • C8: exits between C7 and T1 and helps control finger flexion. – The C8 dermatome covers the pinky side of the hand and forearm (corresponding to the Heart and Small Intestine meridians). Each cervical vertebra, when viewed from above, is shaped like a Mardi Gras mask.

THE C3 VERTEBRA

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Let’s imagine these seven beauties at a Mardi Gras party at which we all are guests—helping us turn our heads from side to side, up and down, in rhythm with life’s music as our throats open to sing and as our eyes look in resonance with the great wonders dancing all around us. —DL

EMBODIMENT—CERVICAL SPINE The following exploration focuses on the cervical spine and revisits other bones we have encountered previously. It helps us to get to know the bones of the neck better and allows us to check in with other friends we have met along the way. Sit comfortably on a firm chair, allowing your ischial tuberosities, or “sitz bones,” to settle downward into the seat. Slowly and ever so slightly, roll forward and backward on the tuberosities until you find the most comfortable position of the bones interfacing with the seat of the chair. Notice what that feels like. Extend your arms to your sides and slowly roll both arms outward. Notice how the bones of your hands supinate and the carpals rotate externally, and how the supination of radius and ulna complements the rotation of each humerus. As you inhale, pay attention to the expansion of your ribs and the forward glide of the sternum. How does your breathing affect the ribs and sternum? How do those bones affect your breathing? Slowly and mindfully, bring your head in line with your shoulders. Do your clavicles roll upward as you do so? Do they remain motionless? Bring your awareness to your upper cervical spine. Gently tuck your chin in, noticing how the occiput, atlas, and axis all open slightly away from each other in the back of the neck. Hold without straining for three seconds, then release. Repeat several times. As you make this “nodding yes” motion, consider something that you would like to say “yes” to, something you want to manifest more fully in your life. Return to sitting comfortably in your chair. Notice what you 172

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notice, wherever you notice it. Slowly come to a standing position and walk boldly and confidently through a doorway, visualizing yourself walking into your new future.

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CHAPTER 18

Mandible and Maxilla WHAT THESE BONES TELL US

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Science is that realm of human experience that exists within the commonplace world of our surface lives. It is not shallow, however; good science hints at poetry and can open awareness to that other reality of our existence—spirituality. They are different, yet complementary; either alone is incomplete. Spirituality is a loaded term in Western cultures but it is eternal. There is no denying the wild, vital realities within us that we call bones. They will outlive every enduring and endearing quality that makes us human. I call these centers of our being “soul,” yet another loaded word. Bones are like wedges of immortality planted within our flesh: fingerprints of spirit. If spirit is the vast sky, the branches that complete the picture are of the soul. Seeds of immortality in finite vessels. Recently, a jawbone nearly three million years old was discovered in Ethiopia, the earliest human fossil discovered to date. This feels appropriate to me: since time immemorial, we have become members of a living cosmos through the telling of stories. Jaws move in different ways, drawing us together toward what is universal. The scientist Niels Bohr said that the universe is made up not of atoms but of stories (quoted in Charles River Editors 2018, p.30). The Bible says, “In the beginning was the Word.” To speak words, to tell stories—to eat food and swallow it, along with the words—so perhaps the saying should instead be: “In the beginning were the mandible and maxilla that gave rise to storytelling, songs, and the eating of Brontosaurus burgers.” Indigenous cultures have often used clubs made from elk, bear, buffalo, or horse jawbones. But they also used these bones as musical instruments. Coupled with their oral tradition of storytelling, this served to strengthen the bond shared by the community. As Winston Churchill was fond of saying, “To jaw-jaw is always better than to war-war” (quoted in Lawrence 1954, p.1). In other words, it is better to have a meeting of the minds led by the storytellers than a crushing of another tribe through brute force. The mandible is the largest, strongest, and most inferior bone of the human face (or the viscera-cranium). It anchors 16 teeth. Manual therapists, especially osteopaths, have been known to manipulate 176

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teeth. Even though teeth and bones seem very similar—they are white in color and they store calcium—that’s where their similarities end. The outer layer of our teeth is enamel for protection. Unfortunately, enamel, though hard, isn’t living tissue and can wear away over time; our teeth can’t heal themselves. The mandible is the only freely movable bone in the skull. It has a U-shaped body that begins at the chin and extends back on each side to end at angles. It then juts upward from each angle as hearty slabs of bone, the right and left ramus. Each ramus ends in a head which articulates with each temporal bone at the temporomandibular joint (TMJ). The TMJ is the only true bilateral hinge joint in the body. The only other area of the body that acts in a similar way is the pelvis. The two sacroiliac joints are nearly fused together by very strong ligaments. The sacrum is analogous to the chin of the jaw; the sacroiliac joints to the angles of the jaw; and the two ilia to the rami. And we see these two areas in communication: almost always, when there is dysfunction of the TMJ, there will be a similar issue in one of the sacroiliac joints, and vice versa. As Ida Rolf liked to say about the mysteries of pain’s origin, “Where you think it is, it ain’t” (attributed to Rolf in Still 2014). Biotensegrity researchers would consider this an example of how the jaw (especially the mandible’s articulation with the temporal bone) is suspended within a tensioned network that extends over a much wider anatomical field, a probable evolutionary strategy designed to conserve energy. TMJ disorder is one of the most common conditions seen by manual and movement therapists. Some researchers feel that we are experiencing an epidemic of such problems due in part to the shrinking of the human face and jaw. This may be attributed to our eating increasingly softer foods, improper breathing habits, or poor posture in our more sedentary society. When palpating and treating the mandible and the maxilla, see if the teeth incline toward the tongue; if the tongue is “scalloped” from rubbing against the teeth; if the tongue seems crowded in between the sides of the mandible; if the sides of the maxilla are too 177

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close together; or if the teeth overlap. Any of these may indicate a jaw that is not large enough for the person’s facial structure, and an orthodontist may be needed. The maxilla is the fixed upper part of the jaw. Maxilla is Latin for “jawbone,” and can also be translated as “mandible.” In many animals, the maxilla is referred to as the “upper maxilla,” while the mandible is called the “lower maxilla.” The maxillary sinus is less a physical structure than the absence of a structure. It is the largest air sinus in the body. While the maxilla does not move, this sinus is nearly all motion. It has three large indentations in which air circulates and foreign particles are cleared out. They also produce secretions to help us discharge particles, such as pathogens, not needed by the body. The sinus as a whole is lined with mucoperiosteum, with cilia hairs that beat toward the nasal cavity. The muscles of the jaw can become tight and sore from holding tension or anger. Many people grind their teeth at night from stress, giving these muscles an overworkout. English idioms about the chin—the inferior pole of the mandible—are concerned with stamina and aggression: keep your chin up, take it on the chin, and, my favorite, “not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.” The Sanskrit word for jaw is hanu, from which the Hindu monkey god Hanuman received his name. He accidentally offended another god, who then struck Hanuman in the jaw with a lightning bolt. Hanuman became the epitome of service to the divine, the faithful and miracle-performing servant of the avatar Rama. Through his initial misfortune, Hanuman found his truth, his soul, and lived it out loud. As we ponder these bones, as we traverse our deep soul-terrains, may our troubles turn us to why we are here: to love, to remember, and to serve the best that is in all of us. —JR

Ram Dass notes, “Everywhere you look you see what you’re looking for. When you’re looking for God, everywhere you look, you see God” (Dass 2017). Maybe all we’re ever trying to find is God. (For me as an agnostic, that’s awkward to say.) 178

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So, can we look for and find God in the ivory keys of the piano? How about in the mandible? Let’s see! Of the many bones of the skull, there is only one that is freely movable: the mandible. All the other skull bones whisper through nearly silent articulations, but the mandible has a lot to say—it sings and shouts, twisting from side to side and all about; it bites, gnashes, kisses, and quivers. Its connection less firm than the other cranial and facial bones, it has detached itself to play a role in myth, folktale, and archaeology throughout space and time. The mandible certainly has had its share of the blues and all the other emotional colors. Samson, in the Book of Judges, “found a fresh jawbone of a donkey, reached out his hand and took it, and struck down a thousand men” (Judges 15: 15). The jawbone has thus played a role in destruction: in animals it is a frontline in defense, and in human animals it grinds and pulverizes our food to break it down, making it easier to swallow, digest, and assimilate. The teeth growing up from the mandible and down from the maxilla above have their own stories to tell. Being enameled (the hardest substance in the body), they last long beyond death, telling ancient stories to archaeologists about diets and habits from ages past. Not only does it speak to us, but this mighty bone also plays a role in the realm of hearing. The same cartilage that becomes the mandible develops into two bones of the inner ear—the malleus (hammer) and the incus (anvil). Each side of the mandible is shaped like a ship with a raised stern and eight passengers—teeth—arrayed on the deck. The mandible is in two parts at birth and doesn’t fuse at the midline of the chin until the end of our first year. The teeth, these enduring passengers of the vessel of the mandible, remind me of the “eight immortals.” In Chinese lore the eight immortals are a group of legendary beings. Each one’s power can be transferred to a vessel that can bestow life or destroy evil. And another note on the mandible at sea: the sperm whale’s mandible is up to 16 feet (5 m) long. They have 18–26 teeth on each side, and each tooth weighs up to 2.2 pounds (1 kg). So, we see mandibles buried in the earth, living in the sea, active 179

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on the land, and traveling the highway of the immortals. Not surprisingly, they have taken up residence in the sky as well. Giorgio de Santillana and Hertha von Dechend write in Hamlet’s Mill (1977) about the jawbone: For that jaw is in heaven. It was the name given by the Babylonians to the Hyades, which were placed in Taurus as the “Jaw of the Bull.” In the Babylonian creation epic, which antedates Samson, Marduk uses the Hyades as a boomerang-like weapon to destroy the brood of heavenly monsters. The whole story takes place among the Gods. It is known, too, that Indra’s powerful weapon, Vajra, the Thunderbolt made of the bones of horseheaded Dadhyank, was not of this earth. The story is universal—from South America, where bulls were still unknown, to the Arawaks, the Tupi, and the Quechua of Ecuador who spoke of the “jaw of the tapir.” This was connected with the great God Hunrakan, the hurricane, who certainly knows how to slay his thousands. In our sky, the name of the celestial Samson is Orion, the mighty hunter. (de Santillana and von Dechend 1977, p.166)

I want to feel the role of the mandible in all our lives with my heart. Its role in speech and song, nourishment and aggression leads to an uncommon gratitude for the very high yet unsung role of this lower jaw. May we extend deep gratitude, heightened awareness, and respect for this profoundly essential part of us. May we reach out our hands as bodyworkers, as lovers, as lifelong devotees of kindly touch, to this place, this life vessel within the full expanse of body, mind, and spirit. Were I, out of all these reflections, to see God in the mandible, I would see a courageous and powerful deity, an instrument and vessel of vital spirit alive in the sea, in the land, in the sky, and in the voice of every story ever told. —DL

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EMBODIMENT—MANDIBLE Begin by gently massaging both sides of your jawbone, starting with the masseter muscle that covers it. Then, apply a series of passes to the mandible, working your way up and then back along the bone. Contact the mandible not with physical pressure but with projected intention. Imagine that your contact on the muscle extends through it to the bone itself. Begin to appreciate what this hard-working bone feels like. Next, look upward while simultaneously opening your mouth, placing your attention on the jaw joint, or temporomandibular joint (TMJ). Don’t strain—move comfortably and slowly. Follow this by slowly moving your mandible around in a clockwise and then counterclockwise direction several times. Afterward, rest for a minute, sensing the aliveness of the entire bone. Move the mandible horizontally and then vertically, finishing with a minute of sensing the whole mandible. Play with alternating your awareness from the left TMJ to the right several times, then to both jaw joints simultaneously. Finish by placing a palm over each side of the mandible, nestling your hands around the bone in gratitude. Ask the mandible to help you speak only what is true, kind, helpful, and necessary.

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CHAPTER 19

Yoga and the Zygomatic Bone

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When I hear the word “zygomatic,” I’m not sure if it’s some new wave rock group or an advertisement for a child’s toy: “Hey, kids, it’s ZYGOMATIC!” The etymology of “zygomatic” is even more fascinating. It comes from ancient Greek zygon, meaning “to yoke,” and from the Proto-Indo-European root yeung, meaning ”to join.” The zygomatic bone joins the bones of the face with those of the skull around the ear. Interestingly, the word yeung is linked to the Sanskrit yugam (also “yoke”), which is the root for “yoga”: literally, union with the Supreme Spirit. Perhaps the zygomatic unites not only physical parts of us but also aspects of the spirit. I once was asked by a chiropractor what my favorite muscle was. I said the iliopsoas, the deep muscle which initiates flexion of the hip and is involved in many structural and energetic functions. When I asked him his favorite muscle, he grinned and said, “Zygomaticus major—because it makes me smile!” I thought, well, that’s somewhat superficial; but now I appreciate his answer as I love, more than ever, a smiling face, and the zygomatic muscle is largely responsible for that movement. We owe that muscle’s name, of course, to the underlying zygomatic bone, which unites so many bones. It attaches to the temporal bone, whose “temple” entrance leads to the miraculous structure and function of hearing. It attaches to the sphenoid bone that is, among its many fascinating roles, the passageway for seeing, as the optic nerve passes through it. It connects to the maxilla, so it is in a way the skeletal origin of smiling. And finally, it connects to the lower part of the frontal bone, which contributes to the upper orbit of the eye and, in esoteric terms, to the “third eye.” Also known as the “malar,” meaning “cheekbone,” the zygomatic bone’s shape gives rise to a special kind of beauty. These bones spread out under the eyes, just as the clavicles spread out at the top of the chest. Their visible horizontality contrasts with many of the other bones in the body that appear vertical in their orientation. The horizontal spread of the zygomatics assures a feeling of the eyes widening their expression. What we call the cheekbone is formed by the zygomatic bone 184

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and a thin portion of the temporal bone that comes forward to meet it. Beneath this zygomatic–temporal ridge flows the tendon of temporalis, the “Dirty Harry” muscle immortalized by Clint Eastwood, whose temples throb when he becomes tense. The powerful temporomandibular joint and associated muscles live just under the cheekbone. So, the cheekbone forms a more or less projecting ridge— adding a special kind of power and boldness to our expression, just as a projecting ridge below the summit of a mountain calls for a penultimate effort, making attaining the summit even more special. Were we to be climbing the face, having successfully traversed the daunting neck-to-mandible transition, we would find the zygomatic bone to be the last ridge to cross before a final, leisurely ascent up the summit of the cranium. Perhaps, underneath the velocity of our minds and lives, the zygomatic bones and muscle just keep smiling with a deeper appreciation for the happiness and calm that can accompany the simple appreciation for being alive. —DL

When I think of the zygomatic bones, I am drawn first to the cheeks. Facial expression, especially around the cheeks, eyes, and mouth, has a great influence on our daily social interactions. Unconsciously, we scan others’ facial expressions for attractiveness. It may partly be our nervous system’s way of helping us find a suitable mate or a new friend. But it is also how we perceive whether those we encounter are safe to interact with—if they “play well with others.” The autonomic nervous system (ANS) is designed to help us survive. A well-regulated ANS allows connection over separation, love over fear, thriving over surviving. The ventral vagus complex is a collection of five cranial nerves that innervate the head, neck, and face. Nerves often exit bones through a foramen (hole) in what is called a “neural emergence.” These areas often love to be gently touched. The neural emergence associated with the zygomatic bone is one of my favorites. It has a beautiful name: the infraorbital bouquet, named because the exiting nerves resemble a flower. These 185

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nerves are the infraorbital branch of the maxillary division of the trigeminal nerve (cranial nerve V). This may explain why people have enjoyed kissing or being kissed on the cheek. It may also relate to being pinched on the cheek: an admonishment to behave or else risk breaking the social bond. My memories of cheeks and cheekbones include watching tears stream down my father’s cheeks the day JFK was killed; Mohammed Ali pounding away at Joe Frazier’s face; my cheeks freezing on long days of playing in snowstorms; kissing my first girlfriend by pressing our lips and cheeks against a car window, her on the inside, me on the outside; finally, kissing lips on lips, bone against bone. I was bullied and was beaten up a lot as a kid but, thankfully, I was never hit in the face. It’s been said that if, while growing up, we have one person who really sees us and loves us for who we are, resilience and grit will sprout from the cracks made in us by our traumas. For me, that was my grandmother, Isabel Di Muro. My family would pile into the car nearly every Sunday after mass and drive to Camden, New Jersey, to see her; she was in her late seventies, but as vital as anyone I knew. We were a tight-knit family and many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins would be there too. But no matter how busy she was making or serving food, she would come to the front door and greet my family and me. Each time, while my sisters and parents went to join the others, she would kiss me hard on both cheeks and say, “Jeffrey, I love you to my bones.” I can tell you about the anatomical aspects of the maxilla and the zygomaticus, but I learned everything I needed to know about those bones and muscles from those kisses and her words. I’m fascinated by the bones of the head; perhaps that’s the inevitable result of being raised in a culture where we tend to live inside our heads. Over time, if we are lucky, we come to understand that our thinking mind is not who we are, but only a sensory organ that perceives thoughts. From feeling into and listening to my body, I recognize that some thoughts come from what we have been taught, many are regurgitated by the subconscious mind, and some come from outside us as blessings. That’s what cheekbones are for: to bless,

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to kiss, and to help the ones we love to face their life literally and figuratively, and with courage enough to fall in love with it. The zygomatic bones are shields that protect us from great harm. At the same time, they are covered by the softest of flesh and, with their open vulnerability, are totems of surrender and bravery. They whisper to us that we come protected, and that it is safe with those who care about us to allow ourselves to be fully seen. They offer us the dual gifts of survival and thriving. Here are some lines from a poem I wrote some years ago: We really are the body, For now. These days I insist On a theology of Muscles And bones. Each part of us, like the zygomatic bones forming the ridge below which we smile and above which we see, is part of this theology we study: part of the insistence that the soul, the divine, the bones and muscles are all instruments through which we look at every made thing, smiling, and see that, indeed, it is very good. —JR

EMBODIMENT—ZYGOMATIC “Let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love,” said Mother Teresa (Mother Teresa 2019, p.214). Both the zygomatic bone and zygomaticus muscle are fundamental to smiling. The power of smiling is sometimes overlooked. A genuine smile is itself a fulcrum! We draw back the corners of the mouth, taking out the looseness, then we draw them up, taking up the slack; then we smile and hold it, sustaining the smile, then gently

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let the smile relax. The act and form of a smile naturally combine the vectors of joy, breath, and movement. We can bring the feeling and form of a smile into any place or process within us. Using breath, we can visualize a smile deepening as we breathe in and gently relaxing as we breathe out. Consciously breathing into a certain area of the body, mind or spirit is enlivening. Adding to that the imagery of a gentle curve, the feeling of a smile, brings a positive feeling to this fulcrum. The inner smile brings visualization, feeling, breathing, and smiling to whatever you wish to bring your attention to. As an experiment, bring into your heart the imagery and feeling of breath and the smiling. Relax into this for up to three breaths. Simone Weil, the French activist and author, said, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity” (quoted in Pétrement 1976, p.462). By bringing attention to the important places and processes within us, we experience this rarest and purest form of generosity to ourselves. You can build on the inner smile practice in any number of ways: • Bring the inner smile into an emotion that is arising within you. Bring in the inner smile for several breaths until you feel that you are more at peace with the feeling you’re having. When more at peace, you can make a more considered decision regarding how to respond to a given emotion and situation. • You can use the inner smile to help ease pain or tension in an area of the body. • Another inner smile practice is to follow a progression drawn from the five-element theory of Chinese medicine. In this way you bring in the inner smile, pausing with breath and a smile at each organ—into the metal element (lungs and large intestines), water (kidney and bladder), wood (liver and gall bladder), fire (heart and small intestine), and earth (spleen and stomach). (For a more elaborate narration of the Inner Smile, visit https:// zbtouch.org/stream-meditation to hear Dr. Fritz Smith guiding the meditation.) 188

CHAPTER 20

Visions of the Cranium

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When I was young, my father brought me a coyote skull from Arizona. This skull became a kind of confidant of mine and lived on a bookshelf in our library. I loved its mysterious form, its complex curves and irregularities. Because it had been brought from its natural home to this unlikely residence, I felt a kinship with it, as a child of immigrant grandparents, as a Jew, and as someone who felt out of place in my family and culture. I would visit the skull and ask it, “Brother, what are we doing here?” My deeper kinship with bones and anatomy began with this coyote skull. I have a coyote to thank for introducing me to the world of bodywork and to the wider and deeper knowledge of this whole Earth home. In Plato’s allegory of the cave, Socrates describes people sitting in a cave, staring at moving shadows projected onto one of the walls, mistaking them all for reality (anticipating the influence of cinema, TV, and internet images by over 2000 years!). Rarely, a person emerges from the cave and sees the brighter light and the real world outside. In our cranium, we find our brain in its cave. If we look from the inside, we might see through these bones faint lights passing through, illuminations coming through our sutures. The cave of our mind narrates, names, attaches concepts and stories to what we think we see. The light of the mind illuminates what we think is there, but perhaps it’s merely a projection on the cave wall of our minds. Our mind’s ear and voice seem to make sound. However, the voice in the mind, if we truly listen, has no volume, no actual sound. All this results in the humility of knowing that the perception of reality and true sanity involve the lifelong work of coordinating what is “in here” with what is “out there.” As a schoolboy, the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke was introduced to sound recordings by his science teacher. Using cylinders, candle wax, and a bristle to act as a needle, they would rotate the cylinder when someone made a sound, and the bristle inscribed the vibrations of the voice into soft wax. When the wax solidified, they placed the needle on these grooves and the sound would be 190

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reproduced. Fifteen years later, while a disciple of the French sculptor Auguste Rodin, Rilke began studying anatomy and became fascinated by the skull, especially the coronal suture between the frontal and parietal bones. He wondered what amazing sounds might be heard if they placed the needle on this suture—he called it the “primal sound.” Classic literature describes this as the “music of the spheres” or the “celestial symphony.” Of course, when the needle was put to the sutures, the sound was incoherent and played like a scratchy broken record. Sometimes my mind does that, though: a broken record of consciousness plays certain useless thoughts over and over. Still, these sutures have a lot to teach us if we listen. They articulate with each other like pieces of a divine jigsaw puzzle. Running in the sutures are connective tissues that sometimes diverge briefly into two streams, in which float tiny bones, the smallest sesamoid bones in our body, called “Wormian bones.” I am fond of these little islands floating within the sacred rivers of the cranium. In an earlier chapter we mentioned that Zero Balancing identifies certain joints between bones—like those between the cranial bones, the small bones of the feet and hands, and the sacroiliac joints—as “foundation joints.” These joints move very little, and have no muscle running from one bone to the other, and therefore they have very little proprioception. The movement between them is not voluntary and not conscious. The purpose of foundation joints is not locomotion; it is, rather, to distribute and transmit force and energy through them. The bones of the skull protect the brain by each joint having just a little “give.” Thus, the force of a blow to the head is distributed in many directions, lessening the chance of injury. This was evidently the problem with Humpty Dumpty and other cracked eggs—they didn’t have sutures! How many creatures, how many mountains, how many rocks and bones and clouds accompany us, mostly silently, through what we call our lives? Let’s be thankful for all this accompaniment and for the grace of these connections. They are like the blood of time and space

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coursing through the universe, through the bones of our Earth and our own bodies, teaching us in so many ways how the light gets in. —DL

I am an animist; I believe everything is sentient and filled with something divine. Native Americans, who freely walked this continent before the genocidal Europeans arrived, knew all of Creation to be sentient—perhaps, especially, rocks. My favorite “soul place” to hike is the American Southwest. Stone shrines, often mistakenly referred to as ruins, fill the nooks and crannies of this breathtaking land. Enormous rock formations have indigenous names and sacred practices are performed there. Consider rocks, as the elders of the Earth, to contain deep wisdom, just as bones are the elders of the body. When we need wisdom, hope, or strength, we can go to the bones and simply listen to their living wisdom, their stories and instructions. It is a tender curiosity to cultivate, being an “empty cup” with the rocks and with the bones. It is reductionist to say, “Bones are a mix of collagen fibers and mineral salts” without listening, and showing patience and respect to them. In so doing—or so being—we may learn from them not just how to survive but to thrive, no better or worse than any thing. Twenty years ago, two of my best hiking buddies and I trekked for a week in Paria Canyon in southern Utah. There were four humans and ten llamas to carry our supplies, including Champagne and ground beef and cold beer. One morning, my friend Jaime pointed out something that was mostly still buried in the hard, red clay. We unearthed a perfectly intact deer skull that had probably been there for ages. We took turns holding it, caressing it in awe. Jamie told me it was a gift from the Earth and that I should take it, as I made my living working with bones. Humbled, I sat with that skull much of the remaining day. I knew only a little about craniosacral therapy at the time, but I recalled reading that living human skulls moved slightly. You can imagine my surprise when I felt the deer skull slowly expanding and contracting. Buried in the earth for who knows how long, it still felt alive. And, just 192

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like that, I fell in love; bones ceased to be something to “push back in place,” and instead became teachers of infinite, tender aliveness. Cranial osteopathy, a branch of manual medicine, awakened in 1900, when a young William Garner Sutherland, a first-year osteopathic student, “heard” a skull in the anatomy lab speak to him. The school’s (and profession’s) founder, Dr. A. T. Still, had placed a disarticulated human skull in the lab; as he was leaving for the day, Sutherland heard the skull say to him, “Beveled like the gills of a fish, designed for primary respiration.” His eyes were drawn to the temporosphenoidal suture, which resembles a fish’s gill. Dr. Still later told him he had been waiting for the right student to question if such bones did, indeed, move (Sutherland 1967, p.87). The skull has two parts: The neurocranium, also known as the brain case or brain pan, is the upper front and back of the skull that forms a protective case around the brain; the remainder of the skull is called the facial skeleton. In humans, the neurocranium is comprised of eight bones: one ethmoid bone, one frontal bone, one occipital bone, two parietal bones, one sphenoid bone, and two temporal bones. The ethmoid bone separates the nasal cavity from the brain. It is located at the roof of the nose. It is also one of the bones that makes up the orbit of the eye. It is lightweight and spongy. While “ethmoid” means “sieve,” it is the cribriform plate on the top of the ethmoid that most resembles a sieve. It is through this structure that the air we breathe through our nose interacts with the cerebrospinal fluid (CSF), helping to give the CSF its electric charge. Some birds and other migratory animals have deposits of biolo­ gical magnetite in their ethmoid bones, allowing them to sense the Earth’s magnetic field. Humans have a similar magnetite deposit. Some clinicians (chief among them the late osteopath Dr. Robert Fulford) believe that these deposits are not vestigial but help the Earth’s magnetic field to enter the human body, where it travels through and around the axial skeleton, giving rise to nerve plexuses, endocrine glands, and chakras. The frontal bone consists of two portions: one creates the forehead and one helps form the bony orbital cavity. The occipital bone, or occiput, overlies the occipital lobes of the 193

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cerebrum. At the base of the occiput is the large oval opening called the foramen magnum that allows for passage of the spinal cord. Through the foramen pass the medulla oblongata and its membranes, the accessory nerves, the vertebral arteries, the anterior and posterior spinal arteries, and the tectorial membrane and alar ligaments; each is a critically important component of the upper cervical spine. The parietal bones come together to form the sides and roof of the cranium. They are named after the Latin word for “wall.” The sphenoid bone is situated in front of the basilar part of the occipital bone. It resembles a butterfly or bat with its wings extended. This bone helps form the base and sides of the skull, and the floors and walls of the eyes’ orbits. It is an attachment site for many of the muscles of mastication. Numerous foramina and fissures are located in the sphenoid that carry nerves and blood vessels of the head and neck, such as the superior orbital fissure (with the ophthalmic nerve), foramen rotundum (with the maxillary nerve), and foramen ovale (with the mandibular nerve). Housed within the center of the sphenoid is the pituitary gland. The temporal bones are situated at the sides and base of the skull, and lateral to the temporal lobes of the cerebral cortex. They are overlaid by the sides of the head known as the temples and house the structures of the ears. The lower seven cranial nerves and the major vessels to and from the brain traverse the temporal bone. The exact etymology is unknown, but the name of the bone is thought to come from the Old French temporal, meaning “earthly,” itself derived from the ancient root temp-os, meaning “stretched,” as in time. Sound waves give us a sense of duration and tempo. This intriguing connection of hearing to distance in space and time reminds us, as Indian musician Ravi Shankar said, that “Sound when stretched is music. Movement when stretched is dance. Mind when stretched is meditation. Life when stretched is celebration” (Shankar 2021, p.50). As important as the bones themselves are the sutures separating and connecting them in a subtle dance of contact improvisation. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the word “suture” has two meanings: (1) a stitch or row of stitches holding together

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the edge of a wound; and (2) an unmovable junction between two bones, such as those of the skull. Let’s put to rest the notion that these bones and their sutures do not move. The first definition hides, yet also reveals, an important point. In a head-oriented culture, we all carry wounds held together by “sutures.” The wound, to my mind, is the myth of separateness: we are not interconnected and therefore are somehow above or superior to Nature and its inhabitants. “Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it,” wrote Spanish poet Antonio Machado (Machado 1983, p.143). A suture is a “third thing,” a pattern that repeats itself in the macro as well as the micro—the three stages of life: the beginnings, middles, and ends of a task. Modern physics tells us that time is not linear—rather that past, present, and future are all one thing. When I contact two bones and the suture that unites them, I celebrate the connection of two seemingly disparate things. Past and future heal into the present, and these “rows of stitches” respond, opening into a portal where a new way of being becomes possible. Motion is essential to life, perhaps especially when it is most ­subt­le. That motion has a language that speaks in expressive gestures and rhythms of a world that preceded this one. Where the original sin of separateness is seen as a form of insanity to be replaced by original innocence and the sanity of connection: this is the long song breathed into us by creation, a song which has no end. —JR

EMBODIMENT—CRANIUM While this exploration can be done lying down, we prefer a seated position; it is better suited for meditative or mindful practices. You will need a pillow to prop your elbows on so your arms do not fatigue. Bear in mind that the purpose of this exploration is not to move or align cranial bones, but to experience the texture, consciousness, and

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messages associated with each bone. To that end, you’ll be asking yourself how each bone feels. You can also ask, “Is there something this bone wants me to know? What would that be or feel or look like?” There are no wrong answers. It’s as if you are gently dropping a pebble into a still body of water; the ripples are the answers that reveal themselves over time. Begin with the “forehead” bone, the frontal bone. On each side of this bone is a ridge, almost in line with the lateral edge of your eyebrow. Place an index finger behind each ridge. Don’t try to move this bone forward; just imagine applying the gentlest of pressure in this direction. Ask yourself, “How does this bone feel?” Hold for one minute, slowly remove your fingers, and notice how the bone feels now. Next, move to the parietal bones on the sides of the head. Locate the slight ledge above each ear with your index fingers and imagine lifting upward. Repeat the question, “How does this bone feel?” Maintain your contact for one minute, slowly remove your fingers, and notice how the bone feels. The sphenoid bone is like a hammock in which the brain rests. The two areas where you can touch this bone are at the temples in front of the ears. With your index fingers, contact the indentation at the center of each temple. No pressure is applied, only curiosity. Ask the questions and apply your mindful, bodyfull attention, as above. Move on to the temporal bones, through which the openings (meatus) of the ears enter the skull. Place an index finger in each ear and imagine applying pressure to the back of each shoulder. Explore, sense, and enjoy whatever you sense. We conclude with the occiput, the bone that forms most of the back of the skull. Locate the rim of the occiput and place a thumb under each side of the rim in the indentation. Because the vagus nerve exits the skull in this area, touch the indentation with feather-light pressure and ask, “How does the vagus nerve feel?” You can also lift up with slight pressure on the occiput for 60 seconds and ask, “How does this bone feel?” After one minute, slowly disconnect and ask, “How does it feel now?” 196

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While you can do this exploration with any one bone, we recommend doing the whole routine—it is a wonderful way to perform self-care on your skull.

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CHAPTER 21

The Frontal Bone— Doorway to the Inner and Outer Worlds

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The frontal bone is the traditional home to the area and the chakra often called the “third eye.” The third eye is sometimes identified with the pineal gland, located deep in the brain, which produces melatonin in response to the rhythms of night and day, supporting our circadian rhythms. The frontal bone is also intimately connected to our eyes, forming the roof of the eye sockets (or the floor of the third eye). The frontal bone dives deeply and posteriorly into the cranium, ending in articulation with the sphenoid bone. This deep dive parallels the occipital bone’s diving anteriorly, also articulating with the posterior of the sphenoid bone. The frontal bone and the underlying frontal lobe of the brain invoke associations both awesome and awful. In the Bible, God banished Cain for murdering his brother. He sent him to the Land of Nod, identifying him by setting a scar on his forehead. In the Hindu religion, women place a bindi, a maroon or red dot on the forehead, between and just above the eyebrows. It reminds us and the wearer that wisdom originates from beyond what the eyes see. This spot also corresponds to a powerful point in acupuncture known as Yin Tang, translated as “Hall of Impression,” often treated to reduce anxiety. Underlying the frontal bone is the frontal lobe of the brain. This area is connected to higher cognitive functions: memory, emotion, impulse control, social interaction, and voluntary motor activities. Focusing particularly on impulse control was the barbaric practice of frontal lobotomies. For millennia, mankind had practiced trepanning: drilling holes into skulls to release evil spirits. However, in the 20th century, this took the form of a “medical” approach to addressing abnormal behavior—inserting a needle into the front of the cranium and severing the connection between the frontal lobe and the rest of the brain. Thankfully, beginning in the mid-1950s, these frontal lobotomies were abandoned in favor of more efficacious psychoactive drugs and psychotherapeutic treatment. Above the eyes lie our eyebrows. Although the forehead often displays a calm surface, the eyebrows are an extremely expressive aspect of the face, deeply reflecting the thoughts and emotions of the person, from surprise to suspicion to anger to compassion. 200

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Often, as in the Mona Lisa, the most illuminated aspect of the person’s face is the broad, smooth surface of the frontal bone and its overlying skin. May we give thanks to this usually calm harbor for feeling, action, memory, and reflection. —DL

When Gautama Buddha was cremated, sacred relics in the form of pieces of bone remained. That is typical with cremation, but this was, after all, the Buddha; the fragments of bone had an unusual round appearance, more like jewels than bones. This happens with other enlightened Buddhist masters, and practitioners attribute it to the bliss that arose from deep within these beings, creating an alchemical change of bone into jewels. And they remain as energetic blessings, placed in large stupas, or shrines, throughout Asia and, more recently, North America. In contemplating their possible significance, we take delight in knowing we are all potential Buddhas. Practicing a life of loving kindness and mindful embodiment (bodyfullness?) brings us closer to expressing this. The frontal bone could be considered our front door to the world. We literally see the physical world through portions of this bone, and, if we are open to an energetic anatomy, the third eye allows us to enter and face our inner world. The primary functions of the frontal bone are to protect the frontal and pre-frontal lobes of the brain and to support the structures of the head, such as the olfactory nerve, the nasal passageways, and the eyes. The center of the frontal bone has a sponge-like consistency and is filled with stem cells that eventually form the red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets that are distributed into the bloodstream. This area, the remnant of the metopic suture, deserves attention from the manual therapist. There are two small foramina in the frontal bone, located beneath the medial portion of the eyebrows. They are the openings through which passes the supraorbital branch of the ophthalmic division of cranial nerve V (the trigeminal). This is an important area for the autonomic nervous system. All three divisions of the trigeminal 201

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nerve work synergistically with the ventral vagus nerve and help keep us socially engaged. They share the same cranial nuclei, research showing that cranial nerves V, VII, IX, X (dorsal and ventral), and XII fire together when we socially bond, connect, and soothe, and don’t when we are triggered into mobilization with fear (the stress response of the sympathetic nervous system). In our culture, it is so normal to live in our heads that a band of tension often interferes with the function of these delicate nerve fibers. Wrinkles in this area are often treated with Botox injections, which only inhibit muscle contraction and do little to help the nerve tissues. In Greek mythology, Athena was born from the forehead of her father, Zeus. Athena is the patron goddess of heroic endeavor and is associated with wisdom, handicraft, and bravery. Applying meanings of ancient myths to our skeletal anatomy, we could say that the forehead—our front door to the world—contains the essence of these qualities. After all, it takes courage, wisdom, and strength to face the world and engage (and be engaged by) it. Let’s celebrate our “front door to the world” and put our best foreheads forward, as we seek to share the power of right thinking and wholehearted living. It’s a shame they would call it mundane— I mean, look at Jesus And the woman at the well. He wants to know about her love life. Our bodies are cherished by God, Not just our prayers. The next time you make love, Treat your body as if It were your soul; Your soul as if It was your body.

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When God shows up To bless you Touch your forehead To the ground And proceed With abandon. —JR

EMBODIMENT—FRONTAL BONE Although so much of our education and so many of our daily thought processes involve the mind, the actual brain often receives little attention or love. Seated or lying down, first bring your attention to the forehead’s skin and the underlying frontal bone. Imagine letting go of any tension that may have accumulated here over time. Let your eyebrows relax. Imagine relaxing the “third eye” at the center of the forehead, depicted so beautifully in the many renditions of the Buddha and other saints in sacred art and spiritual imaging. Now visualize and imagine relaxing in the frontal lobe of the brain. The functions of the frontal lobe include voluntary movement, expressive language, and higher-level cognition. Feel your body’s movements resting, the volume of your inner voice turning down, and an uncommon, slower, more relaxed ease in your thoughts. Without naming them, just imagine all the other vital parts of your brain. Give thanks for the incredible capacities you have, for awareness, rational thought, decision-making, emotion, access to memory, and the ability to connect to both your conscious and unconscious mind. Take some time to appreciate this miracle inside you. Then relax your whole mind, giving homage to all it does, letting thoughts and impulses quiet, settling the brain down for some well-deserved rest. Savor the positive benefits of feeling love and appreciation for your miraculous brain. Now return to your awareness of the frontal bone. Imagine it gently shining, almost smiling, enjoying its being the wide-open, beautiful front door of your mind. 203

CHAPTER 22

The Sphenoid WASP OR BUTTERFLY?

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Uncivilized butterfly—Ancestor   from heaven—   Landing on Earth —JR

The sphenoid bone is an unpaired bone on the neurocranium, the upper part of the cranium that surrounds and protects the brain (as opposed to the facial cranium). It sits in the middle of the skull and articulates with the basilar portion of the occiput at the sphenobasilar joint; it is of central importance to practitioners of cranial osteopathy and craniosacral therapy. The sphenoid bone resembles a butterfly and is one of the seven bones that articulate to form the orbit of the eye. It is referred to as the keystone of the cranium because it articulates with all the other bones of the cranium. We, the authors, hold a vision of the potential for bodywork and movement therapy to contact and develop deep awareness. Throughout history, the body has been referred to as the Tree of Life, the Temple of God, a yogic vehicle for conscious evolution. All these metaphors point to the fact that we practitioners expect more from the body than the absence of pain. We believe that our assumptions—how we frame something—determine the outcome. When we touch the sphenoid, we are contacting what many throughout history have considered the seat of the soul. And with luck, we may help evoke its presence in our client. You may be familiar with somatic maps. Among our favorites are what we call “central axis maps.” They are found throughout the world: for example, the Rolf Line, the Kabbalah’s Tree of Life, the craniosacral midline, and the chakra system. The chakras are considered centers of awareness and correspond to internal glands and nerve plexuses, each with a unique level of consciousness. Consider the sphenoid: now recognized by chiropractors and osteopaths as another vertebra, it is among the first structures to appear in the embryo. Its connection with the occiput at the sphenobasilar joint drives the fluid flow that plays an important role in embryological development. The sphenoid houses 206

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the pituitary gland, the anatomical locus of hormonal interconnectedness. Everything in the body benefits from the proper position and function of this gland, as well as the bone that cradles it. No matter how many times we may be knocked down in life, it is always there like a protective mother calling us forward, helping us get up again. When we touch this bone, we touch the client’s awareness of this “home on high,” so they may partake of its guidance and wisdom. There are many butterflies in mythologies from all around the world. They most commonly symbolize rebirth, renewal, transformation, and hope. The area of the sphenoid that we can physically touch—the two greater wings—is our “temple.” This area is also a confluence of four cranial bones—the sphenoid, temporal, frontal, and parietal bones—and is the most delicate area of the skull. It is known as the pterion; in Greek mythology, it is the site from which arise the wings of Hermes, the messenger of the gods. Many ancient civilizations believed that butterflies represented the human soul. Both Dr. Randolph Stone, the developer of Polarity Therapy, and Emmanuel Swedenborg, European scientist, philosopher, Christian mystic, and founder of Swedenborgian Christianity, felt that the cerebrospinal fluid was the carrier of one’s soul or soul essence, driven by the movement of the sphenoid and occiput and their membranes (Lachman 2012, p.104; Stone 1999, p.230). We may never know how true this is, but we do believe that by gently touching this bone we may foster our client’s connection with a higher power. We may initiate an altered state in which they rediscover their North Star, their true home in their central Ground of Being. —JR

Dante supposedly said, “Nature is the art of God.” We see that everywhere. And when it comes to the sphenoid bone, it’s art elevated to another level. Just look at the incredible complexity, the made-forflight feeling it has, and its many roles in our life—it is spectacular. This bone is proof that if God exists, God has a great imagination! On top of the sphenoid is the sella turcica, or “Turkish saddle,” 207

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where the pituitary gland sits, the cosmic cowboy of the endocrine system. The sphenoid is the bottom of the liquid pools that are your eyes; through the back of it flows the optic nerve. It has delicate “lesser wings” on top and “greater wings” below, from which project muscle attachments that allow us to shift the mandible from side to side as well as to elevate it. It has processes to which the lovely tentorium cerebelli of the dura mater attaches and is near the crista galli of the ethmoid, to which the falx cerebri (the internal mohawk that divides our cerebral hemispheres) attaches. That’s only the obvious anatomy. But you just can know that behind your beautiful and wondrous eyes lives another great and wondrous beauty. The sphenoid was originally called os sphecoidale, meaning “bone resembling a wasp.” The word was later written “sphenoidale” through a transcription error. For Halloween, you may want to wear your inside outside as the sphenoid, the most exotic and beautiful bone in your body. Reproduce an illustration of it and sign your name at the bottom. After all, as the 13th-century Persian poet Rumi said about the whole body, “cell by cell we made it” (Bly 1983, p.6). ODE TO THE SPHENOID Oh you Sphenoid Sphinx-like Proof of God’s artistry Greater wings And lesser wings. Connect through pterygoids To the hinging jaw Turkish saddle For the endocrine cowboy, Pituitary Gland. Hole for the optic nerve In this window of sight 208

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Shaped like a butterfly, With light pouring Through its wings. My eyes rest on you. And your flying With your companions Frontal, Occipital, Temporal, Parietal Softly singing a litany Of bones and mind Living in imagination, Alongside the temples, Behind our eyes. I see you. I see you. —DL

EMBODIMENT—SPHENOID Lie down comfortably on your back. Take a few breaths and relax your face, jaw, and neck. Feel that relaxation spreading throughout your cranium and up to the top of your head. Now let your inner focus rest gently within the eyes. Imagine that your eyes are pools of warm liquid which, as you lie supine, gently settle back. They are like warm mountain springs you can see and feel all the way to the bottom. The pools of your eyes actually do rest on the sphenoid bone. Rub your hands together vigorously until you feel heat develop between them. Place them on the surface of your face with the

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centers of your palms at eye level, cupping your eyes. Feel the warmth and comfort for a few moments before lifting your hands gently away. Now think about all that you’ve seen in your life and take a moment to feel gratitude for this capacity. (If you are visually impaired, feel free to contact your unique way of inner seeing, perhaps related to the shapes of things you feel.) So often, our eyes are looking and reaching out to the world. Instead, let your eyes (and other senses) stop reaching out and just rest, as if on the ocean floor or riverbed of these warm pools. Feel the depth of this comfort. Lastly, visualize the living sphenoid bone with its wings spread out and easily connecting with its neighbors in the living organism of the cranium: the frontal, parietal, ethmoid, zygomatic, temporal, occipital, palatine, and vomer bones. Then let that imagery go with an affirmation of the miracle of vision, our other ways of “seeing,” and the miracle of the mind’s eye.

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Blessed Are the Soundmakers

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The stapes is the smallest bone in the body. Yet it, along with the rest of the ear structures, gives rise to the entire world of sound. Jules Verne comes to mind as I view the incredible topography of sound. First, there is Journey to the Center of the Earth: the circuitous route that the sound waves in the air take along the outer ear (the pinna) as they swirl and go down the ear canal. Then there is 20,000 Leagues under the Sea and the visions evoked by the internal seascape of the middle and inner ear. In the middle and inner ear are living undersea structures that convert vibrations in air and our own movements into electrical signals that are assembled moment to moment to become our sense of hearing and its twin, our sense of balance. How unlikely is it that the three smallest bones in the body, irregularly shaped and linked together, are responsible for the vast sense of hearing? They are, of course, just the smallest and very beautiful representatives of only one skeletal aspect of this sense. Hearing, as demonstrated by people who are hearing-impaired, is more broadly linked to the vibrations that are felt throughout the whole body and are often assisted by the visual dimension of simultaneously seeing things move and vibrate. Ultimately, we hear and we listen with everything within. We are played like wind, string, and percussion instruments by our inner and outer environments, through all the bones and other motion-sensors of the body. That said, the bones of the middle ear are one tiny, miraculous aspect of our being drummed, strummed, and danced by sound. The malleus, incus, and stapes are auditory instruments, set in motion by the outer ear that funnels sound waves to the tympanic membrane (the eardrum), then to these ossicles floating in the fluid of the middle ear: • Malleus—“hammer”—is the outermost of the three bones and is attached to the inner surface of the eardrum. • Incus—“anvil”—is the middle of the ear bones, rung like a bell by the malleus. • Stapes—“stirrup,” derived from Latin for “foot,” is the 212

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innermost of the three bones. It does a miraculous dance against the fenestra ovale (the oval window), a connective tissue membrane like a deeper eardrum that leads to the inner ear. The middle ear is filled with fluid: imagine airwaves that hit the outer eardrum being converted into waves of fluid that affect these bones floating in our middle ear. The passageway that controls the fluid pressure in the middle ear is the Eustachian tube, which leads to an opening in the upper throat and back of the nose. The vibrations transferred through the middle ear bones now impact the fenestra ovale, the oval window (giving us a touch of Alice in Wonderland as well as Jules Verne) leading to the fluid-filled chamber of the inner ear. Here, part is bone—the cochlea. The cochlea looks like a snail shell—obviously, its name refers to the spiraling shape of the conch shell—furthering the undersea imagery. In the cochlea are “dancing” tiny hairs. The hairs are like the soft corals of ocean reefs; here, they are connected to nerve endings at their base that convert the movement of sound waves into electrical signals that travel to the temporal lobes of the brain. Also in the inner ear are the semi-circular canals, filled with microscopic “hairs” as well, but these vibrate in response to body movement instead of sounds. They are largely responsible for our sense of balance. Overall, the ear, especially the middle and inner parts, gives us a picture of an unusual undersea creature. The outer ear is a living labyrinth leading to two chambers beyond the eardrum, in which lives a little ocean with bones, membranes, fluid, hairs, blood vessels (including the “labyrinthine” artery), and the VIIIth cranial (vestibulocochlear) nerve. Let’s return to the smallest bone in the body, the stapes, and feel and visualize it as two feet of a performer in each ear, tapping with infinite variations on the oval windows. As if they were feet on the earth, they send signals, as do the feet of elephants who drum on the earth to communicate with each other about where they are in space, the meaning of the sounds about them, and the relative 213

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safety or danger in the environment. We can likewise see these as the dance of the deity Shiva, often embodied in the graceful and forceful choreography of Indian dance. We are receiving, at every moment of our lives, communications and music from these tiniest and deepest dancers within us. —DL

Two years ago I visited the small northern California town of Mt. Shasta. It is known for its spectacular mountain, surrounding forests, and pristine lakes. It is equally famous for its crystal shops, psychics, and both locals and out-of-towners who claim to commune with very little people who allegedly live within the mountain. One morning, I stopped at a gem and mineral shop where I met the proprietor—the most alien-like human I have ever encountered. An encyclopedia of esoteric knowledge, he was obsessed with stones and their purported healing properties. As strange as his appearance and dialect were, I was fascinated. The gemstones did not speak to me, but I was intrigued by a rock that looked as if it had fallen from the sky: a piece of a meteorite, perhaps. The store owner informed me that it was one of the ear bones of a whale and was millions of years old. He also said that its healing properties included turbo-charging craniosacral therapy sessions. Well, I purchased it. While I have never tested its powers out, it sits in my treatment room next to a statue of the Medicine Buddha and a Himalayan pink salt lamp. Compared with the middle ear bones of a human, it is rather enormous. What fascinates me about its appearance is how obviously its formation was influenced, or even driven, by water. Bruce Lee, martial artist, teacher, philosopher, and actor, said, “We are water and water yearns to be free” (Lee 2021, p.92). The late Emilie Conrad, developer of Continuum Movement, wrote, “We are the moving waters brought to land” (Conrad 2007, p.239). It has water written all over it; it spirals and folds in on itself and you can almost feel the ocean when you hold it in your hands. Studies have shown that ear bones in mammal embryos are 214

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ossified portions of cartilage that are attached to the jaw. Because of their early connection with the mandible, I decided to enter “Mt. Shasta little people” consciousness and interview this bone to gain deeper insight into its nature. Here is a transcript of that conversation: Q. What is your biggest concern in the world right now? A. The shrinking possibility of peace. While I am now a fossil, hard and dry, I used to be 30 percent water and swam in a larger body of water. I was an adaptive, responsive, and resilient complex that facilitated wholeness and interconnectedness. Fluid is, above all, inclusive. This is my concern and my message: Don’t just move like water. Follow water’s lead and reshape your world into peace. Q. What influences you the most? A. Your own thoughts, beliefs, perspectives, attention, and expectations. Choose wisely. Q. How can I best connect with you? A. That’s easy. All of your ancestors are literally inside your ear. Get quiet and partake of their ancient wisdom, as old as the oceans themselves. Hear them whisper, “There has always been a reason for you to be here right now.” Q. How would you describe the work you do? A. I am a non-sectarian, non-dogmatic spiritual teacher. Actually, your entire body is, but I speak a little louder. Q. How do you unwind from your work? A. I unwind when you do. So, give me a break. Find ways not to feel defeated, not to compete or compare. Master the art of sipping tea. Befriend rivers. Take naps. Fall in love. Above all, be compassionate. Q. Do you find your work upsetting or challenging? A. Getting bogged down by upset is not a luxury that I have. Remember, I have a constant reminder of how to be resilient by living in water. Q. What is the most important thing you want me to know right now? 215

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A. Only love is real. Do not give your allegiance to what is unreal. Pour love into your life. There is an actual biomechanics to the three bones of the middle ear. The ossicles give the eardrum a mechanical advantage via a lever action. This then changes sound vibrations to improve the transfer and reception of sound. We commonly employ levers and fulcrums in our work, which allows us to do more with less effort. The body is built on the principle of “less is more.” That explains why low-force bodywork can be more effective than forceful techniques, or why talking softly to a loved one is preferred over shouting. These floating bones, like all of life, are not independent; they are part of an interconnected joint system. The incudomallear joint is a small synovial joint between the malleus and the incus. Its function is to transfer vibrations between the ossicles in the middle ear, which are then perceived as sound. We can consider it a type of foundation joint, as its motion is very limited; however, one would have to have very tiny fingers to perform an effective fulcrum on it. Love for the miracle of hearing will probably have to do. The incudostapedial joint is another small synovial joint between the incus and stapes. Amazingly, it is a ball and socket joint, albeit with very limited movement. These three bones are considered the smallest bones in the body, and perhaps they are. But I want to mention the otoliths—calcium carbonate structures in the inner ear that allow us to perceive our horizontal and vertical movements accurately. Theodor and Wolfram Schwenk wrote, in their book Water: The Element of Life, “Looking back into the distant past as far as our awareness reaches, we find that water was the object of human veneration” (Schwenk and Schwenk 1984, p.55). Along with deep listening and the appropriate application of technique, my starting point in every manual therapy session is awe: an unabashed reverence for the self-healing properties of this walking, talking ocean we call the body. —JR 216

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EMBODIMENT—SOUNDMAKERS Ordinarily, the loudest “sounds” we perceive in the head are the inner voices of our thoughts. Notice the sound of your inner voice speaking. Now visualize the bones, the warm fluids, and the membranes of this undersea part of you that are connected to hearing and balance. Notice how, when you bring your attention out of your thoughts to something tangible, the volume of that inner voice quiets. How refreshing! You can also bring your awareness to your eyes, your nostrils, your facial muscles, or your cranial bones. All these alternative loci of attention relieve you temporarily of the preoccupation of thought. To incorporate this into a therapeutic setting with a client, take a few moments to contact the outer cartilages of both the client’s ears, about halfway down the ear. Hold the cartilage between your thumbs and the second or first fingers, bringing awareness there. Now take out the looseness, squeezing gently. Then squeeze more firmly, drawing your client’s attention. Hold it for one to three breaths (up to ten seconds). Often, this will help your client take a short but welcome vacation from thought. Periodically, the chalkboard of our mind needs erasing. Any sustained sensory input near where we experience our thoughts to be—whether from the eyes, nose, jaw, scalp, or ears—gives us a respite, a way to relax the mind. This particular fulcrum evokes that welcome relaxation and a bit of the “no-mind” that meditation and Zen practice encourage.

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Occipital Dreams

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One of my mentors, Dr. Marvin Talsky, taught that there are two reasons why the Tao/Spirit/God needed us to take on human forms: to learn to give the way God gives, and to receive through effort. I didn’t like that second part when I was first exposed to this idea until I realized that effort and struggle are not synonymous. We see this when working with the occiput: its posterior curved portion visually resembles, from the side, the non-struggling effort of an elegantly placed fulcrum. In this case we nestle and caress not only the occipital lobe but the medulla and the pons, and the nuclei of the five pairs of cranial nerves that make up the polyvagal division of the autonomic nervous system. If we place our attention there again and again and again through gentle effort—but effort nonetheless—we can appreciate, in an embodied sense, the fruit of that effort: safety, connection, and ease. The occiput Cradle of spirit Disguised as bone Servant of who we think we are, Of our longing and Belonging. Like a hand holding All we hold dear and transitory In the rainforest of the brain. May its Godlike mouth, the heaven-pointing Finger of the axis, and Wedding ring of atlas, Marry us to this world—a prayer wheel That helps us create Miracles. —JR

The writings of Emmanuel Swedenborg, the 18th-century mystic, were a significant influence on William Garner Sutherland, the 220

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developer of cranial osteopathy. Swedenborg felt that, at one time in human history, we were sufficiently unsullied that God spoke to us through our third eye and that His wisdom traveled through the foramen magnum down the spine. Sutherland, centuries later, had an experience of this. “Be still and know that I AM, and I flow like a river through your body,” a voice instructed him in the middle of his giving an osteopathic treatment (Sutherland 1967, p.322). Swedenborg also posited that, in an earlier time, angels whispered guidance in our ears and their words floated downward through the body (Fuller 2012, p.226). Yogananda, the great Indian mystic, taught his students that the “seed cell,” the original nucleus of life, was born in what would become the medulla oblongata, cupped by the cradle of the occiput, at the river’s edge of the foramen magnum. A Whole hole, Seat of the Soul. Be still and know I am. (Yogananda 1982, p.327)

Experiencing pain in the suboccipital region may represent something in the past that remains unforgiven. So common is pain here, and so stubborn (cadaver dissections in Egypt of chronic migraine sufferers revealed grooves etched inside the occiput from tension placed on them by tethered blood vessels), that I am tempted to think that what needs to be forgiven is our forgetting that God dwells within us and as us. This, to me, is our simple and catastrophic unoriginal “sin.” I think of all these things as I begin and end each bodywork session with a half-moon fulcrum at the skull: may we forgive ourselves our human folly and remember the electric innocence that flows throughout us, always and already. May we know ourselves as beautiful and magnificent, down to our bones. —JR 221

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I am not my occipital bone. Or am I? It’s as much me as my lips or hands or my thoughts. Every bone is either an “I” or an “it.” So I, the occipital bone, am, among other things, the floor of the brain. You can’t see my insides, or the brain within. But, as parents playing with babies say, “I see you!” This floor extends toward the front of the body. Near my anterior end is the foramen magnum, that great opening leading to the rest of the body like the opening in Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. Down through the foramen magnum, the spinal cord and its associated fluid connect the intelligence and wisdom of body and brain. Just a bit further forward I connect with the sphenoid bone, that astonishing butterfly-shaped bone that lives behind our eyes. It is through the sphenoid that the optic nerve passes to fulfill its destiny as the conveyor of sight to the brain’s occipital lobe, for which I am the home. Inside me, visions are created. The eyes take in light and send signals to me that I sort out and then project out, so you think you see what’s “out there” but it’s equally, or more so, “in here.” We also talk about having “eyes in the back of our head” or hindsight being 20-20. Our visions, like a movie projector, are in the back of the auditorium. Resting below me is the fabled atlas, the first cervical vertebra; through the brain’s Olympian overestimation of itself, it’s depicted as a god-like laborer bearing the weight of the universe on their shoulders. A friend says I am “the beautiful bowl that holds my brain.” I appreciate that. And when I first saved this document, my computer read it as “Occipital Creams.” So would you like cream or milk in your cranial bowl? The brain floats in the stern of the cranial boat and bowl. As it floats in ocean waves and the tides of cerebrospinal fluid, can we imagine the dreams of the occipital bone? We dream with the whole of our body and mind. Every bone dreams, every living bit of us participates. Every place is a resting place, a place that savors and needs pauses for articulations and for songs. Rest yourself. Rest the occiput. Rest your visions, your eyes, your 222

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limbs, your lips. Lay down your ego, your weary tune, and rest your whole self. —DL

EMBODIMENT—OCCIPUT The first part of this embodiment you can do on yourself. The second part is a fulcrum drawn from Zero Balancing and is for therapists working on a client. For individuals: Lie down on a comfortable surface and take a few breaths. Interlock your fingers and place them in back of your skull behind the occipital bone. Rest a bit with your head nestled into your fingers and your fingers nestled into the surface underneath you. Without lifting the head, take your hands and move the back of the head up toward the top of the head, sliding the cranium on the surface beneath it and gently lengthening your neck. Slightly changing the angle of your hands and without lifting the head, press into the back surface of the parietal bones that lie above the occiput. Feel a further gentle lengthening and a slight flexion of the head on the neck. Hold it until you find yourself spontaneously taking a fuller breath. Perhaps you can now feel a bit more ease and a little more breathing room within and between your mind and your body. For therapists: The client is supine and the therapist sitting at the head of the table. Center yourself. Placing both hands under the client’s head, use your fingertips to contact and nestle into the inferior surface of the occipital bone. Lean back just a little, gently taking the looseness out of the neck and upper body. Now bring your fingertips a tiny bit toward yourself, nodding the client’s chin slightly down while adding more traction—pulling the back of the head toward yourself with a curve (called a “half moon” in Zero Balancing, although, actually, it’s a shallow crescent). Hold for a short time (three to five seconds) and allow time for the client to let go from inside out. When you feel the 223

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time is right, let go of the half moon and set the head and neck down in length. Pause with each step of the fulcrum, helping each step be clear but continuous, like notes in a piece of music.

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Introduction: Welcome to the Memory Palace! Bloomer, K. and Moore, C. (1977) Body, Memory and Architecture. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Lauterstein, D. (1984) Putting the Soul Back in the Body: A Manual of Imagination Anatomy for Massage Therapists. Chicago, IL: self-published. Lyndon, D. and Moore, C. (1994) Chambers for a Memory Palace. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Yates, F. (1966) The Art of Memory. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Chapter 1 In the Beginning Are the Feet Berger, J. and Christie, J. (1999) I Send You This Cadmium Red. New York: Actar. Blake, W. (1975) The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Hanh, T. N. (2003) No Death, No Fear. New York: Riverhead. Hillman, J. (2017) The Soul’s Code. New York: Ballantine Books. Lawrence, D. H. (1930) Nettles. London, UK: Faber. Oschman, J. (2016) Energy Medicine: The Scientific Basis (2nd edition). Edinburgh, UK: Elsevier. Rossi, W. (1993) The Sex Life of the Foot and Shoe. Malabar, FL: Krueger Tedlock, B. (2006) The Woman on the Shaman’s Body: Reclaiming the Feminine in Religion and Medicine. New York: Bantam Books.

Chapter 2 The Song of the Brother and Sister in Your Leg: Tibia and Fibula Doyle, B. (1997) Credo: Essays on Grace, Bees, Kneeling, Saints, Strong Women, Epiphanies, a Wake, and the Haunting Thin Energetic Dusty Figure. Winona, MN: St. Mary’s Press.

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Chapter 3 A Life in the Groove: Being Patella Kabir (2004) Kabir: Ecstatic Poems. Trans. Robert Bly. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Lipton, B. (2016) The Biology of Belief: Unleashing the Power of Consciousness, Matter and Miracles. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House. Rolf, I. P. (1977) Lecture recording: session two. Boulder, CO: Rolf Institute. Unamuno, M. (1993) The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart: A Poetry Anthology. Trans. Robert Bly. New York: Harper Perennial.

Chapter 4 The Alpha and Omega of the Femur Berger, J. (2014) Collected Poems. Grewelthorpe/Ripon, UK: Smokestack Books. Rolf, I. P. (1989) Rolfing: Reestablishing the Natural Alignment and Structural Integration of the Human Body for Vitality and Well-being. Rochester, NY: Healing Arts Press. Still, A. T. (1992) The Philosophy and Mechanical Principles of Osteopathy. Phoenixville, PA: Read and Company Sciences.

Chapter 5 The Pelvis and Its Wings Kram, G. (2011) Transformation through Feeling: Awakening the Felt Sensibility. No place: CreateSpace. Murdoch, D. (1989) Niels Bohr’s Philosophy of Physics. London, UK: Cambridge University Press. Rolf, I. (1990, first published 1985) Rolfing and Physical Reality. Rochester, VT: Healing Arts Press.

Chapter 6 The Sacrum and Coccyx: Portal to the Lower and Higher Ground Dowd, I. (1995) Taking Root to Fly. No place: self-published. Fuller, B. (1981) Personal communication with Jeff Rockwell, June. Hext, A. (2019) Quoted with permission from personal correspondence with David Lauterstein. Jaspers, K. (2011) The Origin and Goal of History. London, UK: Routledge. Lennard, J. (2019) Quoted with permission from personal correspondence with David Lauterstein.

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Chapter 7 The Karma of the Lumbar Vertebrae Osho (2006) This Very Body—The Buddha. Mumbai, India: Jaico. Owens, C. (2017) James Joyce’s Painful Case. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Schwartz, D. (1967) Selected Poems: Summer Knowledge. New York: New Directions.

Chapter 8 Thoracic Visions Anon. (2022) “Scarborough Fair / Canticle by Simon & Garfunkel.” Songfacts, n.d. Accessed on 9/12/2022 at https://www.songfacts.com/ facts/simon-garfunkel/scarborough-fair-canticle. Byrne, D. (2010) Bicycle Diaries. London, UK: Penguin. Pert, C. (1999) As quoted by Donau Epstein. Lecture: “Neurospinal Dysfunction.” San Francisco, CA. Stevens, W. (2001, first published 1919) Harmonium. London, UK: Gardners Books.

Chapter 10 The Trimtab of the Xiphoid Process Conrad, E. (2007) Life on Land: The Story of Continuum. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Fuller, R. B. (2019, first published 1972) Interview, Playboy, February. Kindle. Saint-Exupéry, A. (2000). The Little Prince. Boston, MA: Mariner Books.

Chapter 11 The Ribs: 24 Ways to Say the Heart Is My Home Ayurwiki (n.d.) “Meaning of mudras.” Accessed on 7/28/22 at https:// ayurwiki.org/Ayurwiki/Meaning_of_Mudras. Conrad, E. (2004) Class lecture on Continuum Movement and Neuroplasticity. Santa Monica, CA, May.

Chapter 12 The Scapula: Wisdom in the Wings Bratcher, J. (2019) Quoted with permission from personal correspondence with the authors. Gumenick, N. (2004) “Using the spirits of the points: the small intestine meridian, Part Two.” Acupuncture Today 5, 8. Accessed on 7/28/22 at https://www.acupuncturetoday.com/. Neruda, P. (2001) Memoirs. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Sexton, A. (1999) The Complete Poems: Anne Sexton. New York: Ecco/First Mariner Books.

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Chapter 13 The Clavicles: Keys to the Shoulder Girdle Bristow, L. (2021) Quoted with permission from personal correspondence with David Lauterstein. Griaule, M. and Dieterlen, G. (1986) The Pale Fox. Baltimore, MD: Afrikan World Book. Gumenick, N. (2007) “Using the spirits of the points: the lung official.” Acupuncture Today 8, 3 (March). Larre, C.S.J. and Rochat de la Vallée, E. (1995) Rooted in Spirit. Barrytown, NY: Station Hill Press. Schmidt, Hendrik et al. (2005). “Autonomic nervous system dysfunction predicting mortality in patients with Multiple Organ Dysfunction Syndrome of different age groups.” Journal of Critical Care Medicine 33, 9.

Chapter 14 The Humerus and Social Engagement Johnson, J. W. (1927) The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Melvill, H. (2017) The Golden Lectures, Sermons Delivered at St. Margaret’s Church, Lothbury, 1853(–56). Selected From The Penny Pulpit. Miami, FL: HardPress. Reich, W. (1980) The Massage Psychology of Fascism. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Schucman, H. (1975) A Course in Miracles. Novato, CA: Foundation for Inner Peace.

Chapter 15 Forearms with a River Flowing Between Two Bones: Radius and Ulna Hammarskjöld, D. (2006) Markings. Trans. L. Sjöberg and W. H. Auden. New York: Random House. Levin, S. (2018) Bone is Fascia. Berlin, Germany: Research Gate. Still, A. T. (2012) The Philosophy and Mechanical Principles of Osteopathy. London, UK: Forgotten Books. Tolle, E. (2004) The Power of Now—A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment. Novato, CA: New World Library.

Chapter 16 The Light in the Hands and the Carpal Tunnel Meade, M. (2009) Live workshop: “Fate and destiny: the two agreements in life.” Santa Fe, NM. Neruda, P. (1998) Full Woman. Fleshly Apple. Hot Moon. Trans. S. Mitchell. New York: Harper Perennial.

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Bibliography

Chapter 17 The Seven Beauties of the Neck: Lower Cervicals, Axis, and Atlas Biedermann, H. (2004) Manual Therapy and Children. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Elsevier. Brieg, A. (1978) Adverse Mechanical Tension in the Central Nervous System. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley and Sons. Palmer, D. D. (2010) The Chiropractor. Whitefish, MT: Kessinger.

Chapter 18 Mandible and Maxilla: What These Bones Tell Us Charles River Editors (2018) Niels Bohr: The Life and Legacy of the Influential Atomic Scientist. Cambridge, MA: Charles River Editors. Dass, R. (2017) “Here and Now,” Ep. 107 – The True Revolution. Podcast. Accessed on 7/28/2022 at https://beherenownetwork.com/ ram-dass-ep-107-true-revolution/. de Santillana, G. and von Dechend, H. (1977) Hamlet’s Mill: An Essay on Myth and the Frame of Time. Boston, MA: Godine. Lawrence, W. (1954) “Churchill urges patience in coping with red dangers.” New York Times, June 27. Still, W. (2014) “Aphorism 1: Where you think it is, it ain’t.” Structural Integration with Wayne Still, May 8. Accessed on 7/04/2022 at www. siguy.ca/where-you-think-it-is-it-aint/.

Chapter 19 Yoga and the Zygomatic Bone Anon. (2021) “Inner smile meditation.” Zero Balancing Touch Foundation, n.d. Accessed on 7/04/2022 at https://zbtouch.org/stream-meditation/. Brown, J. (2014) Quoted from personal Facebook post to Jeff Rockwell, July 29. Mother Theresa (2019) Do Something Beautiful for God: The Essential Teachings of Mother Theresa. North Palm Beach, FL: Blue Sparrow Books. Pétrement, S. (1976) Simone Weil: A Life. New York: Pantheon Books.

Chapter 20 Visions of the Cranium Kimberly, P. (1987) The Cranium and its Sutures. Cham, Switzerland: Springer. Machado, A. (1983) Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado. Trans. R. Bly. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Rilke, R. M. (1960) Rainer Maria Rilke: Selected Works, Vol. 1: Prose. New York: New Directions. Schweppe, M. (2016) Taking a Stand: 25 Insights to an Incredible Life. San Diego, CA: Balboa Press. Shankar, R. (2021) Celebrating Silence. Budapest, Hungary: Acktos Media. Sutherland, W.G. (1967) Contributions of Thought. Fort Worth, TX: Sutherland Cranial Teaching Foundation. 229

The Memory Palace of Bones

Chapter 22 The Sphenoid: Wasp or Butterfly? Bly, R. (1983) When Grapes Turn To Wine. Cambridge, MA: Yellow Moon Press. Conrad, E. (2007) Life on Land: The Story of Continuum. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Lachman, G. (2012) Swedenborg: An Introduction to His Life and Ideas. New York: Tarcher. Lee, B. (2021) Be Water, My Friend. New York: Flatiron Books. Stone, R. (1999) Polarity Therapy: The Collected Works, Volume One. Summertown, TN: Book Publishing Company.

Chapter 23 Blessed are the Soundmakers Schwenk, T. and Schwenk, W. (1984) Water: The Element of Life. New York: Steiner Books.

Chapter 24 Occipital Dreams

Fuller, D.B. (2012) Osteopathy and Swedenborg: The Influence of Emanuel Swedenborg on the Genesis of Osteopathy. Bryan Athyn, PA: Swedenborg Scientific Association. Sutherland, W.G. (1967) Contributions of Thought. Fort Worth, TX: Sutherland Cranial Teaching Foundation. Yogananda, P. (1982) Man’s Eternal Quest: Collected Talks and Essays, Volume One. Encinitas, CA: Self-Realization Fellowship Books.

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Subject Index

acupuncture traditions 74, 75, 122 adverse childhood experiences (ACES) 85 adverse mechanical cord tension (AMCT) 168 aging and lumbar vertebrae 81 self-fulfilling prophecies about 45, 50, 95–6 Alexander the Great 46 animals patella in 45 use of feet 20 whale ear bone 214–6 animism 192 ankles (embodiment practice) 28–9 anvil (incus) bone 179 Apley’s scratch test 125 arches in architecture 21 see also feet archetypal alliance 54 ART assessment triad 151 asymmetry of form 151 Athena 202 atlas atypical vertebrae 167 and brain stem 167 and whole-body and mind health 168–9 attention (is a form of generosity) 188 autonomic nervous system 83, 136–7, 185 awareness (opening) 52–3 axis atypical vertebrae 167

and brain stem 167 and whole-body and mind health 168–9 Ayurvedic medicine 90 Bahan, Bill 166 barefoot (going) 24, 25 beginnings and endings (focus on) 73–4 bija seed syllables 43–4 birthing chairs 63 birthing position 63–4 blood (and identity) 100–1 boat in a bottle metaphor 42, 43 Bodhgaya temple 24 Body–Low–Slow–Loop protocol 98 Bohr, Niels 61, 176 bone gold 37 breathing 114, 116–7 Bruno, Giordano 16 Buddha’s footprints 24 butterflies 207 cambium layer 37 Camillo, Giulio 16 carpal bones embodiment practice 162–3 metacarpals 158–9 naming/memorizing 160 proximal row 158 carpal tunnel treatment 162–3 cave allegory 190 celestial symphony 191 celiac plexus 107 central axis maps 206 cervical vertebrae 169–73

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The Memory Palace of Bones chakras 60, 65, 71, 83–4, 95, 200, 206 cheekbone 184–8 chin idioms 178 Chinese Medicine acupuncture traditions 74, 75 Cloud Gate 133 Elegant Mansion 133 Governing Vessel 74, 91 Hall of Impression 200 Heart Protector 101–2, 153 Heavenly Ancestor 122, 126, 128 Kidney meridian 102 Middle Palace 134 triple warmer meridian 153 Churchill, Winston 176 clavicles as avatar of body’s oneness 135–6 the “beauty bone” 137–8 Dogon tribe’s view of 132–3 embodiment practice 138–9 etymology of word 132 fixity of 137 role of 132 and scapula 134 Cleopatra 63 Cloud Gate 133 coccyx 72, 74 cochlea 213 connection phenomenology 61 courage (sternum’s role) 101–2 COVID-19 17–8 coyote skull 190 cranial osteopathy 193 craniosacral midline 206 cranium as cave 190 embodiment practice 195–7 movement of bones of 192–3, 195 neurocranium 193, 206 occipital bone 193–4 parietal bones 194 sphenoid bone 194 sutures 194–5 temporal bones 194 Wormian bones 191 cruciate ligaments 42 crural fascia 38 cuboid 26–7 cultural repair 61, 106–7 cuneiforms 21

curvature of the spine 81 dancing 20 Dante 16 Das klagende Lied (Mahler) 35 “deep” vs. “pressure” 115 divination (scapula used in) 122 Divine Comedy (Dante) 16 D.O. (meaning of) 51–2 Doctrine of Signatures 51 dura mater 168 ear incus (anvil) 179 inner ear 213 malleus (hammer) 179 middle ear 212–3, 216 ossicles 216 otoliths 216 whale ear bone 214–6 Ehlers, Peter 150 eight immortals 179 Elegant Mansion 133 energy channels 90 ethmoid bone 193 evil eye 161 eyes (embodiment practice) 209–10 fascia system 151–2 feet animals use of 20 Buddha’s footprints 24 cuboid 26–7 cuneiforms 21 dancing 20 embodiment practice 27–9 going barefoot 24, 25 Jesus washing 24 lateral longitudinal arch 22 medial longitudinal arch 22 metatarsals 22, 25 navicular 21–2, 26–7 often ignored/maligned 23, 24 phalanges 22 as a sense organ 20 talus 24–5 as tensegrity structures 22–3 toes 22, 25–6 transverse arch 21

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Subject Index femur articulation of 51 as connection through time 54 Dr. Still’s conversation with 53 embodiment practice 56–8 entire human in miniature 50–2 from engineering perspective 51 fibula becoming a tibia 36 embodiment practice 38–9 head 33 as safety pin 32–3 used to reconstruct mandible 36 as violin bow 36 fight or flight response 83, 136 foramen magnum 222 foundation joints 28, 158, 191 frontal bone 200–3 frontal lobotomy 200 fulcrum (definition) 22 Fulford, Robert 97, 146, 193 generativity 65 genuflection 46 geodesic dome (feet) 23 Governing Vessel 74, 91 G.R.A.C.E. process 33–4 grace under duress 32 Grimms’ singing bone 34–5 grounding 54 Hall of Impression 200 hammer (malleus) bone 179 hamsa 161 hands amplify the spoken word 160–1 connection to the heart 161 making the world each day 159 mudras 118–20 hearing/sound 212–4, 216 Heart Protector 101–2, 153 Heavenly Ancestor 122, 126, 128 higher heart 101 hip dislocations 62 hip joint 56–7 Hippocrates 91 horizontal energy flow 133, 184 hugging 144–6

humerus embodiment practice 146–7 for reaching out 142, 143–6 identity (blood and) 100–1 immobilization response 136–7 incontinence 72 incudomallear joint 216 inner ear 213 inner smile practice 188 interoceptive exercises 56–8 interosseous membrane 32, 33 jawbones 176, 179, 180 Jesus washing disciples’ feet 24 jewels in the tibia 33 toes as 22 Kegel exercises 61, 72 Kidney meridian 102 kinesiophobia 83 KISS syndrome 168 knee genuflection 46 large movements of 42 pain not inevitable 45 two joints of 42 see also patella Kundalini 71 lateral longitudinal arch 22 latissimus dorsi 63 Leaning Tower of Pisa 72–3 letting go 134–5 life-force energy 60 living bones 20–1 lobotomy 200 Logan Basic Technique 72–3 “Long and Winding Road” (Beatles) 112 longitudinal arches 22 Louis XIV of France 64 love miracles as extension of 142 wonder of 32 low back pain 62–3, 82–5, 87 lumbar vertebrae curvature of 81 embodiment practice 85–7

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The Memory Palace of Bones lumbar vertebrae cont. five keys to our humanity 82 lumbarization 84 strength of 80, 83 “lumbering” 80 magnetite deposit 193 mandible 36, 176–7, 179–81 Manipura 84 mantras 43–4 maxilla 177–8 maxillary sinus 178 “medi-practic” schools 167 medial longitudinal arch 22 medieval churches 16 memory palace concept of 11, 15–6 as title for book 15 mental health disorders 169 meta-systems crisis 32 metacarpals 158–9 metatarsals 22 middle ear 212–3, 216 Middle Palace 134 miracles (as extension of love) 142 Moore, Hilmar 53 mudras 118–20 multiple sclerosis 168 music celestial symphony 191 Das klagende Lied (Mahler) 35 fibula as violin bow 36 singing bone story 34–5 songs sung through the thorax 92 navicular 21–2, 26–7 neural emergence 185 neurocranium 193, 206 oboe d’amore 36 obstetrical dilemma 62 occipital bone 193–4 occipital massage 223–4 occiput 220–4 Oedipus 50, 54 On a Degas bronze of a dancer (Berger) 54–6 oneness (clavicle as avatar of) 135–6 organic dysfunction syndrome 72

ossicles 216 osteodouce 101 otoliths 216 “A Painful Case” (Joyce) 82 parietal bones 194 Passover Seder plate 33 patella anatomy of 42–3, 44 in animals 45 boat in a bottle metaphor 42, 43 embodiment practice 47 function of 44 hypertonicity and 46 “loose” kneecaps 45–6 message of the 42 Patellana (Roman deity) 46 patellofemoral joint 42 pelvic girdle 62 pelvis ambivalence about 60 embodiment practice 66–7 energetic power of 60–1, 64, 65–6 geometry of 64–5 Ida Rolf on 65 linked to sexuality 65–6 obstetrical dilemma 62 placing fulcrums into 62–3 pubis symphysis 62 sacrum and 71–2 Pericardium 101, 153 periosteum 36–7, 137 Pescetto, Giovanni 53 phalanges 22, 159 pisiform 160 pituitary gland 207 Plato’s allegory of the cave 190 pleasure 114 posture 151–2 “pressure” vs. “deep” 115 pubis symphysis 62 pushpaputa mudra 119 radius connection with ulna 152–4 embodiment practice 154–5 ossification centers 150 Raheem, Aminah 101 reaching out 142, 143–6

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Subject Index ribs 12th rib 115–6 anatomy of 112 embodiment practice 116–20 first rib 115–6 floating 102–3, 112, 114 “ribcage” 112 stories told by 113–4 Riddle of the Sphinx 50, 54 Riddle of the Thighbone 51–2 Rilke, Rainer Maria 190–1 rocks (as elders of the Earth) 192 Rolf, Ida 74–5 Rolf Line 206 Rolfing 100–1 Rose, Bob 166 sacralization 84 sacrum embodiment practice 76–7 meanings of word 70 and pelvis 71–2 religious/spiritual beliefs about 70–1 in sacrificial rites 70 unites upper and lower parts 71 St. Augustine 16 scapula alignment of 126–7 Apley’s scratch test 125 and clavicle 134 embodiment practice 128–9 etymology of word 125 reverence for 125–6 stuckness and 125 unique location/role 123–4 used in divination 122 scapular 126 sciatic nerve 83 second brain 71 seed metaphor 42, 43–4, 46 sella turcica 207 sensory-motor amnesia 96 sesamoid bones 42, 160 shaman’s three worlds 23 shoes 20, 37 shoulders burden on 126, 143 pain in 143 singing bone story 34–5

sinus (maxillary) 178 skull see cranium smiling 184, 185 social engagement system 136, 137, 202 Socrates 190 solar plexus 107 somatic maps 206 soul essence 207 sound/hearing 212–4, 216 sphenoid bone 194, 206–10 spirituality 176 sternum embodiment practice 103 role in courage 101–2 stone shrines 192 story-telling 176 stress response 136–7 stuckness 125 Sumerian written communications 21 Sun Ra 25 Sutherland, William Garner 74 sutures 194–5 Swedenborg, Emmanuel 207, 220–1 symmetry 51 syndesmosis 32 Talsky, Marvin 220 teeth grinding 178 temple (tendon of temporalis) 185, 207 temporal bones 194 temporomandibular joint (TMJ) 177 tensegrity structures (feet) 22–3 thigh muscles 54 third eye 200 thoracic spine anatomy of 91–2 embodiment practice 96–8 illustrations of 93 keeping flexible 95 poetry of 93–4 shapes of 90 water in 93 thymus gland 92, 94–5 tibia as ancient Greek wind instrument 35–6 embodiment practice 38–9

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The Memory Palace of Bones tibia cont. facets of 33 on hiking trip 32 Latin for flute 33 tibiofemoral joint 42 toes 22, 25–6 transverse arch 21 Tree of Life 206 trepanning 200 trigeminal nerve 201–2 trimtab 106–9 triple warmer meridian 153 Turkish saddle 207 ulna beauty of 150 connection with radius 152–4 embodiment practice 154–5 ossification centers 150

vagus nerve 137, 185 ventral vagus complex 185, 202 water influence of 214 object of human veneration 216 in thoracic spine 93 waves 70 whale ear bone 214–6 Wormian bones 191 written communication (cuneiforms) 21 xiphoid process 106–9 yoga 71 Zero Balancing 118 zygomatic bone 184–8

236

Author Index

Ayurwiki 118 Berger, J. 22, 56 Biedermann, H. 168 Bloomer, K. 16 Bly, R. 208 Bratcher, J. 124 Brieg, A. 168 Bristow, L. 134, 135 Byrne, D. 93 Charles River Editors 176 Christie, J. 22 Conrad, E. 107, 114, 214 Dass, R. 178 de Santillana, G. 180 Dieterlen, G. 133 Dowd, I. 75 Doyle, B. 32 Fuller, B. 70 Fuller, D.B. 221 Fuller, R. B. 106, 107

Jaspers, K. 76 Johnson, J. W. 142 Kabir 43 Kram, G. 61 Lachman, G. 207 Larre, C.S.J. 133 Lauterstein, D. 18 Lawrence, D. H. 23 Lawrence, W. 176 Lee, B. 214 Lennard, J. 75 Levin, S. 151 Lipton, B. 45 Lyndon, D. 16 Machado, A. 195 Meade, M. 161 Melvill, H. 142 Moore, C. 16 Mother Theresa 187 Murdoch, D. 61 Neruda, P. 129, 159

Griaule, M. 133 Gumenick, N. 122, 133 Halifax, J. 34 Hammarskjöld, D. 152 Hanh, T. N. 27 Hext, A. 75 Hillman, J. 20

Oschman, J. 25 Osho 85 Owens, C. 82 Palmer, D. D. 166 Pert, C. 96 Pétrement, S. 188

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The Memory Palace of Bones Reich, W. 144 Rilke, R. M. 190 Rochat de la Vallée, E. 133 Rolf, I. 65, 115, 116, 177 Rolf, I. P. 44, 51, 74 Rossi, W. 26 Schucman, H. 142 Schwartz, D. 80, 81, 82 Schwenk, T. 216 Schwenk, W. 216 Sexton, A. 122 Shankar, R. 194 Stevens, W. 90 Still, A. T. 51, 52, 53, 152, 193 Still, W. 177

Stone, R. 207 Sutherland, W. G. 193, 221 Tolle, E. 151 Unamuno, Miguel de 42 von Dechend, H. 180 Whitman, W. 37 Yates, F. 16 Yogananda, P. 221

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David Lauterstein co-founded The Lauterstein-Conway Massage School in Austin, Texas, in 1989. He has been a therapist and teacher for 40 years and is the author of Putting the Soul Back in the Body, The Deep Massage Book, and Life in the Bones: A Biography of Dr. Fritz Smith and Zero Balancing. His background prior to bodywork was in music composition. His teaching and writings reflect this, emphasizing manual therapy as an art as well as a science. He resides in Austin with his wife, Julie Lauterstein, and their two cats, Sister and Clifford.

Dr. Jeff Rockwell has been passionately involved in the fields of chiropractic, osteopathy, and somatic psychology since 1979. He has been active in the areas of education, research, clinical practice, and publishing. He was Professor of Clinical and Chiropractic Sciences for 11 years at Parker University in Dallas, Texas. In 2016, he was named one of the chiropractic profession’s technique masters and was featured in a book of that title. He makes his home in Marin County, in northern California

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