I think of how I am held, how I am contained in this space of my body. There is no other space quite like it, no tiny part in this massive, beautiful world with its same heartbeat and embrace as mine. My container of the self is my creation, and a nested part of infinite others before me. I am a continuation, a “yes, and.” I am held tenderly and roughly by people, places, and ideas, all containers of body and soul.

How are you held and how are you holding your world?

My reformer contains me, and I am me because I am part of it. It responds like a curious witness in its instigating of friction or elation or some other sensing. It does not judge me for my transformations even as it reminds me that time changes everything.

My reformer: a space. Me: a space. These ideas, these movements, this home, earth, and sky. We, these spaces that contain the self and build worlds, are a paradox. We exist within each other in comfort and marked in movement, yet hold the defining ache of humanity. Our time in these spaces, even that of the self, is impermanent.

When someone, someplace, some part of our system of containers leaves us, we keep moving, part of them with us always. And yet we are so aware of their absence. Their nested part to our whole system and witnessing of the self is gone. We grieve that we move without the space they created with us. We move that we may celebrate the spaces, systems, and senses that are changed and reborn.