Stillwater  /  Journal
IX · Slow notes from Stillwater

The journal.

Four kinds of writing, sent slowly. Editorials, practice notes, letters from practitioners, and quiet conversations. Notes on breath, food, lineage, and the slow work of moving with intention.

A rolled cream linen throw resting on a folded stack of ochre and gray blankets, on a weathered wood shelf beside a sunlit window.
August 2026

What 'listen to your body' actually means

Somewhere around the fourth set, or the second hour of a drive, or the middle of a long day on your feet, the body sends up a small flare. A tightness. A shift in how the next movement wants to go. Most of us have been trained, carefully, to override it and finish what we started.

That flare is the whole subject. "Listen to your body" is not a spiritual instruction. It is a description of catching the flare while it is still small.

There is a real difference between effort and strain, and it can be learned. Effort is warm and steady and a little hard. Strain is sharp, and it usually arrives with a breath you have stopped taking. The window between them can be a few seconds wide, and the skill is noticing inside those seconds instead of finding out two days later, when you cannot turn your neck.

You can practice it in ordinary places. Carrying the shopping up the stairs. Sitting too long in a bad chair. Reaching for the top shelf. Ask, without any ceremony: effort, or strain. You will guess wrong sometimes. Guessing at all is most of the progress.

The part people get wrong is hearing this as permission to back off whenever something is hard. It is not. Hard is usually where the good is. It is about not going deaf to yourself while you are in there.