The Somatic Response to the Unseen, Playful World
There are moments when the body knows before the mind can name. A sudden breath catches, goosebumps rise like a chorus, or the heart shifts its rhythm as if responding to an unseen hand tapping a quiet drum. These are not accidents—they are invitations.
The unseen world is playful. It whispers through a rustle in leaves when no wind is there, the quickened pulse before stepping into something new, or the warmth in the belly when laughter emerges from nowhere. These sensations are the body’s way of translating mystery—an inner language that doesn’t demand logic but delights in curiosity.
Somatic responses are guides. They remind us that our flesh is an antenna, tuned to subtle energies and ancient instincts. The neck tingles, the chest opens, the feet feel drawn to one path over another. If we follow these sensations—not with fear but with wonder—we enter a dialogue with a world that is both intimate and invisible.
What if each shiver and softening, each ache and flutter, was an oracle?
What if we treated our body as a field notebook, documenting impressions of spirit not by thought but by felt sense?
To feel deeply is to play with the unknown. To listen somatically is to dance with the unseen. And to honor these moments is to join a wider, wilder conversation—one where presence itself is the sacred act.
A rustle in the grass with no wind – my shoulders soften. Something unseen, curious, wants to play.
The pulse in my hands before touching granite. The rock feels warm, almost breathing. My body says: stay here, listen.
A low hum in my belly when a dragonfly hovers at eye level. A felt recognition—kinship with something ancient, winged, light.
Goosebumps rise not from chill but from sudden knowing. The unseen brushes past, tender as a child’s hand on my back.
A pause in my chest—the invisible world asking for attention, like a friend pulling at my sleeve.
Feet root down into soil without instruction. The ground answers, and in my calves, a subtle vibration: yes, we are listening to one another.
Play is the language of this realm. A flicker at the edge of vision. A breath caught in surprise. The body leans in, willingly, like an animal scenting something familiar yet beyond naming.
Field note to self: trust the quiver, the ache, the joy that comes unannounced. These are coordinates. These are the waypoints on an invisible map drawn not on paper, but in nerve and muscle, in the quiet electric hum of being alive.