Rocking

A Michigan journal entry from July 31, 2008

Often when I lie down to rest, I can almost conjure the sensation of gently swaying. I crave this feeling. It makes me comfortable. I experience security and release. I have repeatedly expressed my desire to have a hammock or sky-chair at the cabin so that I might lie beneath the trees and swing in the lake breezes accompanied by the sound of the waves and the gulls.

I know where this desire originates. I know why rocking is so infinitely comforting. When we are rocking, we know, instinctively, that we are Held. From our very first experience in this life, we are snuggled securely in the womb and the movement of our mothers’ bodies speaks of contentment. All our needs are met, there are no fears, just this continual sway.

As small children, when we are upset, warm, strong arms hold us and we rock, once again safe and secure, removed from whatever pain or frustration might assail. We are reminded we are loved and that someone who cares for us deeply is looking out for us.

Recently, though I am an adult, the yearning for this sensation has returned quite strongly. Few days pass wherein I don’t find myself lying in bed and attempting to feel that rocking. I think, as I said, of hammocks. I imagine a bed frame on a sliding track that could create this motion for grownups. Rocking chairs. Swings. Amusement park rides.

Perhaps this explains why I love the lake so much. I can sit in the boat or on an inner tube in the water and feel that delicious sway. I can feel that I am Held and loved and cared for in ways I cannot possibly comprehend. And so I am, and that is why, even on solid ground in a stationary bed, I can still feel that I am gently rocking.