This weekend I’ve been working on the flexibility of my hips. I noticed crunchiness while doing pigeon pose and rotating my hips, I smoothed it out on both sides and cracked a bit more practically inside the pelvis. This caused pleasure, and the whole activity of activating the fascia has been incredibly pleasant and I’ve been “wasting” most of my weekend on it, finding places in my shoulders and my hips where there’s still impingement.

It is said that the body stores memories and I’ve always taken this saying with a grain of salt, though I find it increasingly difficult not to drop my skepticism with inner experience. Working on your body will not trigger the memories immediately, but the often come after the part has “unstuck” and thus movement serves as the memory release (in my experience).

The memory was this:

I was eight or nine. I went with the family to Metepec, a government owned park with pools and amenities, an hour and a half away from where we lived. I met another kid randomly, around my age. He was friendly and had the most amazing imagination of which I could make sense of it all and participated in it. It’s as if two imagination prone kids had an encounter and found they could share their imagination spaces (though I remember his imagination was more sophisticated than mine and I took a “yes and” role to his proposals.

Time flew by building and destroying castles with him and soon he was called for lunch. He promised to come back at 4pm and we would continue playing. We said goodbye and I went to search for my family. I was back at our play spot at 4pm sharp as was agreed, and waited for han hour with no sign of him.

A car passed by and I saw him sitting in the backseat. His head was bowed down and in my memory he is crying, though I notice this could be confabulation as I would have not been able to assess that from my viewpoint, or even if the kid was who I made him to be, it could have been my way of seeking closure to think that he was taken forcibly by his parents and he wanted to meet me but was impeded by the practical adults who want to be back home early.

In any case, I think he wanted to see me again but he couldn’t, seeing him in a car crying could have been the way I explained it to myself.

We would come back to Metepec probably twice per year. I looked for him. Once I even asked a kid in thick rim glasses if it was him. He said no, he didn’t know me. It took years to forget about him. I was a very lonely kid.