Are somatic practices slow?
I’d like to discuss one of the topics covered in Tatto Interno and, more generally, reflect on somatic practices.
The word soma means “body.” Literally, therefore, when we talk about somatic practices, we’re referring to practices that involve the body. Conventionally, however, this expression means something more specific: practices that establish a profound relationship with the body, involving not only the physical aspects, but also the mental and emotional ones, with a particular focus on listening and awareness. The body, therefore, is considered in its entirety, from a truly holistic perspective.
Many people automatically associate somatic practices with slow practices. In my opinion, this is a misunderstanding. I understand why this association arose, but I believe it isn’t an essential characteristic of somatics.
Every movement we make produces information that is processed by the nervous system. Likewise, listening, perceiving, or paying attention also generates information. We can imagine the nervous system as a computer with a limited processing capacity: before reaching “saturation,” it can only handle a certain amount of information. This information can come from both action, that is movement and reception that is listening, perception, and awareness.
Our culture has trained us much more to do than to listen. For this reason, our “computer” is often occupied primarily with action-related information. It’s no coincidence that when someone says, “Listen!”, our spontaneous reaction is to stop. We interrupt our movement to free up resources and dedicate them to listening.
Doing and listening simultaneously is difficult, especially when the movement requires conscious attention and is not completely automatic. We weren’t educated to train this ability. So the body finds a simple solution: it reduces movement to make more room for listening.
But this isn’t a biological necessity; it’s simply a strategy.
We can train the ability to do and listen at the same time, and this opens up extraordinary possibilities.
Consider, for example, massage. Being able to listen while your hands are in action means receiving continuous feedback from what you’re touching and modulating your gesture in real time.
Or consider Contact Improvisation. Even during intense movement, it’s necessary to maintain constant listening to your partner. Only in this way can you build a true relationship through movement.
The same applies to the topic of consent. When I enter another person’s space, I can sense whether there’s availability, openness, or tension and closure on the other side. I can detect signals of consent or non-consent only if my listening remains active throughout the action.
This ability is invaluable in many body practices: it’s not simply a matter of moving and listening at the same time, but of preventing movement from stifling listening.
There’s another fundamental aspect. Much of the information that accompanies our habitual movement is tension information. Very often, we use more muscular tension than is actually necessary.
Returning to the computer metaphor, tensions are among the most “expensive” pieces of information: they occupy a large amount of the nervous system’s resources and make it much more difficult to perceive subtle stimuli.
There’s a very interesting biological principle: a delicate stimulus becomes less perceptible the more intense a stimulus is present (Weber-Fechner).
Let’s take an example. I can perceive a fly landing on my hand. But if, metaphorically, I were under a waterfall, that same fly would become imperceptible. My nervous system would be completely occupied by much stronger stimuli.
Tensions work the same way. They fill the system with information and leave very little space for listening.
This is why the best way to move while maintaining a high level of perceptual quality is not simply to slow down, but to learn to move while creating as few unnecessary tensions as possible.
This is where a fundamental tissue comes into play: the fascia.
One of the roles of fascia is to support movement, distributing forces and easing the strain on the muscular system, which is the system that most easily generates tension and stiffness.
When movement is effectively supported by fascia, it becomes more integrated, more global, more connected. All parts of the body work together, and movement requires less effort. As a result, the nervous system remains freer and can dedicate more resources to listening.
This, too, is a skill that can be trained.
Over time, it becomes possible to practice somatics even within large, complex, or fast movements, maintaining the same depth of listening that we conventionally associate with slow practices.
The pinnacle of this process is reached when listening no longer simply accompanies movement, but becomes the driving force of movement itself.
It’s no longer just “I move while I listen.” It becomes: “I move following what I’m listening.”
The information I receive, from the environment or from my body, directly guides my motor decisions. Listening and action coincide in the present.
In that moment, two separate processes, being active and being receptive, no longer exist, but rather a single experience. Movement arises from listening, and listening takes shape through movement.
It is in this coincidence that, in my opinion, one of the most profound expressions of somatic practice manifests itself: a full, conscious presence, deeply connected to one’s body, to others, and to the environment around us.
