LOCOMOTOR AND NON LOCOMOTOR MOVEMENTS Locomotor movements are the foundations of human movement.

Walking, running, hopping, skipping,jumping, galloping, leaping and sliding are the eight locomotor movements. Non-locomotor movements consist of mainly using the upper body to move. Feet stay firmly on the ground and you are not using any of the foundations of human movement.Swinging, twisting, turning, stretching, swaying and bending are the six non-locomotor movements Non-locomotor movements are: 1. Twisting - the rotation of a selected body part around its long axis 2. Bending - moving a joint 3. Swaying - fluidly and gradually shifting the center of gravity from one body part to another 4. Stretching - moving body parts away from the center of gravity 5. Turning - rotating the body along the long axis 6. Swinging - rhythmical, smooth motion of a body part resembling a pendulum

The Weight of Love: Augustinian Metaphors of Movement in Dante's Souls by Phillip Cary human soul is a form that requires the right kind of matter, and only flesh and bone will do (ST I75.4). Separated from its appropriate matter in death, it loses most of its natural powers,especially those that require sense organs. It cannot even move bodies from one place to another,as the angels can. 21 There is no room in Aquinas' view of the world for disembodied soulscarrying boulders on their backs, like the souls of the proud on the lowest terrace of purgatory.This is one reason why Dante prefaces his depiction of this purgation by reminding the reader (yet again) not to stop at the literal meaning of the poem: "pay no attention to the form of the punishment; think of what comes after" ( Purg. 10:109f). We are to see in this punishment notunbearable physical pain but the laborious liberation of the will, like looking at an ugly worm butseeing in our mind's eye the angelic butterfly it will become when transformed, free to fly todivine justice with nothing to fear or be ashamed of ( Purg. 10:124-126).It is something of a confidence trick, therefore, when Dante the poet has Statius inPurgatory explain the physical nature of the "shades," beginning with a learned ThomisticAristotelian disquisition on how the rational soul comes to be embodied in the womb 22

andculminating in the utterly unAristotelian fancy that after death the "informing power" of separated souls can give shape and color to the surrounding air so as to make it look and movelike their bodies ( Purg. 25:88-99). Air can no more be formed by a human soul than water can be formed into a saw: it's just the wrong kind of matter for the purpose. So at the literal level,Statius' explanation of the nature of the shades is spurious. But Dante the poet gives us a clear hint of its allegorical meaning when he brings Statius to the actual point of the explanation.Dante the pilgrim had wondered how mere shades could look famished, like the emaciated soulsof the gluttonous he had seen on the previous terrace of Purgatory ( Purg . 25:19-21). Surelyshades don't need to eat! Statius's answer is that "the shade is shaped according as desires and other emotions stamp us" ( Purg . 25:106f). The reader is left to work out the implication: thesedead gluttons cannot eat anything, yet they desire to eat and their aerial "bodies" make visible theravenous appetite of their souls. This confirms the strategy of interpretation that every alertreader of the poem has already been using: to understand Dante's shades as visible images of desire, emotion, choice and love, the acts of a soul's will as it is turned toward or away fromGod. Statius' long explanation serves to build this interpretive insight into the fictitious physicsof Dante's world.The poet needs a fictitious physics because the Aristotelian physics he actually believesin will not serve the purposes of his story, which requires souls not only to be visible but also tohave sensible experiences such as pain. Early in the Purgatorio Virgil assures the Pilgrim thatalthough the shades are too insubstantial to cast a shadow they do have feelings. The power of God "disposes suchlike bodies to suffer torment, heat and cold" ( Purg. 3:31f). But Virgil onlytells us that this is so, not how. For " how this happens, He does not want revealed to usRestcontent, human race, with the that "( Purg. 3:33-37). At this point Virgil launches into a longwarning about the limits of human reason and all the things that philosophers like Plato andAristotle will never know. If there is one thing philosophy cannot tell us, the poet seems to besuggesting, it is how disembodied souls can feel pain.He has perhaps read his Aquinas on this point. For the great medieval philosopher did tryto answer the question of how disembodied souls can suffer from corporeal hellfire, and hisaccount is not very convincing. 23 Separated from the body and its sense-organs, the soul'ssensory powers are not simply inactive (or "mute" as Dante puts it in Purg. 25:82) but non-existent: there simply is no capacity for sensation in the separated soul.

24 So according toThomas a soul without its body cannot have sensible experiences: it does not see or hear anything, nor have any physical pleasure or pain. This means there is a serious problem abouthow hellfire can hurt anyone prior to the resurrection of the dead. A bodily thing such as fire"cannot naturally act on a spirit, nor in any way be hurtful or distressful to it, except in so far asthe latter is in some way united to a body" (ST Supp. 70.3). Thomas's solution is to argue thatthere is more than one way for a soul or spirit to be united to a body. In addition to embodiment,in which a soul is the form of a living body, spirits (such as angels) can move bodies or simply be located in some particular bodily place. Normally, disembodied spirits are present inwhatever place they want to be (ST I 52.2), but Thomas suggests that by a special arrangementof divine justice the spirits in hell (both separated souls and demons) are restricted to a place of fire, imprisoned or confined within the flames. 25 On the face of it, this seems a rather tepidaccount of the torments of hell: souls are bound in hellfire that cannot cause them physical pain but merely curtails their freedom of movement. Could this really be all? Thomas suggests thatfire is not all there is to hell: snow and cold also contribute to the torment, because "just as everycreature will be to the blessed a matter of joy, so will all the elements conduce to the torture of the damned" (ST Supp. 97.1). Yet the only harm any of these bodily elements can do todisembodied spirits is to keep them in one place.But in view of Dante's poetry it is perhaps enough. Quite apart from the physical pain of it (which Dante does not mention) the sinners frozen solid at the very bottom of hell are aterrifying symbol of the deepest meaning of all sin: to be stuck, immobilized, hopelessly attachedto sensible things rather than free to turn to God, the Good of the intellect which all in hell havelost ( Inf. 3:18). This means that the real punishment of hell is torture for the will rather than painfor the senses. As Aquinas puts it, "a place is not punishment for an angel or soul as affecting itsnature to change it, but as affecting its will to sadden it, when the angel or soul grasps that it is in a place not suitable to its will" (ST I 64.4 reply 1). The crucial thing about the punishments of Dante's hell is not how much they hurt but how hateful they are, how awful it is to be stuck withthese same sensible things forever: the sullen mud of the wrathful, the filthy rain of thegluttonous, even the buffeting wind of the lustful, which is just another way of being stuck,helpless, unable to move by one's own power, confined to an endless, aimless, involuntarymovement. Other forms of punishment, which are visited directly on the "bodies" of the shades,still represent the will as unable to escape, regroup or redirect itself, as in the loathsome diseasesof the falsifiers ( Inf.29), the dismemberment of the schismatics ( Inf.28) and the hideousmetamorphoses of the thieves ( Inf.24 and 25).To think of divine punishment this way is ultimately to shift emphasis from popular notions of hell (literal fire and brimstone and devils with pitchforks--all images that the poet of course is willing to use) to a specifically Augustinian ethics of the will, where the soul's finalstate is defined by how it loves rather than what it feels. For Augustine love is both a motiveforce and a cause of union: to love something is to desire to be one with it, and the desire itself moves the soul toward union with what it loves.

26 All the souls in hell are, in one way or another, eternally one with whatever it is they loved more than God. This state is what Thomascalls the "punishment of sense" in hell, in contrast to the "punishment of loss." 27 The one is aconfinement to the sensible things the soul loved, the other is the loss of God, whom the soul didnot love yet who alone is its true happiness. To be united with God forever is eternal bliss; to beunited to anything else forever, irrevocably and exclusively, is eternal punishment. The punishment of loss thus corresponds to what we turn away from in our sin, the punishment of sense to what we turn toward. This language of turning toward and away, conversion andaversion (conversioandaversioin Latin) is one of those Augustinian metaphors deep-rooted inthe Western tradition that has given centuries of Christian poets, preachers and theologians asensible language for the movement of the will. For the will to turn to something is literally tolove it, but figuratively to move in its direction. Turning is spiritual nearness, as Thomas says(ST I 106.1). So the punishment of sense in hell means to be forever in the neighborhood of ice,mud, filth or fire, while the punishment of loss means to be forever far from God. (The souls inlimbo are unique in suffering no punishment of sense but only punishment of loss, the"untormented grief" of those who "without hope live on in desire." 28 )Aquinas applies the same pair of terms to purgatory, where the punishment of loss is thedelay in seeing God and the punishment of sense is "the punishment by bodily fire" (ST App. 1,2.1), which we can now gloss as meaning anything to which the sinners in purgatory are stuck-boulders (the proud), earth (the avaricious), unattainable fruit (the gluttonous) or fire (thelustful)--until the law of the mountain releases them for ascent. Purgatory cleanses the "stain of sin" which is contracted by the soul precisely when it attaches itself too firmly to earthly things(ST I-II 87.6). The rationale of punishment here is based on a fundamental point of theAugustinian moralism which Aquinas and Dante both inherit: sin is evil in the will, which meansthe will's turning to seek ultimate happiness in temporal goods (which are truly good things butcannot make us eternally happy) and thus turning away from the one eternal Good, our truehappiness or beatitude, which is God. 29 The stain of sin is contracted by a kind of spiritualattachment, in which love--acting as a unifying force like glue--causes the image and desire of these lower goods to stick to the soul, besmirching it like a mirror that ought to receive andreflect the divine light but is darkened by the earthy materials stuck to it (ST I-II 86.1).Purgatorial pain gets the soul unstuck from these lower goods, tearing the will away from themand turning it back to God; it is the agonizing work of cleaning off the mirror (ST I-II 86.2; cf.

ST AUGUSTINE'S TEMPE SERMONS OF A PRIEST ON PILGRIMAGE The Metaphor and Unconscious Learning The Prodigal Son is considered to be Jesus greatest parable. The title of the parable probably first appeared in a sixteenth century Latin copy of the scripture. Many modern scholars consider more suitable descriptor for the parable would be The Loving

Father, or more simply, A Man had Two Sons. What makes this story so rich is that we can, at some point in our lives, identify with more than one character. For some of us we can quickly relate to the young son who took what his father had given him and wandered off and wasted it all, eventually finding himself homeless. Others of us can identify with the older son. We stayed at home, did all the right things, while our parents continually spend all their time and money pining over our wayward siblings. There are those among us who find ourselves in the shoes of the loving father. We have the child who, despite our best efforts, has done everything the wrong way and we are still waiting for them to come home. Still, some of us may be able to see ourselves as those who get overlooked in this story; those whom the prodigal son calls hired hands, and who his father and older brother refer to as slaves. We can understand the plight of these characters in the story because no one pays much, if any, attention to us. It is as if we are invisible. The parable overflows with themes that evoke an emotional response from our soul. We are moved to revile a character and in the next moment pity them. Maybe we are disgusted with the ungrateful son in how he treats his father. Possibly we see a foreign land as either as exciting or something to fear. We might be uncomfortable with the ease in which the prodigal wasted his inheritance. We could find ourselves then pitying him when he finds himself homeless and eating what the pigs leave behind. We feel hopeful about the young man when he comes to his senses. Our hearts may ache right along with the father as he daily waits for his son to return. Tears might arise in our eyes seeing his lost son for the first time in years. We experience the love and forgiveness of the father. Then again, intellectually we can understand the older brothers frustration. The emotions of disgust, ungratefulness, excitement, fear, discomfort, pity, heartache, tears, love, compassion, and frustration are woven into Jesus story. In the parable we are familiar with the important theological themes of sin, forgiveness, death, and resurrection, because these are the matters most preachers and teachers focus their attention upon. However, not only does this parable confront us with theological teaching, and cause us to deal with our relationship with the characters personalities and emotional themes as they relate to our lives but layered throughout the story are powerful symbols that force us to sort out the meaning of these symbols for us in the twenty-first century. While, the archetypes of parent and child are obvious to us, other symbols are subtler, and might even elude our understanding. What is the symbolism of the father kissing the son? What meaning can we find in the robe, the ring, the fatted calf, and the young goat? And what can we discover in the mention of music, dancing, and celebration? Jesus was the consummate storyteller because, while on the surface the story was about the prodigal son being lost and then found, however underneath the story was about much more than that and it continues to teach us twothousand years later. I have been working diligently with this story for over forty years and every time I approach it I find something new speaking into my life. The power of the parabolic metaphor is in the learning that takes place within the unconscious. This is what psychologist Milton Erickson called, unconscious learning. Let me unpack that statement. Yes, we hear the story and understand its literal meaningit appeals to us on a conscious level. But, the miracle of the metaphor is that the story keeps working on us, even after we have stopped listening. Have you ever heard a great story and it meant something to you at the time. But, soon after, you forget about the story. Then several years later, some dramatic event happens in your life. You havent thought about that story in forever, and then you remember it, you have an epiphany, and now, in light of

the dramatic event in your life, that old story takes on a whole new meaning. The story had been working in your unconscious, teaching you things all along, even if you werent consciously thinking about it. My paternal grandmother was always very kind to me. When I was fourteen she gave me a Bible for Christmas that I carried and read all through high school. She was quiet, but very direct. She thought I was a little too rough. Ive always been curious about our family and I asked her lots of questions. But, she didnt like to talk about those things. The few stories I know of my grandmother my dad told me from his grandmother telling him. On the other hand, my maternal grandfather was a storyteller. He told me stories about my mothers mother, who died before I was born. He told me stories about how she raised their children, about how she could turn what little food they had into a banquet for the six of them, how she made their clothes, about how she picked cotton along side him, stride for stride. He told me how at fifteen she covered his back in a fight, breaking a bottle and holding off two guys while my grandfather had it out with another man. He told me how fearless she was in facing death in her mid-thirties. He told how much he grieved when she died. My grandfather never told me how to live, how to love a woman, how to care for my family. My grandfather never told me the value of hard work. My grandfather never told me one thing I should do, or ought to do, or had to do. My grandfather only told me his stories. Though he hasnt been here for twenty-three years, he is still talking to me. He is standing beside me right now, whispering the story in my ear about how my uncle was given the Officer of the Year Award by his army battalion. And how proud my grandfather was of him when my uncle stood up in front of a thousand people and told stories that made those people howl in laughter and cry like babies. That story made my grandfather laugh and then cry. Yeah, I still hear my grandfathers stories and I am still learning from them, something new everyday it seems. So, what stories are you telling and who are you telling them to?