Balance in every moment
I never really knew what the hell to do.
Jackie Berroyer once told me, "past a certain age, you have to exercise or you fall apart." He himself goes to the pool all the time.
So in the morning, I looked for a routine.
(No, this isn't a note about exercise, you'll see.)
Push-ups? Sit-ups? Jumping around like an idiot?
I bought dumbbells. Just to see. Like an idiot.
I watched videos online. You put one knee forward and lean in and pfff.
Then one Saturday morning, after a particularly deep meditation, I told myself it was like everything else in life:
You have to dive in and find out for yourself.
I'm going to do whatever makes sense to me in the moment.
First: can I stand up straight? Really straight?
It was harder than I expected.
But more importantly, I realized that to gauge how upright I was, my attention had to go to every part of the body. Feet. Thighs. Arms. Back.
That's when I realized I wasn't grounded. I planted my feet flat to really feel the floor beneath them.
I won't describe the rest of the session, but to sum it up:
I discovered the practice of "moving in presence".
Nothing is planned. No exercise is mandatory.
I just let my attention settle on whichever part of the body is asking. And I do what it asks.
I stretch it. I move it. I press into it.
I quickly realize that to stretch my arm, my shoulder has to drop, otherwise my back arches.
I realize that by slightly bending my knees, I feel more upright, which makes it easier to move my head.
I realize how each part of the body is connected to the others.
To feel and engage that connection, I move more slowly.
Then my eye catches a mirror:
I'm doing kung fu! Or Tai Chi!
I'm in one of those positions you see in films or in parks.
And here's the lesson in all this that has nothing to do with exercise, the one that has lit up my days lately:
Something happens when I stop thinking in terms of exercise or position.
When I'm present at every moment.
There's no more position A, position B, or transition.
Every gesture is a position of balance.
In other words: whatever I'm doing, if someone walks into the room and shouts "Stop!", I should be able to freeze in a position of perfect balance.
Without falling. Without resisting. It should be easy.
It let me experience in my body an idea I had already grasped in life: there are no transitions.
There are no "useless" moments between important ones. Everything is present. Everything counts.
Whatever moment of the day it is, if someone shouts "Stop!", I should be in a position of perfect balance.
Settled. Present. Without resistance.
I could stay in that moment indefinitely.
Even in the heat of the subway. Even in the discomfort of waiting. Even in stress or tension.
At every moment, I look for the mental micro-movement that frees me.
I look for the attachment that constrains me.
I look for the illusion that makes me believe this moment doesn't count.
And I let go.