14

YOGA DO, WE MUST

We were doing Qigong at sunrise, our breath misting and sparkling in the sporadic shafts of light that pierced the canopy of trees as if angels had been firing arrows through them. Our hands and ears cold, we moved until sweat began to condense on our warming skin, until our muscles loosened and our focus sharpened.

In some ways, Qigong is combat-oriented. It’s kind of like the concept of that first Karate Kid movie where Pat Morita has Ralph Macchio practicing martial arts movements by cleaning things in spiraling block patterns over and over. You know, “wax on… wax off”–type movements whose repetition lays a foundation for martial arts to build upon later. Cool concept, even if the execution in that movie was complete shit.

“Strengthen your spine, Mayte.”

Chai’s tendency to always single people out by name annoyed me. Specific commentary requires more commentary, and it can create competition. I imagined pulling energy out of the ground through my feet.

“Keep your face soft and expressionless, Cory.”

Chai’s own face wasn’t soft and expressionless. It looked slightly pained. Sometimes, these abnormal growths called fistulas form in the rectum. Chai looked like he had a fistula.

I’m not ruling out the possibility that the fistula was me.

“Breathe into the movement, Jelly.”

That’s right. Breathe. I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to follow it all the way down into my center, though my legs, my feet, into the ground.

“Try to be more fluid, Jelly.”

Fluid. I imagined gravity flowing off of me. Invisible balloons pulling my arms up into the air.

“You’re all thinking about what you’re doing too much; relax.”

Oh, for God’s sake. I had a sudden picture of Chai standing above us on an elevated platform, yelling down at us through a megaphone: “DISCOVER EQUANMITY, TRANQUILITY, AND STILLNESS, DAMMIT!!!”

I stepped out of horse stance without asking and began silently walking among the others, adjusting Cory’s hips and shoulders, stepping on the tops of Jelly’s feet to force them off their heels. My touch made them a little uncomfortable, but they didn’t challenge it, and Cory gave me a terse nod.

Mayte didn’t seem to mind my touch at all. In fact, she somehow leaned the small of her back into my palm even while allowing me to smooth her spine out, consciously or unconsciously.

A lot of Americans find another’s touch uncomfortable. I think our society tends to either sexualize physical contact or isolate it, maybe because we’re bombarded with sexual imagery so constantly that we’re either hypersensitized or desensitized. Maybe because physical contact forces people to be aware of their own bodies, and Americans are taught to ignore their bodies. I’m not an America-basher, by the way—every country has its own cultural strengths and weaknesses and weirdness. I will say that as far as I know, only in English are the words “self” and “conscious” put together to mean something bad.

My efforts had at least one positive effect. They shut Chai up for a few minutes, until he said, “John, why don’t you model Bow Stance to Shoot the Hawk for us?”

I stared at him. I was okay one on one, but being the direct focus of a group was where my own hang-ups came in, and Chai knew it. Was Chai trying to help me grow or put me in my place? Was he saying “I think you’re ready” or “You think it’s so easy, you try being an instructor, smart-ass”? Did he even know?

I planted my feet, squaring my shoulders and settling my weight. Then I pulled energy up from the ground with my breath, into my groin, where it drew my tailbone in. The energy, imaginary or not, flowed up my spine, straightening it. I swiveled my hips until I was facing Chai and pointed my left foot at him though this was a knight variation, centered my knee and my chin on him as well. My hands were drawing up to my chest in the same motion, and I inhaled while my hands went out, as if breathing in were creating a vacuum between Chai and me that was pulling the hands onward. When I drew the bow with my right hand, I exhaled, then inhaled on the release.

I had forgotten everyone else by this point, even Chai, though a part of me was focusing on him intently. I reversed the movement and slid my right foot forward, let myself empty so that the universe could come in, an ocean pouring through my body, shaping my movements.

There have been times when that feeling of connection has been the only thing that’s kept me sane. Assuming I am.

Mayte’s voice snapped me out of it. “You are so full of shit.”

I didn’t halt my movements. “Could you be more specific?”

“All the attitude. The whole bitter act,” Mayte sort of elaborated. “But when you do this stuff, it’s like watching a poem written by God.”

“God is fine,” I said as I released another arrow toward Chai. “It’s the rest of us I have a problem with.”