Swinging With Your Eyes Closed

I am sitting on the floor of the dance studio, my body limp in the arms of a friend. As she moves my arms to the side, my head flops over. My legs move gently, not of my accord or her direct intent, but they do.

She moves me again. Again, my body moves, not just the parts she touches. All my muscle tension is released and she is supporting my weight. I've even begun to learn to release my core. And suddenly, here it is. Movement.

Today, I realized that my body is a unit, a whole and that what happens to one area of it affects other areas. I am connected and complete, even when I don't feel it.

My friend pushes me to sitting and then lifts me upward. Over a half foot taller than I am, she easily pulls me to my feet and proceeds to guide me around the room, sweeping motions, suddenly running. Suddenly, I am a child on the swings, my eyes closed, the world falling away. I feel a breeze in the closed up classroom. The tiny room is suddenly spacious, without walls, a flat-grounded field. Scared, I know there are walls and I don't know where they are or what direction we're moving in, but I trust anyway. My body is now a whole unit with hers, for this time.

We swing through the studio, stop as others cross our paths, all this of her accord. I move my feet without direction and take her cues. To lose control in trust is a new space. The day was warm and afterward I walked through campus with friends, laughing at the way we crept through the space as a group, the small dangers, the comfort. We climbed the hill away from the crew house, past the pond and I kept the sense of swinging, of light, alive inside me as long as I could, sensing the difference in the moment.