“], “filter”: { “nextExceptions”: “img, blockquote, div”, “nextContainsExceptions”: “img, blockquote, a.btn, ao-button” } }”>
Are you going out? Check out this article about the new Outside+ app now available on iOS devices for members!
>”, “name”:in-content-cta”, “type”:link”}}”>Download the app.
I take off my shoes and quietly walk through the back door of the studio. I’m not the first to arrive. Several students have shown up early after their work day to claim their favorite corner or spend some time in a supportive position before class.
Students shuffle on their mats and find their place in Tadasana. Some bring the hills of their big toes together; others instinctively put a distance of two fists between their feet. After a short break, the grounding begins. Our breathing synchronizes and our bodies dance in a silent dance.
As students anchor their heels into the floor, their intention as a foundation, my gaze travels downward, where I find the first signs of secret distress. I am the audience. Each student is a universe unto themselves, and it is my place to recognize and celebrate the unique worlds around me.
And to do that, I first look at their feet.
There I find the delicate movement of the inner arch, a hidden cathedral, before the toes drag the dome back to the floor. Toes press deeply into the mat, causing the tension to seep into the space around them like an invisible puddle. This is my first phase for research. I can see who came straight from work to the office. Their toe beds are sculpted by tight shoes, their feet like large arrowheads. They want to relieve their lower back pain, soothe their hip flexors, and get rid of the day’s clutter. My voice becomes softer. Their body armor begins to disappear, their shoulders begin to relax. Their obligations and responsibilities are over. I am a mediator, not a manager.
Calluses cover runners’ feet and beautifully demonstrate the body’s ability to protect itself. Thick layers reach the back of a few feet and reveal a heel strike. I have to be gentle with knees and hamstrings, and speak softly to tight lower backs and creaking joints. I see a blackened toenail and recognize a distance runner. If I look closely, I can see that one of his hips is slightly higher than the other because he is walking on an incline. Its gentle asymmetry, its power, is astonishing. My voice guides his breath to deepen and expand. His chest rises, as does the light behind his eyes.
There’s a new mother in the far corner. I see her inner ankles. Exhausted, she pulls to the ground, followed by her inner knees. Her body has been swaddled on her child’s for so long that it barely recognizes its independence, and she rocks on the edges of her feet, redefining her own girth and cleaving herself hesitantly. I place my palm between her shoulder blades and feel her heart rise to the ceiling as her power unfolds.
Dancers wear their past as badges of honor. There is evidence of blisters, broken toes, rolled ankles and worse. They remind us that beauty cannot exist without its shadow. Their practice will be stunning and fluid, but their relationship to pain is nuanced. They can easily overstep their boundaries. Some will need protection from themselves. Here it is my palm on their skin that lets them know that I am their partner, and that I am now in charge.
A collapsed arch, an inner ankle reaching for the ground instead of its partner, reveals the violent tenderness of our base. I am reminded of how much it costs to put ourselves on this earth. Each step navigates an existential crisis, a potential pitfall.
The body always retains its baggage, no matter how hard we try to leave it outside the studio door. I’m not here to solve problems. But if I look closely and listen deeply, I may be able to support a body’s relationship with the ground it walks on. These differences in shape, texture and form give the practice its inimitable vibrancy, and watching, recognizing and listening to the body’s subtle signals means opening a secret door. The beauty this contains can be blinding and I feel tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. What a gift it is to stand here before these warriors.
The palms press together in the center of the hearts and the exercise begins.
About our contributor
MacDuff Perkins is co-owner and co-founder of Blue Lotus Yoga Studio in Annapolis, MD.