bodily reactions, bodily expressions
I am under the covers and without seeing where I have to go, I know exactly what I want. My lips meet another's without my mind pausing to ask for breath. My legs slide over coarse hair and the pleasure pulls me closer. I don't hesitate to flip on top. I don't question my own strength. My hands scratch with what I know to be the right pressure. It is what I want done to me. Noises float out of my throat without permission and without guidance. It is as though I have switched off. I have ceased control but I am exactly in control of the moment. The knowledge comes to me immediately and I move as it moves.
I am walking by the bus stop. The dull pain in my lower back has been steadily commanding more attention in my brain. Just as I decide to sit down on the bench and rest for a short while, it flares to become something that controls me. My shoulders are taut and drawn apart. My neck is pulled back a little. My hands are stiff from my biceps down to my fingers. I reach to stand up but my body has become immalleable. There is a spot that glows right in the middle of my lower back and everything seizes to protect it. I do get up but when I walk it is a slight forward shuffle. My legs wince at the effort. I make it to the next bench over before I call a friend. My throat, too, has seized up. When I speak, I can't tell if the tears are because of the pain or the fear that something has taken me over.
I am in a brightly lit studio that's just a little chilly. I reach both my hands up, on my tiptoes, and grab ahold of the slippery pole. I hoist my body upward into the air and use the momentum to flip upside down. These moves look difficult when I'm watching someone else, but facing the pole alone my body knows what to do. My legs stretch out, my feet point, and I look up to see them clasp tightly around the pole. Right over left, left under right. The pressure against my ankles feels stiff, so I look at the person next to me to make sure I'm correct. Then I tilt back down, push my forehead away from the pole and slide my left hand down. Someone shouts to me that I've positioned it too low. My fingers are slippery. My biceps shake. I am not nearly strong enough to hold myself, and I can't hear anything in this state. My body reacts as though it's heard and my left arm readjusts. Keep my right arm exactly where it is, I have to do that. I start slipping my left leg out but I feel my whole body quivering like a top. Then my right ankle twists into position and I hear it like a click, of something locking firmly into place. I let the full extent of my body fan out over the pole and it is a relief not to have to hold myself in any longer.
Cheeks are flushed red with wine, my movements happening a second too early for me to comprehend and control. I am losing my grasp like a game of tug.
Present in the moment, because somehow I am aligned with my body to know what's happening in my surrounding. A serenity that remains indescribable because when it's there, I never feel it, I only move with it.
Forgetting how to breathe, like it's a function that'll fail me. I gasp loudly and raggedly every time I remember. My chest hurts.
Fingers find the spot. I am attuned to my heart, to my breath. I am able to speed it up just so to ripple gently over the edge.
A throbbing starts in the front of my brain. I close my eyes and see tangled webs of ink. Angry lines drawn all over the space before me, occupying so much space.
My body feels as familiar as the house I grew up in. I inhabit it on autopilot. When things fail, will I know how to keep using it?
I fall to the floor as my legs carry no weight. I'm back up in the next instant. I hadn't known to prepare for that. How will I know?