Qi Gong
Every inhabited second
I wore yoga clothes to a room of cream linen. Obvious. I stood in front anyway, needed to see the teacher’s hands, trace the shape of something I might be capable of. The first few movements were clumsy. My shoulders wouldn’t remember where they belonged. I struggled to keep the energy center below the navel. Bend your knees. Bend your knees. My friend stood behind. I felt her there without turning. Not hovering. Checking. The watching that means: keep going. I copied, mis-timed, studying the classmates’ ease ... and I missed a step. But repetition has its own gravity. Soften at the wrists, liquid wrists. Left. Right. Breath. Again. The third round my body caught the pattern. By the fifth, the witness went quiet. I simply followed, simply amazed by how little others seemed to negotiate with themselves. Hands finding the next shape before thought could reach it. White crane rising through my spine.
Brilliant, my friend. The watching that means keep going. That is friendship in six words.
The whole piece moves the way Qi Gong moves, clumsy at first, self-conscious, negotiating, and then somewhere around the third round something shifts and the body remembers before the mind does. You captured that transition so precisely. By the fifth, the witness went quiet. Yes. That is exactly what it feels like when you stop watching yourself and simply become the movement.
Liquid wrists. White crane rising through my spine. The images arriving at the end like the body finally speaking its own language.
And the friend standing behind without hovering. Just checking. Just present. That detail says everything about what it means to be held without being held back. MashaAllāh, my friend. This one moved through me. ❤️❤️❤️🌹🫶🏻🌹