Morning Workout

[Mikkelus]

Dressed in comfortably loose-fitting grey pants and shirt, Mikkelus stepped from the dorm into the crisp air. The sun had arisen before he had that morning, perhaps due to his late-night meal excursion, or perhaps because he had yet to reestablish the rhythm of his days. The sun had risen, though it had not yet burned through the clouds to bring significant warmth to the new day.

His trip across campus led him to the sidewalk leading from the girls’ dorm. While a closer sidewalk leading from the boys’ dorm ran parallel to the path he chose, it led past the medical center. Walking that path proved problematic, as he’d found out his first night on campus; he hadn’t seen the sign, but he felt the unmistakable gut-wrenching wave of pain and fear that radiated from the building, a near-physical assault that pushed him from the path and away from the building.

For today, he considered the entire sidewalk off limits. For the moment, for him, that sidewalk lead directly to the gates of his own personal private hell. Yet he also knew that his destiny was irrevocably tied to the world behind those and similar doors. Family tradition, and indeed, some part of his very soul bound him to tend to the hurts of others. To pass those doors and survive, he must learn to master the demons of pain that impatiently awaited him. Perhaps sooner than later, for the demons had been getting more restless and insistent, lurking and lashing out from the anonymity of milling crowds. Presumably, he’d come here to learn the skills he’d need to survive a world filled with pain and brokenness.

But those were thoughts and tasks for another time. He made a mental note of them and let them go. For the moment, this moment, he walked and concentrated fully on walking. Balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, relaxed, he drew a breath down into his center. Thought followed energy as he inhaled, drawing in the pulse of the world, felt for the connection to the world around him, then released it with a sigh.

Movement began from the center of his being, body flowing, feet following his body. When he moved, he moved with his entire being, one step leading to another. Nothing about the way he walked suggested speed or an expenditure of effort; rather, he relaxed and gracefully covered the distance to the courtyard.

In the courtyard, still deserted at this early hour, movement ceased, giving way to quiet stillness. Drawing in a long slow breath, releasing it, he relaxed deeper into his stance. He stood, perfectly still, with legs slightly bent, his shoulders completely relaxed, hands open with fingers slightly splayed, head straight and balanced effortlessly upon his neck. Between breaths, he might have been a tree, a stone, a statue; only his abdomen showed any hint of movement as his breath ebbed and flowed.

Then, once again, mind and body began to move. Twisting and turning, his qi gathered and built from his center, just below his naval, the Dan Tian. Movement flowed from his center, his hands, feet, and body an extension of his intention and will. Slowly, unhurried, as constant as the waves on a beach, his body advanced, retreated, then advanced again through the classic ninety eight movements in the Sun form.

Did the movement shape the qi? Did the expression of qi shape the movement? Did the dance define the dancer? Did the dancer define the dance? Or, did they exist, together, like yin and yang, in an ever-flowing, never-ending cycle? Such thoughts brushed against his awareness, a ripple that expressed itself in motion, flowing through hands and feet. Back and forth, to and fro, until, at least, motion and attention returned to center and became stillness once more.

Then, after a few deep breaths, his intentions returned to walking. With the grace and focus of a dancer, following his intentions and his breath, he began the trip back to the dorms.