Poise occurs by itself when we stop interfering with it. The hitch is that we don’t know precisely how we are interfering with it because we can’t feel the interference. What we do feel is the result of the interference, some particular or generalized strain, effort, tension, fatigue. It’s there. We’re uncomfortable, and we don’t know how to become comfortable. We try to sit up straight, or we stretch for a while, but soon enough this lack of ease, this lack of support, returns.
We go back to work, with this sluggish sense of weight, this thickness we have to push through to get anything done. Or we go back to work, so revved up that we don’t feel a thing for hours, until we stop, and find ourselves hurting, or totally wiped out.
Poise. It’s elusive. We see very young children, how lightly suspended they are, how lithe, how nimble. They’re not trying to do anything right. They’re just naturally buoyant and springy.
What happened was that, along the way, we acquired “habits”, neuromuscular attire that, once, may have fit us, but now does not. It feels too tight here, and too loose there. Our bodies do not suit who we are now.
It is as if, unwittingly, from the inside out, we sculpted “a tension body”, a body made of tension. It takes a lot of energy to keep two bodies going, especially two bodies that aren’t getting along. While our real body is putting its foot on the gas pedal, our tension body is putting its foot on the brake. This is not poise.
Poise returns as you begin to distinguish your tension body from your real body. As you become acquainted with your tension body, you can ask it, kindly, to let go of you. As it does, your tension body, generously, gives you its energy, its very life. The conflict ends. You become fluid again, like water, like the tide rising, like a wave inseparable from the vast ocean, standing, suspended under the fullness of the moon.