Author Archives: Paula Josa-Jones

fly: the whole, the parts

What I love here is the way that each bird expresses a specific piece of the complexity of flying.  Not one is the same.  It reminds me of the wonderful Eadweard Muybridge “freeze frame” photographs of human and animal locomotion – each image capturing a specific phrase of motion. The  birds flying is a whole cloth of flight, even though that whole is fractured into a hundred parts.

What I was aware of when I took this picture was not any of that, but the sudden whirrrrrr of their ascent, and the heart-lifting feeling as they flew off.  Looking at the picture made me want to investigate the parts of my own movement.  Our friend, the artist  Peggy Kauffman describes seeing fawns walking as a kind of stop action movement that dissolves into fluid motion as they leap and run.

How do you experience your movement?

 

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the whole, the parts

After I wrote the post on Nelson, talking about the “basic, homogenized body”, I thought about the other side of that coin:  the separate and distinct flavors of the body.  A little like the difference between Western cuisine, which strives for combinations of flavors, and Japan, where there is more of an emphasis on meals consisting of distinct foods, each retaining their own individual taste and appearance.

When I first started to ride, I was overwhelmed by all of the sensory information from my own body and the horse’s body – like trying to listen to about five hundred radio stations at once.  After about fifteen years of sifting and sorting, I can (often, not always) selectively tune into one channel at a time.   It happens quickly – like a momentary check in:  my hips, my legs, his mouth (I feel that in my hands through the reins), each of his legs, my spine, and so on.  This requires a light, quick body-mind, one that doesn’t bear down or get stuck in one place.  No over-thinking, no aggressive fixing. Corrections happen in a flow, awareness is dextrous and global.  That is the goal.

I can feel my lovely trainer, Brandi Rivera, smiling as she reads this.  She has seen me get very stuck, heavy-handed and frustrated.  When that happens, I am usually not tasting or feeling much of anything.  The parts have gotten thick and mushy, like a bad soup. At that moment, I find it helps to tune into the fluid base of the breath, and from there let the mind bloom out to the feast of flavors once again.  It’s the same when dancing – sensing the whole while feeling the relationships and qualities of the parts.

 

 

Dive

Diving is a way to clear the mental decks.  So is jumping.  Any movement that gathers all of you up and demands that you be and do just that one thing in that moment.   I think that is why I love dressage.  Doing a specific movement with a horse that demands consummate organization and clarity of intention from both of you doesn’t leave any room for mind-clatter.  You have to be all there, all in.

Try this: Stand in one place and get very still.  Feel your breathing.  Prepare to move very fast.  Imagine all of your cells gathering themselves together.  Picture where you are going to move and how.  Now BURST and jump, step, leap -move your whole body to that new place.

 

Cow Licks (an herbivore post)

#4725 is licking my elbow – I am trying to keep him from licking the lens.  I stopped along a curving upstate New York road to admire at these cows and a huge flock of birds in a field.  The minute I stepped out of the car, they began to approach.  Curious cows.  First one, then two more, then a group.  I love cows, love their eyes, their softness, their nature.  For the last three years I have visited the cows at the Putney School in Vermont, and that is where I discovered the delights of cows.  How they love to have the bump on their head scratched, and how they investigate you with their long rough tongues, how herdish they are. Cows usually approach in bunches, gangs, bevies.

I had wanted to create a dance for cows and the dance students at Putney, but we could never quite pull it together.  My friend Ann Carlson did make a dance with cows.  Dancing with another species is a way to listen; to let go of telling and speaking, and shift into feeling and moving.  It is a significantly different  from petting, grooming, walking, milking, riding.  The questions are different, and the answers always changing.  By dancing I don’t mean formal balletic movement, but improvising, playing, investigating.  A great example of inter-species dancing:  playing ultimate frisbee with a dog!