stable grip. We can see this pattern of release and holding on (extension followed by flexion) in our own startle response. When a car horn causes us to “jump,” for example, a slow-motion view would show our spine arching, throwing the arms and head backward, rapidly followed by a protective closing of the front surface and a clutching of hands. Depicted in cartoons, the startle reflex is instantaneous, common to us all, encoded in our tissues.
Often, only the extension phase takes place, so the startle is not resolved by the hugging or taking-hold phase. Sometimes, when ongoing or intense trauma occurs, like war, abuse, or even the constant stress of work, we can find ourselves living in constant startle, or shock. The result is a rigid spine; unable to let go or hold on, we are frozen in time. Stimulating the front surface can be a useful intervention. This moves the focus of incoming information from the back (where the dorsal root enters the spine, bringing sensory information) to the front (where the ventral root of the nerve emerges, conveying motor activity—action). As we bring the information “to the front,” we can begin to work with it, to understand and act. Sometimes this takes years; sometimes it can happen in a moment.
FARMSTORIES: WATER
I know myself to be one with water. How did I find this to be true? Perhaps it was being pulled below the surface of the sea and thinking I would never return; submerging a tired body in a bath, recovering; tossing a backpack over a desert waterfall, jumping; seeing the wet world of birth, after so many dry words describing.
I know myself to be one with water. When did I find this to be true? It wasn’t during grade school or junior high, or high school or college, but years after solidifying my image of self, when someone told me, in a voice that I could understand, that we are mostly water, with a few minerals and fibers to hold us together. That all living things are mostly water. That the earth is mostly water.
I know myself to be one with water. The daughter who assists her father in his dying, by withholding fluids; the mother who assists her son in his leaving, by withholding tears; the son who assists his love to her life, by withholding semen; the grandfather who frees his children from his curse, by withholding spittle: each act made from love helps us drink deep from the well of life.
I know myself to be one with water. Wading, standing waist deep, immersed.
Read aloud, or write and read your own story about water.
Photograph by Erik Borg.
Fish swish (with a partner)*10 minutes
One partner lying in constructive rest, eyes closed; the other standing at their feet, knees slightly bent:
• As standing partner, reach down and encircle your arms around your partner’s legs, below the knees. Slowly and carefully, begin walking backward, giving a small side-to-side “swish” to your partner’s pelvis, noticing how the spine undulates in response. Encourage relaxation of your partner’s neck so that the undulation can move throughout the spine. Work at a speed that is safe, so that there is no whiplash or strain!
• Pause, release the knees, and take a moment in open attention; change roles.
Place visit: Attention to underlying patterns of body
Seated, eyes open or closed: Bring your attention to breath. Explore the vessel breath, encouraging the receptivity of the body. Initiate small undulations in the spine as you sit at your place, remembering the fish swish. Imagine the fluid contents of your body responding to the environment around you: the air, water, plants, animals, and soil. Remember, they are filled with water too! 20 min. Write about your experience. 10 min.
*The exercises in this section are drawn from Caryn McHose, movement teacher and educational bodyworker. Also see Caryn McHose and Kevin Frank’s “The Evolutionary Sequence: A Model for an Integrative Approach to Movement Study,” Rolf Lines, May 1998.1
Underlying Patterns: The Upright Stance
Our senses, after all, were developed to function at foot speeds, and the transition from foot travel to motor travel, in terms of evolutionary time, has been abrupt.
—Wendell Berry, An Entrance to the Woods
Bipedal alignment is our two-footed stance, a high center of gravity over a small base of support. As our vertical axis constantly sways over our feet, reflexive contraction of the muscles of the lower legs keeps us on balance. A subtle shift past the base initiates walking, striding, or running. In effect, we are constantly falling; instability is basic to our structure. Walking, arms swinging freely by our sides, is an underlying rhythm of our species.
In the evolutionary story, our quadripedal mammalian forebears emerged during the Age of Reptiles, around 180 million years ago. For these small, ground-dwelling insectivores and herbivores, larger carnivorous animals made life threatening. Some species moved to the trees and adapted to a posture of hunkering on branches. In this squatting position, feet grasped the branch and legs were folded (flexed) to the belly, leaving the hands or forepaws free for eating, grooming, and gesturing. The hunkering posture encouraged structural changes in the body: the heel bone (calcaneus) migrated to the back surface opposite the toes, an arch was formed by the connecting bones of the foot, and the pelvis shortened to allow the femurs to fold in squatting position.
The new use of the hands also developed a cross-pattern of thumb opposite fingers for grasping. Picking the plentiful nuts and flowers of the evolving seed-bearing plants (angiosperms) required coordination of eyes with hands. Our ape ancestors began hanging from their arms and swinging from limb to limb through the treetops, called brachiation. This allowed extension of hip and shoulder joints, repositioning of the shoulder bones (scapulae) to the back surface of the body for hanging and lateral reaching, contralateral rotation at the waist necessary for swinging, and elongation of the spinal curves. The curve in the lower back (our lumbar spine) formed last, after the arboreal swinger returned to the ground as a semi-quadruped. The transition then to upright posture was accompanied by the anterior (forward) curve of the lumbar segment. These characteristics prepared the way for two-footed, vertical posture: a bipedal stance.
Multidimensional agility of body and brain evolved simultaneously in our structure. Without moving our feet, humans can reach in front, to the sides, or behind. This three-dimensional rotation of the spine and hips permitted quick response in any direction. The free-swinging pelvis held the organs in a lightweight bowl and allowed mobility (unlike our close relative, the gorilla, who evolved from a common ancestor but whose large pelvis restricts vertical extension and whose knuckle walking and vegetarian diet encourage a more passive existence). The use of tools and the development of family groups increased the need for articulation and communication. In essence, we could stand, move three-dimensionally, manipulate our environment, and articulate with gesture and sound. Neurological adaptability increased our ancestors’ potential for survival.1
Nancy Stark Smith and Andrew Harwood. Photograph by Bill Arnold.
STANDING UP
“The Small Dance” is a movement exercise developed by dancer Steve Paxton. You close your eyes and stand with your weight balanced in vertical alignment.
