The Electricity Of Maneuvering
We stood considering the tree.
Its twisty, spongy trunk and branches grew low to the ground, forming bridges and loops of papery bark that bounced when touched. The tree was not menacing, nor outwardly dangerous. If anything, you might set your baby’s cradle in it to rock on the tree top, yet the boughs did not show signs of breaking. They were forgiving, the entire organism, perhaps, a soft hand of Madre Tierra herself welcoming you to explore, sit, climb, jump.
That’s what we were about to do. Leap onto this beautiful Paper Bark specimen at the bay, otherwise forgotten, walked past countless times in one day; but, that afternoon, it was our practice arena. Our learning laboratory. Our living dojo.
Our maestro went first. Daniel. The young man whose orbit I crossed nearly four months ago. He kicked up his feet, bounded upward in two steps, his right foot connecting with a knot of the tree, which was the juncture of an upside-down V branch. From there, his left foot met a parallel branch, which he seemed to fly over on the way to another jutting branch in the shape of a wide-mouthed letter Y. Hands and feet together, crouched catlike for a split moment, he leaped forward, his body shooting through the Y-shaped branch. Hands anticipating the grassy cover, Daniel shoulder-rolled to a safe and effortless landing and stood tall, his energy still flowing through himself and out toward us.
Kyle, another master, went next, carving his own energetic line through the tree, part cat, part primate, all human. Roshan, was up next. His quick feet found purchase on the knots and bouncy branches, and he too jumped through the springy Y-shaped branch.
Then it was my turn. Inspired, I pulled my shirt off, ran to the tree, letting it call to me, letting it guide me. Where my mind had first thought slow as we stood considering our footwork, now I thought fast, or maybe not at all. I was doing what the other men had done, but in my way. I was moving through the tree like I was supposed to. My feet and hands connected in the places meant for me. The bounce and spring of this delicate yet strong wonder of nature was my haven for those brief seconds. It was the confluence of movement, creativity, energy, and fluidity, and it was certainly the most alive I had felt all week. So alive, that I felt the scratches left on my back hours later, when the electricity of maneuvering through the tree had subsided.
This place I’ve been going to every Sunday is parkour. Each week has been a new lesson in body, mind, spirit, and soul movement. I’m moving in ways I’ve never done before. Vaults, quadrupeds, swings, shoulder rolls, jumps, kongs, precisions, balance, climbing, and on. It’s limitless, and each time it feels like I add one more distinction, one more discovery about my body and mind that I didn’t know before. In the span of an hour, I become something else. I leave myself somehow, then return to my flesh stronger, more confident, and ironically more at peace.
This is what this practice has taught me in the short time I’ve been experimenting with it: the body knows how, it wants to, and it’s asking for it. The question is: will we let it? That’s what parkour is: letting the body do what it wants, and letting the mind catch up, or at least learn from it later. All this, plus, being with others, connecting with them in an unspoken spiritual way, is somehow vulnerably uplifting. It’s a kinship that I didn’t know I needed.
For more information about my parkour school, visit: KinParkour
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
