Something in the Way He Moves

I’ve been spending my nights lately with a guy named Egwin. He’s from Austria and he has dark brown hair and a wavy ponytail. I curl up with him in my bed and watch the way his body moves – so effortlessly, with such intention. I giggle as he says things like “I fink” and “it’s worf noting,“ apparently incapable of making a “th” sound.

His body is solid and grounded from doing martial arts and Qigong. He wears his jeans too long, but he can stand on one leg, bend over and roll up a pant leg without the slightest hint of losing balance. He walks barefoot a lot.

Egwin teaches the biomechanics of movement and uses words like consciousness and breath. He talks about how us Westerners tend to push our way through life, instead of allowing our bodies to be gently pulled toward something.

If only Egwin weren’t just some dude I found on YouTube when I typed in “How to Walk.”  If only our time together involved more than me watching his videos (scopeoflife) on my iPad, lusting after the way he flexes his ankles and strikes his heels into the dirt. 

I watch him over and over again as he sways his hips in slow motion. I absorb his softly-spoken words in the hopes my body will remember how to move again.