How Falling on my Face Taught Me A Deeper Lesson About Meditation

It would have been rude to leave. The room was crowded, and I would have felt the fool to duck out. You see, as a woman who was made to move (I LIVE for movement!), I could not pass up a chance to meet Streb Extreme Action, a dance/movement company based in Brooklyn, but now in an artistic residency at Skidmore College during the summer. I found myself eager to learn everything they had to offer.

The workshop leader said their mission is to explore flight, which comes with an exploration of falling.

Yes, she said—falling.

What? Gulp—Seriously? What did I sign up for?

We would navigate core strength to move from one position to another and one orientation in space to another with minimal-to-no joint movement as much as possible. As a yoga teacher, I didn’t know how it was possible to move without initiating muscle activation to mobilize the joints safely. The company’s demonstrations proved me wrong and left me amazed and eager to play—and a little scared.

Could I trust in my ability to fall and catch myself?  What’s the balance between a healthy dose of skepticism/ fear and abounding love/ thrust for play?  I was about to find out.

We explored games like lying flat and taking up as little space as possible in a pencil-like arrangement. Then we had to bound onto the right side, stomach, left side, and back while sustaining the straight line and using little joint movement. In my attempts, I felt a deep integration of my core as I connected through my midline in action. I realized how hard it is to make these movements look effortless. This is no shock—all skills look easy when done well.

Other games included moving from standing to kneeling by just dropping down while keeping the spine erect, moving from a kneeling to a sitting position with my legs out in front of me and an upright spine (yes, the dancers can do this via a tuck of the knees to the chest then extending the legs out—it is amazing!), and—the kicker—moving from standing upright to a crouched position on the shins and forearms with the face tucked in deeply to the chest. The small ball shape happens instantly, and it is a practice of falling and catching yourself at just the right time.

I did not catch myself. I fell. On my face. In fact, I left an imprint of my face on the mat thanks to sufficient moisturizing in my morning self-care routine. It hurt. And I was convinced my nose was going to bleed. One of the dancers, a lovely man named Fabio, asked if I was okay. I said, “I fell on my face...” He said, “I know!” But, there was no time for sympathy. We were moving on. There was not one minute of recovery, assessment, or questions. The group was fine, and we were adding to the choreography.

This is when I got a lesson on meditation in action.  

I was scared to try the movement again. But, it was prevalent in the structure of the piece. I had two choices:  I could leave the mats and watch the others dare to fall and fly. Or, I could carry on and focus on the tasks at hand. I chose the latter.

  I focused on my kinesthetic sense as I moved from one orientation to another. I felt my feet, shins, hands, and/or forearms when they made contact with the mat. I felt my breath as a rhythmic friend told me that we would get through this together one breath, one movement at a time.

Then I entered a new zone—I stopped thinking analytically about the movements, releasing my fear of them. Instead, I broadened my scope of awareness and flowed with my breath, the moves, and space. As a result, I got a taste of the thrill for oneness that comes from a daring act made familiar, which fortified me with a courage I did not know I had.  

You see, we fall all the time. Pretty much every day. And if we aren’t falling, are we taking any risks? We must take risks if we are going to grow. Sometimes, the risk shows up as giving a presentation. Sometimes, it comes as accepting a new position at work or in the community. Sometimes, it’s the risk of choosing to love again after you’ve been hurt. Take the risk. Follow your inner voice and let it guide you to doing what you need to do to stay true to yourself. This is how daily life actions become meditation lessons— we stay present, stay the course, and learn about ourselves in the process, even if we fall on our faces.