It is 2 am, I have a research paper due in the afternoon, and I am writing on my blag.
Well, cheerio then.
I do not believe that people are as attuned to pressures and weight as they might think they are. On the whole, I would actually say that most people do not actually understand what it means to do something "softly". Lately, I have been reading several books on personality assessment through nonverbal language, microexpressions, nonverbal communication, and linguistic metamessages (also, I highly recommend reading Deborah Tannings works).
Am I suggesting that people do not know how to control their own bodies, and thus do not know what it means to move "softly"? No. I would say that most people are
extremely aware of their bodies. From the uncoordinated gamer to the dexterous harp player, I would guess everyone is aware of what their bodies are doing. I would not say, however, that they know why they are moving the way they are, what their flow is, what they are communicating, or to what degree they are participating in any of these actions. People can be beautiful sports players, and refined cooks and still not have an idea as to what "softness", or more specifically, "pressure" is.
Softness in movement is different from softness of physical description. I feel vaguely hypocritical even writing this because I
know I have only personally experienced the tip of this ice berg. I do not feel as if I entirely understand enough to communicate about it, but I have to say I know enough that I can feel it, and I can notice it. In the most basic form, softness is something not forceful, hard, ridged, or inflexible. It is tender, accepting, conforming, and unimposing. I want to focus on unimposing for a moment.
unimposing, to me, goes hand in hand with a form of intimate respect. There is an underlying respect to softness. It has its own form to hold, but it is still respectful of the form and pressures that are being placed upon it. A small agreement of identities if you will. It is this relationship that I'm not sure too many people understand, and then are able to act upon. From my own experience (and earlier discussion on a seemingly universal "flow" in movements and activities), here are some examples of underlying respect, and careers I would expect people would have to intimate with this idea in order to survive.
-Dancing
-Drawing
-Slack rope
-Climbing
-Soccer
-Cooking
-Any musical instrument, or faculty
-Any martial arts
-To an extent, writing and story telling
-Architecture
-Making friends
-Keeping your friends
-Keeping your friends healthy
This semester, I have been rubbing a lot of backs. This is not where the thought came from, but it certainly seems to be the most frequent example where I can practice this thought. Touch is a gradient. In order for a touch to be soft, there must be a hardness, a stiffness with which to contrast it with. Otherwise, if you rub someone's back, you will be unable to adapt to the necessary tension points, and your friend will be disappointed. Softness is also a gradient. There is a light softness, and hard softness. It is still accepting, but it doesn't quite bend so easily to the identity of the incoming other. A dance of distances, a dance of pressures.
The reason I feel people do not practice this is because the overwhelming amount of motions I see are heavy. They are weighty, almost as if someone is swinging a heavy rock around on a string. There is fluidity because of the constant motion of the swinging rock, but there is still a heavy cadence. It thuds, it rolls awkwardly down a stairs, it stutters.
Watching someone who moves both softly, and smoothly is something that's near awe inspiring to me. There is an amazing amount of respect actively being shown between both the state of mind, and the body's capabilities, and the nature of the environment it is working it.
