When the Floor Kisses Back: Notes from a Life in Motion

by Melissa Jones

The Dance Studio

The space is a blank canvas, and I imprint my feet into the sleek marley floor. This moment is familiar, the setup fresh. My body begins to sway, waking up the engine that has been idle since its last trip. With each sway, my feet kiss the floor and my skin brushes the air. Falling deep into a meditative state, I tune into the proposed tasks that will reawaken my body today, checking them off as if my dancing body is a car getting serviced for the next trip.

With an invitation to explore curvatures, the ball-and-socket joints become more lubricated. An awareness of the space and its many planes leads me to find folds and creases. The backs of my wrists and ankles pierce through the negative space  

with delicate precision. My bones, dense yet malleable, begin to sponge and absorb the shock of locomotion. Each task pulls me deeper into a trance; the movement is primal and rich. Delving further, the instructions build until there's an influx of information, a readiness for what has yet to arrive. Available for movement, I cut through the space—slicing, weaving, tracing— the sound of organic steps mixed with a curated beat.  

A studio filled with dancing bodies becomes a playground for movement. An array of oversized, baggy fabrics that hang on the frame of moving bodies, a rainbow of socks thinning with each return, another kiss to the marley floor. My eyes scan the space, taking in what will feed today's improvisation. What calls to me? Another dancer is drawn to linear, direct pathways, while I oppose with circular, gooey motion. Ribs lead my torso through the space, elbows carving curves, the back of my pelvis lifting me onto the balls of my feet. I tap into the long-term memory of ballet classes, sensing the suggestion of a relevé as my right leg sweeps up, balancing and grooving on one leg. The small dance within the balance floods me with information, with possibility.

As I come back down to two feet, my gaze grows hazy. I can't trace what I’m doing, intoxicated by the movement running through me. Captivated, obsessed with the motions spilling out. I become a saturated sponge, squeezed, letting water run into the space—an enlightenment of ideas and life.

I listen to the environment again, absorbing all the information to feed my next creation. I search and wait for an impulse, sitting in presence and patience. The longer I'm here, the more the information fills me. The more time passes, the more the ego fights its way in, pushing me back into old patterns, the familiar, the comfortable. So I move the way I did last time, a long-term memory of improvisation that feels acceptable, planned, safe, fed by the ego. Mind reconnects to the complexity of the score, listening closer for something new. An inner switch flips.

Soon, my gaze feels hazy again, the movement rich and indulgent. The ego retreats to the backseat. I feel the high once more, infinite in choices, colors, textures, motions, tempos.

The class slows back to the primal. A body heavy with breath, skin salty with sweat, muscles stretched and sore. I leave the space with that feeling, the one that comes with dancing, that honestly can't be described, only experienced.

The Pilates Studio

Finding my spot in the sea of equipment, I mount the carriage of the Pilates
reformer. I melt into the mat, relieved from gravity. I shape into the setup position: heels pressing together, collarbones widening, abdominals drawing in. I press the carriage out, opening the springs, moving in and out, each repetition reawakening the same body that was at the dance studio. My dancing body, with its memory of every layered, chewy movement from an indulgence now carries minor aches and misalignments. The afternoon Pilates session (square, straight, symmetrical) nourishes, flushes, refreshes and wrings me clean.

The body centers itself, core firing as the glue to all proceeding movements. Arms
reach, abdominals scoop, legs extend. I pump my arms up and down, blood traveling from heart to limbs. Brain counts the rhythm: inhale for five, exhale for five. Each repetition digs deeper. Arms reach further, navel threads tighter to spine, legs stretch another inch. Insides warm as the mind loses clarity in the count, overtaken by the body's effort. Conscious of the aches, misalignments, the lingering, the new, the unfamiliar and familiar, aware of today's body. Mind refocuses to find the hundredth breath. 

The exercises puzzle together into something whole. Each one offers something
unique, connecting to the next. Vertebrae stack with each spinal articulation. Breath cleanses, energizes. Micro-adjustments refine the form. Asymmetries come into agreement. The springs sing, muscles fight under tension, strength building. Each cue guides my anatomy into more precise positions. Mind and body in one place again. Movement grows in complexity, speed. The sixth principle of Pilates appears: Fluidity. Grace. Ease. A second dance of the day.

 A new exercise arrives, the one the body needs, the mind resists. I align with stored memory from past attempts. Testing my effort to hold the position, muscles shaking, sweat building. A commitment to clarity and form, even as the ego tries to break this agreement. Each attempt enriches muscle memory, making the next time clearer, easier. I fall back into the chain of movement, setting exercises into the body, collecting memories of positions, tensions, control points. Until once again, I'm a sweaty body with muscles strengthened, bones realigned. Leaving the studio a second time today, fatigued and energized.

To the Studio,

Thanks for being the place that promises structure.
Routine & repetition.
Where I test my own promise to it.
Where keeping this promise gifts me the passing of time.
The indulgence in form.
A state of healing & harmony, every time.

Where the ego may sneak in to break this promise,
And I learn better how to fight it.

How you promise that if I stay a little longer,
Search a little more,
I can find safety & let go once more.
Pain dissolves, and I feel whole.

In the movement for the body.
And the movement for my soul.

That if I come in ready to discover,
With inner alertness (an exclamation mark)
Wondering where to be placed in the story that unfolds,
You give me a notion.

A burst of inspiration every time I enter your space.
Sometimes brief.
Sometimes prolonged.
And more often than not, you send me off with the notion to go
To the spaces I enter after leaving you,
Carrying me through the rest of the day.

It’s the flow state,
The one I’m forever lucky to experience
In the ritual of the studio.

Sincerely,
A mover

Melissa Jones is a professional dancer and certified Pilates instructor based in New York City. She holds a BA in Dance with a minor in Biology from Marymount Manhattan College, where she graduated with a Gold Key Honorable Mention in Dance Wellness.