
The Language of Arms: Sensation, Expression, Movement, and Memory, With Debbie Rosas.
There is a miracle that lives inside my chest. Not just the steady beat of my heart or the rhythm of my breath, but an intricate architecture of connection—an elegant design of clavicles, scapulae, and shoulder girdles that gives rise to two long, graceful bridges. My arms. My messengers of emotion. My wings of love.
For a long time, I moved with them—used them to teach, to guide, to shape the air around me. But I didn’t know them. Not until I found myself barefoot on a martial arts mat, learning to block instead of flow, to guard instead of gesture. That’s when I sensed something new: my arms stopped performing and started protecting.
I felt strength rise from somewhere deeper than muscle. My spine straightened, my feet grounded, and from my hara—my energetic center—my arms lifted, spiral-like, radiant with purpose. I felt energy move through me like a current; from the earth, up through my legs, through my spine, out into my elbows and fingertips.
I learned something profound: arms are not just limbs. They are conduits. Protectors. Transmitters of life force. From that moment on, I never saw them the same way. Martial arts gave me back my arms. And Nia gave me a way to translate what I learned into language through the blocks—Upward, Outward, Downward.
These became more than movement vocabulary. They became expressions of power and tenderness; movement and memory; emotion and intention. I began to move differently. I began to teach differently. As I do when I want to know my body more deeply, I returned to the floor. I lay my head back and let my arms rest beside me.
I traced their shapes and let them speak. I moved them gently in space, then I allowed them to return—to hold me, to hug me. I remember sensing: these arms have always been there. They’ve been carrying me. Holding others. Reaching. Giving. Protecting. I stood up and I practiced. My arms felt alive, strong, fluid, effortless and dynamic.
My own words, “Find your dynamic ease,” echoed through me—and finally made sense. As the years passed, I noticed changes and like so many women, I saw the softening of my upper arms. The waving skin that speaks of time. At first, I wanted to cover it. To hide what the world calls flawed. But I’ve gladly come to see it differently now.
This softness is my story—my life, my movement, my strength, my surrender. I condition my arms not just to tone them, but to honor them. To keep them alive, responsive, and expressive. I move them from my center and from my heart through bones and elbows. I feel the vibration of breath in my palms and the flicker of emotion in my fingertips.
My arms have taught me how to listen. How to create a boundary. How to embrace. How to let go. When I forget them, when I ignore their voice, they grow heavy. They pull on my neck. They collapse into my spine. But when I move them with love, with sensation, with intention—they lift me. They rise like wings and remind me who I am.
I’ve come to understand that my arms are sacred bridges between my inner world and how I show up in my outer world. They’re extensions of my breath. Of my memory. Of my imagination. The shoulder girdle, with its halo-like mobility, gives them flight. The scapulae like wings tucked behind the heart allow freedom. And the heart?
The heart guides them to not perform but connect. To feel. To hold and become part of the great conversation of being alive and part of my Nia movement artistry. Through Nia, I learned to move my arms like a martial artist, not with tension, but with attention. The martial arts blocks taught me to direct energy with clarity, not chaos.
They also taught me to use my arms not just to move but to sense and to feel. To shape intention. To protect space and to hold the invisible. Through these movements, I have come to understand the primal power that has been asleep in my arms for too long. The ancient art of readiness. The graceful act of release. The language of my arms.
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