Solo Improvement of posture

In which Valo learns the importance of posture in the art of meditation

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The westernmost tip of Kalea, Wind Reach is home to an amazing group of people and their giant eagle mounts. [Lore]

Improvement of posture

Postby Valo on January 31st, 2013, 10:30 pm

Age 15

45th Summer 504AV
Valo's family home
Afternoon


An occupation that seemed to entice the youth with it's elusive mystique, as well as it's apparent benefits to his chosen life stile, was the art of meditation. The skill of clearing ones mind of thoughts and outside forces. He had red about it in a book once and ever since then, it lingered on his mind. An ability to completely separate his mind from the internal factors of his body, a clarity of which his cluttered mind could only dream. The way he saw it; with such an ability he could channel his inspiration into pin sharp ideas to focus on, a precious ability to self medicate from the state of perpetual dishevelment of thought. He longed for the peace it promised, for the focus it would provide.

And above all perhaps, he knew no one who could perform this ability sufficiently to be called a master, for he associated it with men of gods and godesses, priests and priestesses which were in turn associated, in the idealistic mind of the youth, with great and boundless knowledge which he longed for. Valo wished to fallow in the footsteps of those greater than him. He longed for that knowledge. Though perhaps he wasn't the most spiritual of boys, never having very much connection to a deity, his longing for knowledge and maturity pushed him to the strangest of professions.

Sitting completely still and letting go of one's body. Seeking solitude and alas tranquillity within one's own environment. Becoming one with the universe - and all other such comment which he didn't truly understand yet. All of which sounded so pristine, so wonderful. And how hard could it be? A simple action of sitting very still, at one with peace. A mind within it's own silent paradise. Valo was truly bold and it was that boldness that perhaps caused him to underestimate the difficulty of the task he was about to perform. And with that underestimation would come a horrible failure that would spark nothing other than more determination within him.

His clothing was loose and of earthy colouring, comfortable and soft against his skin so that nothing may distract him. He sat perfectly still on his bed, legs crossed so that one was before another, with the heel nearly touching the knee. His elbows now lingered on his thighs with the palms turned upwards, joined by thumbs in the centre of his position, much at the height of his lower abdomen. He was hunched over slightly, though had not yet realised for it seemed in that position he was so very comfortable. Muscles that worked in unison with the spine, performed the minimum amount of work. Head bowed ever so slightly, with the long curtains of red velvet which made his hair, now framing his position.

His chest elevated deeply with each breath. An action which was in fact wrong for it wasn't the ribcage that needed to elevate, but the abdomen. A correct way to breathe, gaining therefore the maximum tidal volume of the lungs, was to made optimal usage of one's diaphragm. And whereas the youth knew of the chest of muscle that separated the chest cavity from the rest of the organs. Anatomically powering the lungs which gave him life, he knew not well how to use it. Consequently his breaths were shallow, jagged and subtly forced, not being quite what they needed to be. A very first mistake on a noobie who knew now what he was doing. And perhaps if he had a master to teach him, tutor to point out these mistakes, he would make much more progress. Though perhaps maybe that would not be the case.

It was only then that he remembered a very important line that was repeated over and over again in the book he read. Posture is extremely important. Good posture which he was lacking, for his back was hunched like a child's when scholarly learning tiered him. A position he often took when he was reading into the late hours of the night. His mother had once lectured him upon the importance of posture to prevent back problems in later years and he took that to heart with utmost reverence.

Valo wanted to be a gentleman when he grew up. The kind of dashing male with so much fluidity and grace to his movements that one might mistake him for a cat, if not careful. An elegance in manner that only the finest would possess. Of course such behaviour could not be achieved though sheer want alone. He'd have to train it meticulousness and truth it was that such was not yet practised enough. It seemed that though this very process of meditation, he would be able to train him self in posture. A back straighter than the most perfect of trees in the mountains of Kalea, is what he wanted to have.

And so, without further hesitation, all of his muscles tensed at once, pulling his skeleton into a perfect position, shoulder blades back, collar bones subtly relaxed in a gentle droop. Painful it was, for he wasn't yet used to such a demanding position. A gentle burning sensation that lingered at the length of his spinal chord, once such posture was retained for prolonged periods of time. A cracking of his back every time he would return to it. Periodically he'd find him self drooping back into a hunch and often he would not realise so for prolonged periods of time, only correcting the pose, once he found him self nodding off in relaxation. And though meticulous determination, a manifestation of relentlessness and principle and the very desire of the boy to get it right, the burning subdued somewhat, or perhaps he had just grown used to it. A greater pain threshold built up within him.

For once he envied the girls who had the chance to wear corsets. Their posture was perfect and flawless, much like he wanted his to be. And with yet another realisation of moulding back into a hunch, Valo bit at his lip with frustration and banished the jealousy from his thought. Any focus now went into the upholding of this perfect posture. Tidal breathing, a desperate need to relax that was perhaps not achieved so easily.

The boy's eyes were close in a manifestation of serenity upon his face. And whereas a gentle crescent of a smile lingered about his feminine lip at the start, the entire muscle structure of the form of his face had now dropped, relaxed into impassiveness. A sign that perhaps a greater internal tranquillity than before was achieved. Skin of alabaster, chiselled into into features that had lately took a subtle turn for the handsome, rather than the simply and childishly beautiful. Now there was maturity within those features. In ever muscle that lined the underneath of his skin, was relaxation, in every curve of the skin there was impassivity and nothingness and emptiness, the very lack of emotion. A mask of great and apparent concentration, focus, or at least the very deep want to do so.

Valo's head however has far from peaceful. He was battling his though, casting it away with the iron hand of his mind. Banishing every wish, every emotion, every memory with such hostility that nothing but frustration soon arose within him. Frustration which, as the sun began setting, also set his posture into yet another failure. Ah how bothersome it all was. This was not the feeling of complete peace, yet unfathomable frustration. Yet with that frustration, more determination overcame him.

Late afternoon

A good few hours have passed as the young artist worked on his posture for meditation, swaying in and out of peace and frustration alike. A bipolar emotion coming over him. No success in the things described so bountifully in the book he recalled. And it seemed that perhaps it was high time for a break. This without a further ado, Valo grabbed hold of his paint box and rolling out a sheet of absorbent paper, he began painting what ever he found before him. And so it happened that a little, stained glass pot filled with flowers was the first object that grabbed his interest. A perfect still life and bore enough shape and colour to satisfy his perpetual need for difficult task.

Before the actual painting began, he sketched the object very lightly, paying particular attention to the three dimensional curvature of the objects. The roundness of the pot, the juxtaposition of flowers, one before another, receding and entwining in a lovely knotting of line. If there was anything he as truly good at what it came to drawing, was the very faint line that was barely seen, even to his own eyes. Painting required this. A meticulous positioning of the objects in the scene, before colour could be implemented. And perhaps his capturing of perfect position was not idea, for he had still so much to learn, but in the case of such simplicity like flowers, he needed not to worry. yet often he found him self ignoring shaped and form he had already put down on paper, and shifting the whole item with subtly darker line, one way or another. The ending result needing a little rubbing out, before the wonderful watercolour paint finally began mixing by his hand. Various hues of beauty and realism, now taking shape on the palette made of hydrophobic material.

Suffice to say, his ability in painting lacked also, but it still far outreached that of any normal child, from the sheer amount of practice which he periodically plowed into it with such abundant determination. A determination which burned green in hie eyes of emerald.

Valo began with various shades of blue, both of the ultramarine and the cobalt origin, bleeding them with the abundant use of water as his medium. Placing them with utmost care on the paper. Swirls of pigment became present and white marks where one pigment would push the other back, creating a thin line of water that separated them. A overall whimsical scene. It was only after the painting of the pot dried that, to Valo's very dismay, a patter like the edges of a cabbage leaf or frayed fabric, formed across the item. An ugly circle that disrupted the smooth round surface. Such pattern appeared when the gradient of the water was steep, between the part that dried and the part that had yet to dry. In such case, water would travel down this gradient, back into the dried pigment, shifting it. Only whereas the pigment would smoothly diffuse into a perfect, ceaseless surface when suspended in it's medium, the pigment that already dried would storm clumps and dark lines and texture that was not desired. An effect that was so very hard to control and the young artist had not enough skill to quite do so just yet. Thus he could do nothing but live with the hideous blister upon his lovely painting.

As the art work began taking shape with the white petals, complimented so ethereally by the blue vase, he began layering the paint to create depth within his painting. For once the paint was completely dry, the pigments would no longer shift and yet another layer could be placed on top. Thus, beautiful shadows of muted purples and grey browns were painted onto the round image of the pot, and the receding flowers and soon, very soon the painting was completed. Perhaps not perfect, but it sufficed the artist's purposes. For despite his young age, he somehow managed to capture the very youthful sparks of life in the form, breathing life of it's own into the work. For it seemed that art didn't need to be the most photo realistically perfect of representations, to retain that artistic quality that he strived for.

It was only then that Valo had truly become aware of the sudden peace that had formed it self during the duration of painting. An almost numbing feeling that lingered in his head. A self recognition. This was perhaps achieved though the observation and deep concentration upon a singular thing which was his art and thus he became so very peaceful and his posture retained and he was ready once more to try this meditation skill.

Evening

Once more he sat, cross legged, upon his bed though it seemed this time the posture was so much easier to achieve. Perhaps he was used to it a little more by now. And he had only found him self slanting forwards a handful of times, before correction came with acknowledgement and acceptance, rather than burning frustration though the boy's mind. And though this acceptance came success. His breathing, though still incorrect, carried on regardless and in blissful unawareness of the fact. And his mind was much more relaxed now. Peace brought on by the art had remained as he no longer cared about failure, no more apprehension of such resided within him. Not was just the very genuine motion of focus.

It seemed that when his mind was focused on only one thing, Valo found it much easier to relax completely, both in mind and in body. And so his focus became the art. Perhaps not just any part of the painting, but simply the very linear form for that was so very simple and so very easy to focus on. Very clearly he pictured the vase before him, in the darkness of the inside of his eyelids, the lines and the curves lingered; and every time the image would face, he would recall it again, once more not in forceful frustration but simple, very simple indeed, acceptance. For instead of worrying about the success of, what was essentially, one of his first tries, the youth merely observed his thought and this observation, this focusing on simplicity perhaps, relaxed him.

The relaxation was blissful and the bliss manifested within him as everything became just a little easier with each passing hour. Though he carried this process of relentlessly and for too long, essentially wasting the day away. It did not matter however. One day he would get it right and he would become proficient at this new desired skill of his. But as with everything, it would take time.

This posture of his, however difficult the task of upholding it will prove, would soon become something that becomes his very signature. The very manner which it will provide him with, will separate the gentleman Valo from the rest of the world, rendering him even more intoxicatingly beautiful and exotic and women would flock to him. But that was all in the future that had yet to occur.


He had performed this constant focus, relaxation and maintenance of the posture till the very late hours of the evening, until it was high time to snuff out the candles and finally go to sleep as mother instructed. But when he did so, he felt a certain new serenity that had been alien to him previously. And the night that fallowed was pure and dreamless, like a canvas of black, constant and omnipresent and without thought all together.
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Valo
The man who's very name means light
 
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Improvement of posture

Postby Phoenix on February 7th, 2013, 12:46 am

Image

Valo

Award
Skill XP Earned
Meditation 5
Observation 3
Drawing 1
Painting 3









Lores Earned
Becoming one with the Universe
Letting go of ones body
Meditation: Proper clothing
Meditation: Proper posture and breathing
Meditation: Tailor Position
Meditation: Breathing
Painting: Pot of flowers
Painting: Knowing ones limitations


The Order of the Phoenix

Great thread, Valo! I loved your descriptions and the time you took to make sure that every thought was a complete one. I gave you a full five in Meditation because you don't seem to have any points in it yet, so good for you! I love seeing PCs fail as well as succeed while their learning. I gave Observation for the introspection that was going on purely because I can respect it. I gave 3 in Painting because he is almost competent and that means more detail! Your descriptions were beautiful but as your skill goes higher, you're going to have to do more and more for your points!

Over all, a very lovely training thread and a brilliant read. Keep doing what you do, it's lovely :)

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out. :)
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