It's that sensation of being rooted.
Feet sinking into the earth, tendrils of moist dirt curling up over the tops of your feet.
More than that, it's that sensation of rising up.
The force of creation, of the Creator, surging up through your legs, through your spine, through your newly aligned neck and pulsing through the crown of your head.
Your fingers spread wide, arms open and heart shining through your chest.
Every urge to stoop over, to curl in, conquered by the choice to stand firm.
It's the belly drawing in and up, the shoulders rolling back and away from the ears.
It's defying gravity, drawing the skull back.
It's eyes closed, fully engaged.
It's deep. It's soft. It's quiet. It's powerful.
It's one stance, one posture.
Palms forward, friend.
Receptive. Certain. Intentional.
It's your choice to stand, to soak, to breathe.
It's your choice to be, to find yourself saturated in this one stance of solitude.