Slowly, she whispers, feel into me slowly. I am a miracle and yet you are ignorant. I am not your accomplishment or your achievement. Know me, slowly.
The miracle of a million functions a day, every day. That you sleep and rise, eat and digest, feel pain and pleasure, warnings and invitations. I am the miracle.
I hold your soul, your spark, animated for a time. So come know me
as a lover,
as a mother,
as a child.
Come know me.
You will spend hours flitting here or there, lost in thought, or simply lost. But you do not take the time to know me.
You take me for granted until something goes wrong. Until you hear your wakeup call. Ding dong time is up. Pay the piper and all of that.
Or you look in the mirror and wish you were anyone but me. But I’m all you’ve got baby. I’m all you’ve got.
I do not ask for much. I give and give and give some more. While you skimp or binge, ignore or indulge, abuse or abandon. And still, I stay. Your most devoted partner in this and all things.
I will never leave you, though sometimes I think you would like to leave me.
I wait and hope that you will notice, that you will care. Feeding me is often an afterthought, an annoyance, an interruption.
Moving me, goodness there so many other priorities.
Remember when we used legs to skip and leap. Arms for jump rope and to propel ourselves through the air.
And then they put us in chairs to learn,
And they put us in chairs to pray,
And they put us in chairs to work.
I’m surprised that we are not put in chairs to die.
We are turning to stone. We are turning to stone in our chairs.
I am the unconditional giver, lover, until I can’t anymore.
Until the words and thoughts have battered me so that I can’t quite, any more.
The way a dog will return again and again to its master, cringing each time it is called, but still returning.
It is late, but the heat is on, the phone is off, the candles are lit. It is she and I. My body and me. Slowly we move, gently we move. Fast movement sends her into hiding.
What is it to be seen? To be treasured, cared for? From far away she echoes, come back. Come back.
My wild self body isn’t sure if I will take the time.
In the sweet quiet and softening, I feel her words purr inside me.
Get to know me, feel me, sense me, notice, pay attention.
The breath I take. The way the oxygen flows into lungs and then travels the wild rivers of my blood.
I am your interpreter, translator, protector.
Know me. Honor me. Care for me.
Slow down so you can fully appreciate, enjoy, this journey we are on.
Because when the time comes, we leave together.
first published in Scribe, https://medium.com/scribe/re-wilding-body-f8068c8a28dd