Sunday, December 12, 2010

Reverb 10, the one about the body

December 12 – Body Integration

This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?

(Author: Patrick Reynolds)

This question of body. I can hardly stand to think of it. As my body changes, plunges into menopause, betrays me, craves things that are bad for me, billows out sideways with malicious smirks and thoughtlessly trips through rivers of wrinkles I haven't noticed until, really, three days ago, I find myself trying not to grieve, pretending


So this question of body integration makes me grind my teeth and jab my fingernails, clipped to the nubs to make it easier to type, into my palm.

I have had no moments in 2010 that I can remember when I simply felt like me, like Lizzie, like body and mind had melded into what I am supposed to be. 2010 has been a year of odd, unimportant struggles, or struggles that seem unimportant.

"Don't buy that bag of Kettle chips!"

"Hey, don't you think you'd better eat something more nutritious than popcorn for dinner?"

"Really, where's the broccoli?"

"Have you taken your multivitamin?"

"How hard is it to do sit ups every morning and the stepper every afternoon?"

etc., etc., yada, blah.

This question makes me think about my life. Not what I'm doing, not how I spend my days. I have a good life when I think about the people in it, the activities I am blessed enough to experience, the books I read, the poems I write. What I need to think about is my life.

I treat my body so badly by ignoring its needs that I could truly die tomorrow without finishing any of these things I've started.

That would be a pity.

People would miss me.

I would miss them.

I need to rediscover the joy I felt when I was in San Francisco the summer of 2009 for the blessed workshop. We walked and walked and walked. I felt so grounded (pun intended), so fit after just four days. My hips and knee ached, but it was worth it. The movement was glorious.

When I used to exercise regularly, I wrote in my head as my legs swish, swished on the NordicTrack or as I jumped rope, walked, stretched, whatever.

I know when I quit taking care of myself. I know why. The reason doesn't exist any more because I have worked through that loss and turned it into something magical and different from anything anyone could have expected or would even understand (so I don't explain it).

This treating my body badly, or simply ignoring it, is just a habit. A habit born of old self-loathing that I don't even feel any more.

It needs to stop.


1 comment:

  1. The body betrays. The mind, too. Which would you rather lose, body or mind? (If they're fully integrated, is everything lost?)

    I'm touched by your reflections on the reluctant passage to the next generation. I am there too. Trying to be gracious, but it's an act.

    Thanks for your words.