"Practically and technically, whatever we are experiencing as "how we are" arises as the complex outcome of how we are moving, how we are breathing, and what sounds we are making. Or, as is more common for us who are practiced in repression and suppression, how we reduce breath, how we reduce movement, how we refuse sound." From Julie Henderson's essay Tulku in being bodies (Buddhist Women on the Paradox of Embodiment)
When I began this blog, I knew I would be a sporadic blogger. I knew because I have four decades of doing things I love in a sporadic way. I knew because my goal for posting was to shine light on the aspects of my life which I have actively tried to ignore. I was right of course, and I find myself coming here only when life moves me to move, change, let go.
Today I am thinking about how to let go of my body and to reclaim it at the same time. A few days ago, I finally made an appointment with a rheumatologist to find out how I could manage my body better. I'll have to wait until October to see him, but, really, I've been doing this on my own for a long time now so waiting until October was fine. I was over my most recent flair up caused by putting together a perfectly lovely patio gathering last weekend. I spent Friday night and Saturday harvesting herbs and chopping vegetables for an eclectic menu: Jerk Pork, Jicama Corn Salad, Savory Samosas with Cilantro Chutney, dusty Ciabattas with roasted eggplant spread. We played favorite music, Cessaria Evora, Muddy Waters, Erykah Badu… There was laughter, strangers making connections, plans for another gathering soon, to include more friends, make more connections.
Then came Sunday. I limped through a bit of clean up and spent the rest of the day in bed. Rose for a bit of dinner and more clean up then, sleep again. Monday I moved slowly through the day, a bit ore mobile but still aching and stiff. Tuesday, my body closer to the usual aches which can easily be ignored, my mood crashed. I called the rheumatologist, not sure exactly what I was looking for but sure that I should be taking better care of myself. Mood improved, I felt empowered and reengaged in the more important pieces of my life. Thursday the questionnaire from the rheumatologist came. The question asking me to rate my pain on an unnumbered Likert scale from "no pain" to "pain as bad as it could be" knocked me into a state I try to avoid at all costs. I raged. I didn't know why but I raged. Like the time my old therapist asked me to 'contract' to take ibuprophen regularly, I raged… Why?
Here is why I come to the page. It is not the pain that is bothering me. Or, not that I had until now been willing to look at. My pain did not start (or become much worse since it's usually lurking somewhere) on Sunday. It started Friday evening an hour after I started standing to cook. Standing is always worse than walking which can wear me out quite well also. I have become a junior expert at moving through pain when there is something to move toward. I say junior expert because I know that so many others experience much more challenging physical dilemmas. But ignoring my own body and its challenges makes it impossible for me to have compassion for my own or other's bodies. I started to push myself through pain before I even realized it would be a lifelong companion. At six I would bottom boost my way up the stairs to visit my upstairs neighbors to play with Chatty Cathy Dolls and dunk Oreos in milk. When finally there is nothing important to engage in, the pain comes through. One is literally, 'good for nothing.' That is not just a verbal abuse, it becomes a truth.
So, rating my pain is like a self betrayal. I can live with the pain, it's not a problem, it can't be…. How ridiculously complex and self absorbed. And how simply basic. Pain is a fact of being in this body which I need to manage better. I need to do a little yoga more often. I need to host small gatherings, welcome my garden angel friends and dig with them as best I can. (Three angels visited earlier this summer and helped me create a blight free zone for tomatoes. It was a glorious day and I was proud that I was able to chip in with the digging. Of course, I spent the next two days barely able to walk at all). And I need to sit or sleep for two days afterward. I don't know what else. Breath, sing, move, be still. Ignoring my body requires going dead in so many ways, making sporadic contact with myself and those precious to me.
I love to engage in the physicality of this world. Kneading bread, making music, tending the garden all require a physical involvement and immersion with the world. The lines between me and all the rest of creation become softer, more pliable. I feel whole, connected and worthwhile without the need for naming it. When the realities of this body finally catch up to me, it feels like a slap in the face. 'This club isn't for you' I think I hear some voice say. But it isn't true. Pain, decay, death are also natural parts of the cycle. I'm lucky. I'm not dying, at least not yet. I just need more rest. How can I allow that to be part of the whole that I embrace?
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