Some of the most healing and tender moments of my life have been these small moments when I’ve felt myself in my body.
Whether on the street, walking down, and then suddenly I’m there. Embodied. A belly breathing, limbs felt, as I wait on a street corner for the traffic to pass, so I can cross the street, or when walking through the park, my soles of feet curved over rising roots, or more recently, sitting on the loo and suddenly there I am, a body that breathes and listens and moves but most of all, lives with an aliveness and wildness that only the creatures in the woods know.
Sitting on the loo, in the bathroom near my daughter’s room where the towel cupboard is and where two plants live, one rehabilitating after being neglected in a room no one goes to, and a small cactus I’m curious about, because its there in my life, and im watering it but really I don’t have any relationship to it, like my body really, except for this moment whne I can actually feel I could feel the flare of my nostrils, the wetness of my gums, the dryness of my teeth. Could sense this thing called skin wrapped around my bones, to feel my pulse, and always, whenever I return to my body, my belly, my belly so soft, with an innocence that is as pure as a child in play. Whenever I re-associate I just feel these nostrils through which cool air travels, all of this is a revelation.
I sat, on the loo, just feeling this, because I know, that it would only be fleeting, too soon the habit of me would return and I would once again be a being disassociated, one who identifies more as a whir of energy. To feel myself here, in this moment, is so rare. And well there’s this damn thing called impermanence, and so if something exquisite like this ever happens I just watch it for all its worth, because I know, that as soon as I forget to watch, it will be gone, and the habit of me will return, so convincingly that I’ll forget to remember anything different at all.