Body of Evidence

               Sometimes in weariness, other times in frustration or perhaps even comparison, I stand like a stranger looking at this body of mine. I stand and look as if it were an object or thing I do not know.

               This morning the whisper of my body as the image of a silent guardian whose only purpose is to protect, guard and shield. Like those whose job it is to lay down their life for the President, Kings or Queens my body stands as a silent defender absorbing without voice, the slings, arrows and abuse hurled from life and even from me. Silent. Constant. Vigilant. Single focused. To protect the spirit, the Life and Light within. Even when its few basic needs go unanswered still it struggles to guard, shield, embrace and give life.

               The Light within is but one candle of the One. But my body, my body is uniquely mine. My cellular structure, my fingerprints and even my voice are uniquely mine. Another can imitate its appearance but never am I duplicated or found in another. This body is mine, completely, and totally mine.  The Light within is mirrored in every soul and even in nature. The body is never mirrored. Same structural elements yes, but the form, the individual chalice chosen was and is chosen, and not by chance. There are 7 billion other light forms existing as humans upon this earth. My body stands as the only one of its kind. My body is the self-portrait chosen by the Divine, by Life and painted in love.

               I hunger and thirst to feed the heart and spirit with wisdom and grace and to walk the path of peace and love. I meditate to quiet my mind so I can hear the whispers of Life. I become one with nature and Love. I look to the heart as the seat of Wisdom, Grace, Faith and Being. And yet, this morning, to ponder the one gift, the one gift given that truly makes me who I am and was chosen to protect, shield and carry the hunger and even my senses which feed my experience – my body.  In a world inundated by body image so that even children try to starve themselves to be like a created image, to realize the magnificence and unconditional love this body gifts. And even when diseased or limited, frail and not as strong of a warrior as it once was, still she remains that which is uniquely me forever my guardian, forever my experience, forever the self-portrait of the Divine.

My body the evidence of the Divine walking with me.

Portraits

Sometimes I ponder things, my eyes and heart have such a yearning to see and hear.  I try to see the colors of the wind and its whispered voice through the trees.  Sometimes I look at strangers and try to imagine their life’s movie having only the visuals of their walk, their eyes and the way they carry their body.  Sometimes I look up at the tree tops, the mountains, clouds or birds floating upon the thermals and try to hear the voice of Creation, the voice of Life. Sometimes, sometimes I think I think too much and surely I must be a freak.

I have walked so many seasons, and most of them, until last October  I have worked. I have walked so many seasons immersing myself in books, poetry, and philosophy devouring everything I could read.  I could read then, now, my eyes see mostly blurs.  I have walked so many seasons, and run.  I could run marathons. My body’s physical strength, especially since I am somewhat small, always amazed me and others, I could always find a reserve.  I have no reserve, my clothes no longer fit, so much weight has been lost and she is weak.  So many seasons I have walked and my hands were a second voice writing about the ponderings and lifting up hope, compassion, and simple things like writing my name.  My hand tremors now and cannot write.  With my blurry eyes I struggle to find the errors in what my shaking hand tries unsuccessfully to write.  The voice of my hands, like the voice of my body, stutters and grows quiet, embarrassed, frustrated and feeling she has nothing to say.  Sometimes I look at my body and how I try to adapt to my eyes, my weakness, my spoken voice and the voice of my hands and think surely, yes, I am a freak.

Does not one with an eating disorder see themselves “fat”?  Does not one who is told they are too tall or big, too short, or not the right size to be a ballerina, a gymnast, an athlete, or even to perform a job, feel themselves inadequate, their  body extinguishing the heart’s candle?  The list of mirrors, of images goes on and on.  We never seem to be what we feel or want to be.  The camera’s portrait never mirrors our fears, our beliefs, our desires or the candle burning inside.  In so many ways, the images are watermarked with ‘freak.’

I wanted to write something profound. I had a thought when I began. I’ve lost it now. Sometimes my brain gets fuzzy and distracted.  Maybe what I wanted to say, was simply you are my other me. And maybe if we both believe that, really believe that in our hearts, then you will know I speak the truth when I say you are beautiful and so not a freak.  And maybe if I find a way to embrace and bleed within my heart that you are my other me, when you tell me I am beautiful and not a freak, because your eyes are mine, I too will see.  You are my other me. Since I lost whatever profound thought I had, we could just sit together speak of what we see. And with a wink of grace, compassion and belief, together we will see what our self-portraits do not.