Soft Bodies
I've always want a hard body - a toned body, a fit body, an athletic body - a body that exudes health and capacity. But this desire is in the mustering camp. It's in the independent framework. It's an illusion.
In reality my body is soft. Even strong, robust, big muscles, when healthy and relaxed are soft. My abdomen, when relaxed is extremely soft and houses so many soft and squishy organs. My body is squishy. It is vulnerable.
I hate being vulnerable. It is so frickin' hard to be vulnerable. It takes so much bravery to be vulnerable. It's so hard to let down your guard and be seen - seen without barriers, without masks and mirrors deflecting and diffusing, without walls that people have to peer through or over or around.
But God damn, how beautiful it is to feel the softness of someone else - their flesh vulnerable and tender up against yours. Can I get an amen?
How freeing it is to stop holding my stomach in and just let go. How freeing to acknowledge I have needs and I am tender. How freeing to let my softness be met with someone else's softness. How freeing to acknowledge my fragility - to know that my life could be snuffed out so easily. To know that everything is in balance, just so, such that as the days that come and go, my breath still goes in and out of my lungs and my heart still beats and my legs still move and my gut and intestines still extract nutrients and move food along to be excreted. What a miracle!
It is beautiful. It is a gift. It is not be be overlooked. It is not to be forgotten, nor denied. Oh the mysterious pain and joy of both/and living! It seems to be required for thriving, to move beyond existing.
My soft body is strong and capable, but it's also vulnerable and needs nurturing. Acknowledging its softness ushers in the welcome to slow down and rest - to no longer view my body as a machine, nor a workhorse. My body is me and I am so many things. I am strong and capable and I am simultaneously frail, vulnerable, and in need. These can co-exist. These can all be true. Period.
Pause.
Let this sink in. We are complex. We are meant to give and receive. Our soft bodies remind us of this. Those who have lost a loved one feel the acute and intense pangs of the softness of our bodies. They have felt the ultimate cost of our softness.
But our softness is not a curse, not something to be tucked away, not something to be hidden, nor fixed. It is to be embraced and a powerful reminder of the gift and miracle of life, the joy of togetherness, the safety of one another.
We are living, walking, talking miracles - each of us. We should treat ourselves and others as such. Our bodies daily remind us of this and prompt us to be kind to ourselves and one another. They remind us that we need food, and to use the restroom, and to exercise, and to get a hug and cuddle, and to talk to a loved one, to play, and to get a good night's sleep.
What a gift our bodies are - our soft, soft bodies.
What is your body telling you?
Do you think you have a soft body?
Do you love your soft body?
How can you show gratitude for your body today?
May you always see the blessing.
-esb