It is peaceful here this morning. There is the low hum of traffic in the distance layered with the voices of the birds in the trees behind my apartment. Everyone once in a while I hear a rooster crowing. Given that he is a few blocks away I find him charming and I listen for him each morning. If I lived next door to him, though, I would probably be reviewing old recipes. I wouldn’t kill him or eat him. I would just give suggestions to the neighbors. I guess that wouldn’t work either. Bad karma can come from encouraging the killing of another being, too. For now, I just take his crowing as a sign that all is well in his world as well it should be in mine.
Taking life slow this morning is my only goal. I have things I plan to do today, but there is no rush. I just take on each task as it comes and spend time breathing. My body aches today, but not in a bad way. It is the gentle ache that is the result of completing over twenty-five miles on my bike for the MS Seacoast Ride. It was wonderful to be a part of team and to train to complete something so worthwhile. It was amazing to see my teammate, Jenny D., complete the ride even as the symptoms of MS challenged her body and spirit. Jenny’s strong spirit won out and she came across the finish line to a crowd of well-wishers all wearing the “Team Jenny D” t-shirts. There was a lot of love and gratitude in that moment and I saw tears on the cheeks of Jenny’s mom.
So today is left to smaller tasks. Laundry, reading my assignments for yoga teacher training, visiting the ladies at the knitting guild meeting this afternoon, taking the post and seat from my bike into the shop to be fixed (riding on a swivel seat is interesting, but I do not recommend it), playing cello, working on the novel, or maybe taking in a movie. None of these are on my list as a “have to.” I will have none of that today.
My body and I have an agreement – I can push its limits as long as I take time to be gentle with it and allow it time to recuperate. I wasn’t this kind to my body in years past. I would push it and abuse it. I didn’t communicate with it at all. It was just something I partially occupied. I put it in situations of danger, ran it into the ground, poured alcohol into it, ignored it, overfed it, and then complained when it tried to tell me something.
I used to feel I wasn’t fully in my body. I always felt as if I was right of center, as if I was a glove that had been put on a hand halfway, a couple of fingers left out. The more I read about trauma, the more I realize that psychically this may have happened when I was a toddler and was burned. The pain of that experience and all that ensued afterwards may have knocked me out of my body a bit. It wasn’t until I started doing yoga and meditation that I started to move slowly back into my body, reaching into each arm, hand, finger, and foot. Even with the pain that I have caused my body over the years it has welcomed me in. It is helping me learn to manage emotions that I have ignored for years and helps me breathe through any stress or tension. I have learned that its favorite foods are fresh clear oxygen and pure water. How can I not give it what it deserves?
Now I move onto the next task – a quiet one. I will light a candle and study quietly to the sound of birds.
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