Today I’m feeling grateful to have an intelligent body. A body that remembers. A body that carries my unique imprint of experiences; a wisdom that tells me when to slow down, and when it’s safe to pick myself back up into the world of mobility.
For me, movement has always been an indication of life. Moments in the hospital, bedridden, have never been excluded from this - for even when world of muscle and bone has been heavy and exhausted, devoid of potential - there is an inner life that is motile. There is dialogue, a relationship of inhales and exhales, heartbeats and valves, a rhythmic underpinning of movement and life.
Over the past couple of weeks I was more bedridden than I’ve been since my transplant. Shingles brought me to my knees.
My physical practice was limited. Breathing + Thought control and release. Limitation and potential. Controlling the breath, expandi
ng the contents and container of my body helped me to accept the pain. But it did so much more than that.
The contents of my life, my story, also gained space. Clarity. Presence.
A few days ago came a shift. A call from my father. A brain tumour. Another reminder of temporality. Another reminder to listen with compassion, another reminder to take action.
My being is ready, to move back out into the world. Like my father, like you, I don’t have endless tomorrows. My personal agenda has diminished.
It includes Love. Enjoying deep resonance in the present moment, with anyone who is tuning in. Creating joy though music, art, cooking and time spent with
my family. Being generous with anything I have to offer. Movement. Time outdoors. And learning to make a hat.