Bones

Walking, feeling the swing in the joints, realizing that the skeleton is the frame, bound together by its fittings and tendons, by its uses and spaces.

Thinking about moving in the world. Sensing that being in the world relies upon this spaciousness and the tensions of tissues that hold me together, keep me flexible enough to move.

Distributing my weight throughout my body, my bones hold this human form. For now.

Some of the most beautiful moments of breath come when I see the dry arch of my ribcage like an ancestral skeleton on the earth bleached by the sun. I call this the cathedral of my ribs, and fill it with light and breath.

Walking, passing a front stoop piled with flowers in honor of someone who died, and later, passing the small neighhborhood church where a hearse stood out front. Feeling joy and wonder. The bones, resting without the tensions in the flesh or muscles, without the breath. Is there sorrow in the bones? I don't feel it.

Heat washing the outside of me, heat washing the inside of me. Letting go of the pressure to hold on to my body, I can allow my bones to move with the movement of the breath. Still breathing. For now.

Walking, part of me is contained in this container of bone and breath. Some of me is an electrical impulse or a chemical reaction. When my bones rest, where do I go then? Savasana. Corpse pose. The idea of letting go, allowing the bones to hold my form, my spirit free, my breath easy. For now.