My foot stepped on the gravel at the end of the road and the beginning of our driveway and I looked up to the sky as I do most mornings returning home from my walk. On this day, the sun was hiding behind clouds, leaf buds still hibernating long before spring. As my eyes wandered across the horizon, I noticed a hawk sitting on the wire that spans across our field. She seemed to look down at me. The beauty of her tail hanging far below her perch, I was struck by her stoic presence, her confidence, the magnificence of her simplicity. She sat there, unmoving, fully embodying the energy of all that she is - strong, confident, regal.
I admit these were not my first thoughts when I saw the hawk. We have lost many chickens and ducks, raised by our girls from fur to feathers then removed too soon by these hunters of the sky. The circle of life, we would tell our girls, doing our best and not enough to console them. I stil at times reside in the place of reflexively cursing a hawk that looks relaxed on a high wire, knowing it is ready to sail down from the sky to the ground below in pursuit of nourishment in the form of a loved member of our farm.
Today felt different. I looked up at the bird, looking back at me, and I did not focus on the killer attribute of the creature, silently cursing her under my breath. This has become a practice that came about in a most different way.
I have a vertebra out of alignment in my neck.
I am not sure how it happened, how this bone decided to move out of step with the others in my spine. There was no event, no trauma that pushed it over to one side. I joke that I suppose it wanted to make its own path in life, tired of taking its place in the same boring old space at the base of my neck every moment of every day. Regardless of how it happened, it is in a space that can cause pain at times. In my garden weeding, bent over my work bench hammering a piece of silver, sleeping on my right side, all of these can cause discomfort to this stray part of my body.
I began to curse my neckbone. Why did you move? Why can’t you just go back to where you belong? I do exercises, stretch, see my doctor, try to avoid painful stimuli, and yet, still out of place, still in pain. “These forty-nine years of being fine and then not,” I addressed my neck. “How could you forsake me?” These thoughts of anger, frustration, even disgust directed at my neck. “I am so mad at you,” is really how I felt.
One action, one remedy that has helped has been hot Epsom salt baths. After long days of work, I will run a hot bath, fill it with a few cups of salt and soak. I hold a hot damp wash cloth on the back of my neck where the stray vertebra sits. My thoughts of frustration, anger, sadness rise up, the pain coming and going as the hot water streams in. The tub is close to being full and I raise my right leg up so that my foot can turn the faucet knob to the off position. As my leg raises, I see my thigh muscle flex, my right quadricep move as it works to direct my foot to the faucet. I pause. Something in me at that moment transforms and I see my body in a new way instantly. My leg becomes an autostereogram, a two-dimensional artwork that hides an underlying three-dimensional image. My mind does not see my leg, only the thigh muscle flexing and moving underneath the skin. A wave of emotion washes over me. This thigh muscle, this part of me I have been so familiar with, have seen thousands of times, now appears in a new light. This muscle has supported me my whole life without question or defiance. As a child, carrying me as I learned to walk. As a teenager, watching it grow and become defined as an athlete kicking balls high and far in the direction guided by my mind. As a runner, pushing me mile after mile. My loyal servant every day of these forty-nine years, asking for nothing in return. And yet I curse it. I have spoken negatively to this thigh muscle throughout my life - when it didn’t carry me as quickly as I would like, when it wasn’t as strong and defined as it used to be, when it wouldn’t heal fast enough, I would insult it. I talked down to it. And there she still is, working, faithful, guiding my foot to do as I ask. Tears begin to form in my eyes. I’ve never said thank you. I’ve never told my legs how much I appreciate all they’ve done for me, how grateful I am for the gift they give every day. I’ve never said thank you to any part of this body. I’ve never told her how beautiful she is. I’ve never given her compliments the way I sincerely do to others. I’ve never told her I love her.
I place my hand on thigh. I close my eyes. “Thank you,” I say as tears collect in my eyes. I touch the back of my neck. The steamy air rising from the hot bath water, tears streaming down my face now. “Thank you for supporting me. I curse you when you do not do your job and yet I’ve never once thanked you. I’ve used you and used you and expect you to continue on when I don’t give you proper care, proper rest, proper gratitude. I am sorry. You have been amazing. You’ve done the best you could and it has been more than enough, it has been wonderful. You give each day to the best of your ability and I am thankful.” I rise out of the tub and dry off. I walk into my bedroom and look in the mirror. I see myself in new light. This body not as ornamental, but as a faithful vehicle and friend, Not as decorative, but practical. Not for beauty, but as a vessel to make my way in this world. This body that enables all action, all experience, all motion, carrying me through this life. I do not look at skin as something to be firmed, I do not look at the small veins on my legs as something to hide, I do not see the souvenirs this body has acquired over time as anything more than they are - experiences incarnate. They are the physical traits of this body that has only been a loyal servant and friend my entire life. And like the hawk, I see the truth of myself - strong, confident, regal. And in seeing that, I only see beauty. I only feel appreciation. I only hold her in love.
I look up at the hawk on the wire. I do not only see the negative parts my mind wants to pick out. I do not only see a killer in relation to our flock. I see a beautiful creature living its full existence, our farm one facet of it. I see her strength as she looks down on me. I do not hold her in frustration or contempt. I see the beauty of her nuance. I feel appreciation for her full experience on this earth. I see the gifts her body gives her everyday. I hold her in love.
How can we remember that each difficulty is laced with blessing? How can we remember that pain cannot exist without the duality of ease and comfort? Let our eyes see the nuance in every aspect of life. Let our hearts feel the peace of knowing that by living a life, we get to experience each aspect of it.
Holding you in love,
Seja
Thank you so much for writing this. ❤️
Beautiful!