12:24 p.m. - Saturday, Jul. 30, 2011
The Red Room
I was zoned out. Hinging over my left leg . . .moving into triangle pose. I happened to see my shin, my calf, my foot . . .I mean, really see. They suddenly looked normal. Strong, even. Most of the time my body feels so distorted and grotesque that I avoid glancing even at shiny surfaces for fear of seeing my own reflection. So moments of clarity feel so sweet. Feel like relief.
And I realized. This is the circle. I don't feel like I can honor myself, respect myself, love myself - until I can change the way I fundamentally exist. But I cannot change the way I fundamentally exist until I can honor myself, respect myself, love myself. One needs the other. So what can I do?
This is only flesh and bone. Can I take care of it, the way I would take care of an animal? The way I took care of Howie? Be gentle with his old, weak body. Supporting his heavy weight in order that he may go to the bathroom outside instead of sitting in a puddle of his own urine. Timing his medications, holding the bowl of soft food up to his mouth. Pouring the water into his throat. Hiding the pills he hated, in order to alleviate his pain. Washing his fur, rotating him from one side to the other. Sitting by him, making sure he had his favorite toy. Keeping the cat away. And ultimately, facilitating his death in order to end his suffering.
Why is it Ok for us to decide when they should die? Why is it compassionate to help an animal die when they are suffering? Why are we not afforded the same right?
Can I take care of my own body the way I took care of his . . .before deciding that it needs to die?
Can I nurture instead of scratch? Honor instead of punish? Love instead of hate?
How can I suddenly do that now, after 28 years of the opposite? I mean, how do you even start?
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