Even though I complain about having a physical form a lot, sometimes I really do enjoy having a body.
I enjoy having one on dusty summer days, walking in shorts and a tank top in the sticky heat. Muscles pulling under my skin, happy for some use and some grounding. Sweat streaming from every pore, cleaning the gunk out of my energy stream, allowing it to flow unhindered through all my chakra pools. Connecting me to the part of myself that came from the earth.
In a lifestyle where most of my time is spent sitting at a desk, I adore these times when I get to connect again with my body.
I used to be active in sports when I was younger, and I am realizing just how much I miss it. I miss the physical challenge and how it fosters collaboration between a person’s body and spirit. Maybe I’ll take up a sport again.
There’s something sacred about the wind, but I can never put my finger on it. Only that, when it blows against me, filled with all the smells of where it has been, caressing me and getting into my hair and clothes, I feel more connected somehow. As if it’s blowing away the layers of flesh that separates me from other manifestations of spirit.
And in that moment, I want to strip off the rest of what keeps me back and become one with it, scattered over the earth. Fully integrated into the realm where nothing matters because everything matters. Where all is spirit and all is one.
But then I must still go home and do my homework for tomorrow’s class. Not only encased in flesh, but encased within a minuscule niche inside a purely human context. Oh the juxtaposition. I know it’s good, and everything has its time. But some days I can hardly stand it.