Body Memories

In an effort to connect with my body in positive ways, I've been thinking about body memories. That sounds like I'm about to tell you I remember my own birth. I don't. I'm talking about those memories that are felt in my body when I remember them. These are positive memories of feeling grounded and whole within my skin and bones.

Like that time I first saw the Milky Way in the sky. I was lying down on a bale of hay at a farm. Our church at the time had these yearly "Farm Days" when a family from the boondocks (as we called it) would invite the church members to come to their farm for good ol fashioned farm frivolity. There were food, games, hay rides, and then the most magical part of all: the night. This was my absolute favorite part of the day. Once the sun went down a large bonfire would rise up, but there was enough space to get away even from the light of the fire. And there, on a bale of hay, around the age of 12, I saw the Milky Way suspended in the sky before me. Nothing else mattered. I didn't speak to anyone. I didn't think about anything. In that moment I was a human being, small and cognitive, with hay itching and soothing my back all at once- and the sky was my blanket. I was hypnotized by the stars. They were twinkling, steady, glowing, glaring- daring me to think I was alone. I felt in my body a tether holding all of it- all of me- to all of that. I felt peace, awe, small and precious. I rested under the blanket for as long as I could. Nothing mattered but feeling that way. I can still feel that blanket of stars if I sit with that memory long enough.

I have a collective memory of sun-kissed skin. It's not one memory but a gathering of all the summer days and beach trips and boat rides. That moment before you go inside, when the sun is dipping down and you feel the coolness highlight your taut skin. I remember feeling the warmth of the day still on my arms and face. The air still in my hair. The salt in my teeth and under my nails. The sand surprisingly soft between my toes. Sun had baked me for the day and I felt bathed and ready for bed. I didn't feel dirty or gross. I felt sacred. I felt like I held the day's joys within my skin.

Another collective memory I have is of being under water. I used to submerge myself under the water and remain there as long as I could. Water was my second home. First a terrestrial, second a water nymph. I opened my eyes under the water, watching my hair flow free all around me. In my ears I felt the humming silence of muffled everything. The world was slower, quiet, fluid. I moved my arms against the water to stay under until at last I had to break the seal of solitude and bliss to join back with the air.

I remember what it felt like to be hugged by my maternal Grandmother, Memaush. She was a bigger woman, with cushiony limbs and chest- it was like being enveloped by a warm pillow with a beating heart. Often her hugs would send my hearing aids squealing, which would make me insecure in any other setting, but with Memaush there was no shame or worry. Squealing hearing aids were a byproduct of her squishing love. I felt safe.

I had a boyfriend who was a terrible kisser but an exquisite hugger. His hugs were strong and warm, holding my entire torso to my melting point. He didn't know this, but he could probably have solved every disagreement with one of those hugs.

I remember the feeling of my body relaxing during a yoga relaxation session. I was an adult, with new anxieties and sore shoulders and back due to the weight of a child distributed either within me or outside of me. As I felt my body loosen, fall, let go- I felt so much peace. I had forgotten what it felt like to be fully relaxed. My body slept while my mind enjoyed the feeling.

When I was a child, I often slept on my stomach. I loved the feeling of slight pressure against my stomach. Like I was snuggling with Mother Earth. I would lie on the ground, my arms embracing the earth and my body fully submitting to the forces of gravity. It made me feel connected. It literally grounded me. It was the terrestrial equivalent to my submerged experience in water. I realized recently that I no longer sleep on my stomach because my neck surgeries have made it uncomfortable for my head to stay turned while lying flat. That made me really sad. I still lie stomach down when I need to feel secure. Like I'm reconnecting and recharging. Even if for a few moments.

When I was little, I used to dance. I danced nearly every day. It's something that I miss about myself. I was not a dancer in the educated sense. I had a boom box and about 6 feet by 4 feet of open floor. It was enough. I would move with the music, alone and happy without an audience. It was an immersion experience. I could dance for hours. I remember feeling free and unpredictable.  I remember feeling light. I remember lots of twirling.

I feel wonderful after a long walk. I wonder if walking is my adult version of dancing. I'd like to try dancing again.