The funny thing is that after all this questing, and reaching out for more, I am right where I started, only parsed down to less. The reaching for more has led to less. Less in the most positive sense. Like the soon to be bride who steps on the scales and exclaims in delight, “it just fell off”. Because like her I was never trying to lose weight, in fact I had never known that was the goal. Maybe I’d read it somewhere but what does it ever really mean to read about something until you have lived it in the flesh.
And the funny thing is, is that flesh is at the root of it all. All this reaching out for more, crying out to God, and all along it was embedded in the curve of my belly and the touch of my vulva. For so long, I sought out – out of this world, this body, this life. I wanted home and home was a far off land where angelic voices chorused and heightened states of bliss fuelled me in transcendent euphoria. I have always known what it is like to feel God, I am far less versed in what it is to feel me.
Yet, feeling me is the fastest road in, that’s what the throb in my big toe tells me, the ache in my chest demands, what the tingle in my right nipple feels. And the more I allow myself to embrace the sensation of me, the more I find life opening to me in just the ways I’ve been longing for. When I grab, you, by definition, must always be the grain of sand slipping though my fingers. When I surrender you become the beach.
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