We all walk around in these so very fragile bodies. It's a miracle we last as long as we do. I'm at the beach this week and I spent the morning watching people. We show our story in our bodies. I am struck by how uncomfortable most folks appear to be. They mostly don't really inhabit their bodies, they drag them around. Only the little ones are fully present in their bodies, unconcerned about what they look like or things that hurt. But I like most the little old ladies, nut brown and wrinkled, wearing huge floppy hats. My favorites also wear bikinis, not giving a damn what anyone else thinks they should be wearing. Some of them inhabit their bodies again, moving like the little girls they once were, unconcerned about what the world has heaped on them.
I saw an older couple today sitting on the edge of the surf, legs stretched out in front of them. They were a bit rolly-poly and I watched them hold hands and lower themselves to the sand. I could tell they'd known each other a long long time. Lovely.
How we stand and move in our skin tells so much about our story. What we are afraid of, where we hurt, what we try to hide. Fragile. We are just so incredibly fragile and we walk around like we don't know it. I want to go up to everyone, one at a time, take their face in my palms and tell them they are beautiful. Just go from person to person, in case they have forgotten, which most of us have. We are beautiful and fragile and perfect. We should be dancing.
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