Body Recovery Notes #2 All Up In Arms
Body Recovery Notes # 2 : Arms
All Up in My Arms, a Body Story
What’s the story of your arms?
Did they get drunk last night?
Fall into your ribs?
Crush your heart?
Did they reach your navel?
Hum the song of the finger play along the ridges of belly?
Did your arms accompany you anywhere?
Heaven and Earth… we are joined by our arms on more occasions than not.
My arms got drunk last night and took to hugging me.
We were alone and one thing led to another…
Arms akimbo and we set off.
If your arms don’t reach out, they stay with you.
You become a project.
Fingers, elbows, underarms….sinewy tendons that choose to stay home.
I suggest sobriety and extending through the fingers to find others gently.
Pulling is a gracious extension and contraction.
The navel is your fountain, your dormant volcano, your springboard under the pull.
I hope you win.
Winning looks like bringing someone else closer.
Okay?
Sometimes we can’t put our hands on something.
And sometimes we can.
Did you get to put your hand in someone else’s hand today?
The arms are about choice.
Like, all the time.
Where I grew up, we said ‘like’ before everything.
Everything was metaphorical in a casual causal sort of way.
It was a fantastic childhood in that way—everything was similar to something else.
Then, at 16, I left home and nothing was ever the same.
Can you imagine, all references stood alone. Meanings became singular.
And my arms stayed by my side.
I didn’t realize I was scared until at 18 I moved to safety.
I tucked into a pastoral place in Vermont’s Green Mountains.
I could sense the sweep of my wingspan there.
My arms became birds that spoke in my voice.
I was ready to experiment with touching what I felt-and I felt like dancing.
Dancing was like a ship in the night that disrupted island life and carried me away.
I must of made 100 dances with my arms in that green year in the mountains.
I loved my arms.
I still do.
Having arms is like….being given a key to the light in everyone.
Myself
You
Us
