My Body Is a Temple

headstandThese days headstand comes easy. It used to not. It took me many years to figure it out.

Still-I hesitate to post this picture. The flaws-cellulite, a patch of psoriasis on my butt cheek, and dirty feet.

But I am most proud of my underwear-Corporeal-I had to fly across the country to claim them. Take my place in a group of badass writers and put words down on the page.

Claim my self. Just like headstand-Hard work, patience, and lots of falling on my ass.

A Poem by Me.

My body is a temple.

I don’t know if I believe that.

When I was 15, a boy said these words to me. This was during a time when I believed my body was for consumption.

Consumption meant I was worthy.

My body is a temple but only worthy if worth posessing. Fawn for me. Fight for me.

My body is a temple.

A building, a dwelling place, an object. House of god. House of worship. God worship.

Hey body, My body. Body temple. You are. God figure. Body you. Temple God, My body.

Fraction of light. Fissure. Fist-pump. Fat cell. Fallen arch.

Body temple, body, temple my body.

My body is a buliding, a dwelling place.

Dwell with me body.

Is the dweller and the places she calls holy separate?

My body is a temple.

Body Stories

belly art

 

(Amazing Painting by Deborah Randall. Her work can be found on deborahrandall.com)

On our yoga mat, personal stories emerge again and again. Stories that we have stored away in our deepest places in our bodies and psyches. According to the nature of yoga, we carry many of our stories in our bodies unread until we have grown the capacity and readiness to read them. When that happens, a physical and emotional release takes place often with newly found openings in our bodies accompanied by a river of tears.

In my own life, the story of myself as a creative being became a reoccuring theme. Thinking of myself as a maker of art had seemingly lied dormant in me since childhood. But not really. Many times as an adult I would hear my inner voice say that she would like to make art. But I had pushed this call for art aside as “frivolous”, “self-absorbed” and just plain “ridiculous.”

Fortunately as I continuously practiced my yoga and fully relaxed in shavasana day in and day out, I would literaaly see images that begged to be painted. I kept creating these mind paintings over and over again and I would feel in my body as if I was creating the art. I would feel an artistic longing over and over and eventually I came to know that I was a creative being whom need to express this visually. The more I “paused” and “listened”, the clearer my own story became.

As we practice, the more we listen and the clearer our stories become. Our true identity, who we are, why we are here, is what emerges in our story.

Our stories are not our outer achievements or what we have acquired or built over a life time. Our story is who we are and not what we have done. It is what we have faced, what we have drawn upon, what we have risked, thought, feared and discovered in the events of our lives. Our true stories are about sex and power, loss and betrayal, courage, faith, lonliness,disappointment, joy, loving and being loved.

Our stories tell our uniqueness.

So Ham, So Ham, “I am that I am.”

Our stories connect us and weave us all together.

Tat Vam Asi,-“I am that”

Jai,