An Ode to My Body

Hermitage Cat, St. Petersburg, Russia

While watching videos of the lectures by Tara Brach, I came across one lecture titled “The Divine Abodes”. Although dyslexia does not seem to be among my afflictions, I often misread things in creative ways, and every time I looked at this title, I read it as “The Divine Antibodies”.

Then late yesterday I was given a meditation task: “Write – and publish – an ode to your physical body. Be frilly and flowery. Lay it on thick.”

The Divine Antibodies

I am yet to make peace with you.

Every time I look in the mirror, I question how this creature could possibly be me.

I remember the times, eons ago, when you were different, – lean, fit, strong, and male. In those times, I liked taking risks and often put you in danger, but it was a thrill to live in that body. Now you are not as exciting, but I have lost my taste for death.

But now you seem to be as confused as I am. You cannot tell what is yours and what isn’t. You attack what you think does not belong to you, and I am caught in your friendly fire.

I do not understand the purpose of this confusion.

You spite me with those antibodies and rob me of energy. I resent it, but sometimes it prevents me from wasting my energy on things that do not deserve it.

I often create stress, and you get back at me by flooding us both with adrenalin.

Sometimes I eat the wrong things, I don’t let you sleep enough, and I deny you the joy of a better lymphatic flow. You have a million sneaky ways of reminding me that I cannot win against you.

You have a mind of your own. I do not always appreciate the competition.

You are supposed to be a vehicle of my soul. Sometimes I think that you know more about it than I do.

Why are you eating while I’m not looking?

I used to strongly dislike you. But it gets better with age.

Early on your size and shape saved me the trouble of trying to become a dancer. It was not a bad choice.

But you still have ballet exercises hard-wired in you. I am always puzzled about where you got it from.

You showed me what it means to have a natural talent, after I spent quarter of a century doing things for which I have no gifts. Talent is a 50% off coupon: you still need to work, but I have a huge advantage. I can trust you to figure things out.

I do not want you to grow any new things, unless you really, really need them.

I think I am your master. I am probably wrong.

I am learning to appreciate you.

I was taught that it is not good to like things that are not perfect, and you are certainly flawed. But you can still do beautiful things.

Once I dreamed that I died, but needed to come back and work. I made myself a new body out of otherworldly trash. That homemade vehicle was okay for the office, but it was not nearly as good as you, even though no one but me noticed the difference.

You are just what I need.

But please curb those divine antibodies.


Update 5.16.13: "Very well. And now keep writing and rewriting this ode regularly until it ends with an unambivalent 'I adore you!'"