You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal
of your body love what it loves.
– Mary Oliver

She lived in this body for so many years that she hardly even noticed it anymore. She fed it, bathed it, dressed it, groomed it. Usually quite mechanically, barely even looking at it. It was just another responsibility in her life that needed daily attention but didn’t mean much to her.

She would often feel irritated with its needs beyond the bare minimum. When her body communicated pain or discomfort, she would tell herself not to exaggerate, not to be weak. When it needed rest, she would dismiss it as being lazy. When it was struggling with something, she would think of it as useless. At times the body felt like an obstacle.

One morning, she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror as she came out of a shower. And that morning something had shifted. Instead of her usual critical gaze pointing out the flaws, being disappointed or frustrated, she saw a memoir, a map of all she had gone through. All of a sudden, every wrinkle held the memory of times when she had felt angry, concerned, sad, and also happy.

The stories of every heartache and every joy were carved onto her skin. Every extra pound was how the body protected her mind when it was feeling anxious. Every stretch mark was the adjustment the body had made to let her carry and nurture her children. All the freckles now seemed like constellations of stars scattered across her skin long before she knew she existed, carrying a meaning she didn’t fully understand but that felt significant.

She took a closer look. She touched her skin. For the first time in years she allowed herself to feel not only the touch, but the texture beneath her palm. The coolness lingering after the shower and the warmth radiating from underneath. She looked at her feet, her knees, her thighs she had always thought were too heavy. She touched them, tensed the muscles and felt their strength. A quiet gratitude rose in her as she realized they had carried her all the way to this moment. It made her tear up. Memories surfaced, good and bad, some she treasured, others she would rather forget. She felt a tear travel down her cheek. She resisted wiping it away. Instead, she tasted it. Salt. Her body present with her thoughts. It felt gentle. It felt forgiving.

The gentle touch of her own hand brought back memories of hugs, of holding her babies, of tickles, laughter, tenderness. As she remembered, the sensations moved through her body. The body remembered with her. All of it felt familiar, imprinted in every cell. She realised that without the body, present in every moment, those precious experiences could be witnessed but never truly felt.

She looked in the mirror once more and saw herself as she never had before. The body was not an object. It was alive, with its own memory, its own likes and dislikes, her faithful companion.

She was starting to feel the cold, so she got dressed and went into the living room. She looked through the window. It was a lovely sunny day. A faint longing stirred in her, for the air, for the sun. She paused and listened to the quiet pull within. Then she stepped outside and let herself feel. Without judging, without analysing, without explaining.

She felt the cool freshness of the air fill her lungs, the comforting warmth of the sun resting on her skin. She let her legs take her for a walk. It felt right, legs doing what they do. Movement. Blood circulating a little faster. She hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

She kept walking, and when she reached a crossroads, she paused. One path led across flat ground by the pond. The other climbed a steep hill before passing the pond from the opposite side. She looked at the hill and felt instantly tired. The easier path seemed far more reasonable.

She stood there for another moment. What would the body want to do? she wondered.

She looked at the hill again and felt her muscles tense slightly, almost as if stirred by the challenge. Her mind insisted: too steep, too exhausting, too heavy. It was a voice not easily dismissed.

An internal dialogue began.

I see your point, it does look tiring. But let’s ask the body. Body, do you really want to do this?

An excited yes rose within her, unmistakable.

All right then. Up the hill it is.

And you, she added silently to her mind, please refrain from complaining while we do this.

She began to climb. Her legs burned, her breath shortened, but she kept going. When she reached the top, still out of breath, she drew in a deep inhale. A tingling joy spread through her as she looked at the landscape below. Panting, flushed, exhilarated. Like a dog after a run, breathless yet brimming with delight.

It felt good. Surprisingly, her mind stayed quiet. It couldn’t question the benefit of the joy.

She made her way back home, staying present, feeling the wind, the sun, the movement of the ground beneath her feet. She felt happiness in a way she had never known before, more palpable, more alive. Not as a concept, but as an experience.

She felt as if she had returned to the home of her body. She had been a visitor before, arriving only for brief moments, but now she felt she had fully moved in and might even begin to unpack her suitcases.

She was safe. It was as if her body were giving her soul a warm hug, holding it gently, grounding it in that quiet embrace.

Her mind searched for big statements, promises of never abandoning each other again. But her body held the quiet wisdom that only the present moment mattered.

Her breath moved steadily in her chest. Her soul met the embrace, and she stayed.