When I wake up in the morning, I greet my body first thing.
Recently, it has been saying, “Please rise slowly.”
I usually don’t listen.
“I’ve been slow long enough,” I proclaim.
My body, having reached its limits, got sick for three weeks. I spent the first 10 days mad at it, resisting submission.
“Surely, I’ve paid my dues now,” I arrogantly professed and demanded it work overtime to make up for lost time.
Next, I burnt my hand and broke my laptop.
“It’ll be worth it, this slowing down, I promise,” my body crooned.
“Fine, I’ll give you a couple hours to rest but after that, it’s right back to it!” Ignoring more messages and sensations, my nerve got pinched once again.
“You can’t hear me when you’re moving so fast, there’s more I want to tell you.”
“I’m at my wit’s end here, this debilitation is unprecedented!”
“You still don’t get it, do you? This molting is needed, there’s no getting around it, there’s only going through it.”
So I took a slow breath for the first time in a while. I sat wide with curiosity and wonder, realizing how I had been quite out of order.
“I guess I have been thinking quite unilaterally here.”
“Ya think?!”
We laughed together in a way bigger than the two of us and in an instant, an instinct rose from the depths when we said in unison,
“Just be more aware, you have impact on me!”