Where, the yogi asked, do you hold trust in your body?
What a question!
Mistrust is easy; in my throat and my gut.
But trust in the body?
Heck! Trust anywhere–in a thought or a person–
is, under most conditions, suspect.
Let’s try something easier.
Again mistrust is clear.
I don’t trust you to be there when I need you,
not because you don’t want to,
but because I don’t trust me to know what need is.
I don’t trust my ability to wind up where I set out for.
I don’t trust the world to let me in.
But if I leave my door open, I trust only good will come.
Ain’t that a kicker?
I do trust that in any stranger I’ll find a piece of myself.
I trust the seasons’ succession, the sun and moon.
But hey! you never know; there are always surprises.
I trust that if you speak from the heart, I will care.
I trust that joy when it comes will flood my body.
That’s a beginning.
Let’s get back to the question.
I don’t trust what I hear or see or speak,
what I taste or smell or feel–emotionally, I mean–
though what I touch seems real.
When I open my arms, I trust a partner will join for at least one dance.
So that’s it: I trust in the way I move, in that I move,
in the very bodiness of my body.
I never lack trust when, arms swinging, I walk the woods
nor when you turn and take my hand.
[© 2o14 Carolyn White]