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On my knees
Oct. 22nd, 2003 09:05 pmThere's something that I haven't really discussed with anyone, something that I've experienced from time to time ever since the Nightmare February that I don't know what to do with: I've noticed that when my heart begins to ache, when I start to feel inconsolable, my body naturally wants to kneel.
It's not a mental process at all. I don't have this conscious thought that passes through my head, saying, "I feel like I need to be kneeling right now." It's entirely in the physical realm; it's like my knees need to be on the ground, my arms need to be at my sides, my eyes need to be closed. I don't know why. I have no idea if it's an act of submission, or of prayer, or of both, or neither. It just is what it is. And if I'm someplace when I can't reasonably bring myself to the ground, I ache, and I panic, and I drive myself further from consolation.
I had one such moment strike me today, the first in a while. I went to the library on my lunch hour, which I often do, and came back with a stack of books slung under my arm. On the top of the stack was a collection of modern poetry that I'd plucked from the new arrivals, and I started leafing through it at my desk out of boredom. And for some reason, one poem hit me hard:
( Rain )
I swallowed tears right there at my desk, not knowing if they were for the poem, or fear of the future, or what. I took a bathroom break, stretched by legs, said a few words to a friend, and felt fine. But as I walked back to my chair, the weight in my chest returned. My knees buckled. I could almost feel the carpet and padding through the denim of my jeans. I kept walking, didn't indulge, but I would have glad endured stares and worried talks with management to fall to the ground at that moment.
Even now, I don't know why.
It's not a mental process at all. I don't have this conscious thought that passes through my head, saying, "I feel like I need to be kneeling right now." It's entirely in the physical realm; it's like my knees need to be on the ground, my arms need to be at my sides, my eyes need to be closed. I don't know why. I have no idea if it's an act of submission, or of prayer, or of both, or neither. It just is what it is. And if I'm someplace when I can't reasonably bring myself to the ground, I ache, and I panic, and I drive myself further from consolation.
I had one such moment strike me today, the first in a while. I went to the library on my lunch hour, which I often do, and came back with a stack of books slung under my arm. On the top of the stack was a collection of modern poetry that I'd plucked from the new arrivals, and I started leafing through it at my desk out of boredom. And for some reason, one poem hit me hard:
( Rain )
I swallowed tears right there at my desk, not knowing if they were for the poem, or fear of the future, or what. I took a bathroom break, stretched by legs, said a few words to a friend, and felt fine. But as I walked back to my chair, the weight in my chest returned. My knees buckled. I could almost feel the carpet and padding through the denim of my jeans. I kept walking, didn't indulge, but I would have glad endured stares and worried talks with management to fall to the ground at that moment.
Even now, I don't know why.
