On my knees
Oct. 22nd, 2003 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3There'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, by Naomi Shihab Nye
A teacher asked Paul
what he would remember
from third grade, and he sat
a long time before writing
"this year somebody tutched me
on the sholder"
and turned his paper in.
Later she showed it to me
as an example of her wasted life.
The words he wrote were large
as houses in a landscape.
He wanted to go inside them
and live, he could fill in
the windows of "o" and "d"
and be safe while outside
birds building nests in drainpipes
knew nothing of the coming 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, by Naomi Shihab Nye
A teacher asked Paul
what he would remember
from third grade, and he sat
a long time before writing
"this year somebody tutched me
on the sholder"
and turned his paper in.
Later she showed it to me
as an example of her wasted life.
The words he wrote were large
as houses in a landscape.
He wanted to go inside them
and live, he could fill in
the windows of "o" and "d"
and be safe while outside
birds building nests in drainpipes
knew nothing of the coming 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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-22 06:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-22 06:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-22 07:15 pm (UTC)That's all I have. I wish I could give you more.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-24 10:55 am (UTC)just kneel
Date: 2003-10-22 08:59 pm (UTC)Re: just kneel
Date: 2003-10-24 10:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-22 10:59 pm (UTC)Hug
Hug...
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-24 10:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-23 04:54 am (UTC)i remember, at my worst time, i would sit in a chair in front of my therapist and stare at the carpet-- wishing i could just get down there, on my knees, and... what? Pray? Cry? Beg forgiveness? Wishing it would not seem drastic and crazy to do that there in the office. Not wanting to cause alarm, i held onto the arms of my chair and stared at the floor, dreaming of how it would feel to just let go.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-24 11:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-23 06:52 am (UTC)It's all neurochemicals, I swear. I'm getting clinical in my old age.
Take care. Virtual hugs.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-24 11:02 am (UTC)