It is impossible to imagine anything apart from the body since it’s only through the body that we experience the world. It might not tell us the facts, but the body is the only thing we know. (A list, of sorts.)
1. When your body is cremated, the bones that remain after are pulverized (there is a word for the machine). But I think about how for as long as it takes for a body to fully rot, and the bones to disintegrate on their own, and that this might be the only physical thing we leave behind. I want to carry the a phalanx bone of the index finger with me, if only for proof that it was there.
2. Each time I bend down my joints creak. Can’t help it, it’s always happened, air caught between hinges wheezing out, I Ache, I Ache. The problem with this body is that it exists, and functions poorly. And sometimes the rhythm of my bones and my blood and my lungs and the biosphere of my body combine nerves shrieking now, repeating, I Ache, I Ache.
3. It’s easy to say that the body betrays you but more frequently the body has nothing to do with it. The body does what it must.
4. And it might be sacred because of what it is and what it does and what it manages but I keep asking my body why, why, why it can’t just be better and do more. Constantly dissatisfied, unimpressed, by the fact that I am. I am. I am. There are more ways for a body to be than this one. I can’t let it go at the same time I want to waste away or fast to the point where I exist apart from the physical. There is no point in transcending: I want to get away from flesh as much as I want to keep it.