Was folgt war ursprünglich nur als Yoga-Zwischenbericht gedacht. Drum ist’s auf Englisch und wird es auch bleiben. Der Text schien mir dann aber wichtig genug, um auch hier auf der Hauptseite einen Platz zu finden. Wer schon auf dem alten Blog mit gelesen hat, erinnert sich vielleicht noch an die Einträge von vor etwa 1 1/2 Jahren zu meinem Körperbild; meinem Körperhass. (Z.B. hier). Ich darf – freudestrahlend – verkünden, dass es nun vorbei ist.
I looked at myself in the mirror, naked, and for the very first time in my life I felt delight at every thing I saw. It’s not just that my body has changed. Without a changed mind inside this castle of sand that my body is I would never have come this way. It is an inner attitude I see, it’s the rewards of yearlong labour my eyes are reaping in front of the mirror. I have fought with teeth and claws to undo the harm; I walked miles inside of me to conquer myself; I built bridges and tore down walls to reunite myself with this body. I looked into the mirror and I finally saw me – I saw my body and I knew it.
I know its joys, its pains, I know all the cells – there’s nothing I can’t feel or reach. I’ve listened to the muscles, to the joints, the organs, the skin, the hair and nails, my tendons and ligaments, my blood and bones. I fought myself to know my story.
I had myself against me, a fierce and cunning enemy – always at my track, luring me back gently or whipping me for trying to escape. I fought hypocrisy, I tracked down shame, I lifted despair off my shoulders; I negotiated with fear, panic, and destruction; I slashed hate out of my flesh, I slowly blew unworthiness apart. I did it for the love of me, so my body and mind wouldn’t be used and prostituted, so I wouldn’t sell myself off for bits and scraps of so-called beauty, appreciation, style, or any other pretext for power-deprivation.
I am myself again. I am myself, knowing I am. I am conscious, aware. I can choose where to move in my body, how to move, how to listen. There is a vibrant strength in the act of listening. I won’t fidget, I won’t run, I won’t falter, because I know where I stand. I can not be forced to feel bad for not corresponding to a plastic image. I will not be forced to feel shame for the deep love I have for me. My body is no slave any longer. My body is not my mind’s punching bag, or vice-versa. My mind does not hurt my body believing that they’re separate. I am one, and whole, and healed. It’s a rebirth to consciousness and true power; it’s the farthest I’ve ever come. I have never done something so perfect, so beautiful and complete, all alone. I’ve walked these 16 years on my own two feet.
I have birthed myself.
I am born again a human being, a woman who still wakes up at night trembling with fear. She gets confused and shaky, she feels warmth and anger, she feels despair, she feels horny, she feels motherly, she feels giggly and dangerous, she feels revengeful or creative, she is haughty, she is in pain. But she has been touched by grace. She has given herself the gift of stepping out of the box into being. She has given herself life and power. She has patiently untangled her self and weaved her being into the fabric of life. She has secured herself to the womb; she has tied millions of knots to lead herself home, into the arms of reality.
She walks in grace, because her every step is done for the love of life. She walks in grace. She is and is not me, and it is her I see all around.