Sunday, August 16, 2009

These fingers

My father died from pain in the gut, that’s what I wake up thinking. I mean that’s what I’m thinking after I wake up with all this pain again, at least it’s not in the middle of the night -- I’ve slept through the night so maybe today will be better, except for this pain.

My father’s cancer started in the gut, or no they never knew where it started but what started was pain in the gut, and all these tests, I can’t remember what they decided at first, and second, and third, before they decided it was cancer, terminal cancer, which means they didn’t test for that earlier on.

I’m not worried about cancer, I mean of course I’m worried about cancer but I’m not worried that I have cancer, except when I wake up thinking that’s where my father’s pain started, in the gut, but this feels more digestive, or it might be because through feldenkrais I’m learning how to let go of my pelvis, let my pelvis hang like a dress, pretend I have a tail and if I always hold my pelvis in then the tail stays locked between my legs.

I’ve finally figured it out, I mean how to let my pelvis go, but then I look in the mirror and I’m not sure that I like the way this makes my stomach hang too, those old body issues, but then there’s the issue of this pain, the feldenkrais practitioner says it’s from holding my pelvis in but what she really means is that it’s from letting go, and then pulling it back in from habit, since I’ve always held it in and before I didn’t have all this pain. I mean I’ve always had various digestive problems, but different ones. I guess if I keep letting go, then I can let go of this pain too, like now, after I’ve taken the amino acids so I know it’s not the amino acids that are causing this pain, but also there’s this way of paying attention to things like the feeling at the tips of my fingers, soft and cool, or my toes underneath socks, the wind blowing at my back on the fire escape.

Now I can’t talk on the phone on the fire escape because someone complained to the manager, four or five floors down I guess they don’t like the sound of my voice and I’m disappointed because I like talking on the phone at this time of the day, this time of the day in the sun but maybe now I can pay more attention to all the different colors of the brick wall next door, or the light shining on metal underneath the white paint or soot on top and somehow it looks like glitter, or just these fingers yes these fingers.

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