By Callie Ryan
Letters to my Joints:
Joints – the locks and facets of my body, holding up this tender weight and allowing for mobility.
You are sacred and sore today, and I somehow want to find a space in my heart to hold you with deep gratitude as well as leaving space to move through the sadness I feel when you ache.
Today, I will care for you like I might care for a child. I will hold you in my hands and let my partner celebrate both of us.
You, my unique and tender facets, working hard to release red clumps of stagnation in order to elevate and tonify puddles of cool water and release in the spaces between my bones.
I believe in you today and every day. We are on this journey together – we are obtaining peaceful mornings alongside one another and we are caring for this form and its milky parts together and we are strong, soft, resilient and capable – ready to give and to receive. I love you my little tender systems, amen.
Letters to my Body:
Caring for you is hard work.
In the morning I wake up and I cradle you into the day – I shift you softly onto my yoga mat and I ask you what would feel good today. Sometimes my mind wants to fight you on your answer – it wants to push so hard until you just give in and push yourself so hard that you end up aching.
I used to go to the gym everyday. I was so scared that if I didn’t you would scream at me – showing me with your symptoms – your bloated belly, your anxious thoughts, your tightening neck, your aching back, your electric spine – that you disagreed with my choice to rest at home.
I thought that you would say hateful things to me if I didn’t have the right thing for breakfast – if i shifted my routine just slightly i though you would rebel and would yell and toss and turn and struggle and not feel beautiful or sexy or calm or capable.
One day, when the years of this cyclical pattern of unrest and assumption had finally turned into undeniable bloat and dis-ease – I started to ask you questions instead of deciding the outcome of your response without your consent.
I would wake up into our pain and say:
Dear beautiful structure and being – what do we need today to ease into the day with peace and care
…sometimes you speak to me so loud and clear and other days I can hardly quiet down my fear voice long enough to hear your subtle/supple wishes and desires.
My dear body, I promise to keep trying hard to be soft – to love and hear your truest intentions and the sacred ways you stretch out and lengthen to your loved ones. I promise to look at the barriers that keep your honest needs from floating into my ear drums and into my heart, we are capable of peace we are capable of solace we are capable of grief we are capable of healing we are capable of abundant fluid we are capable of care we are capable of slowness we are capable of symbiotic inseparable communication and ease. Amen I love you.
Currently living on Tongva, Hahamogna, and Kizh land