Waiting

I sit here waiting for my friend to come.
Waiting for the money to come.
Waiting for my moon cycle to start.
Waiting for the stars to align.
Waiting for the pain in my hip to clear.

We spend a lot of time waiting, wishing, looking toward moments that are not real, reaching for feelings that do not yet exist, in the hopes that something better than our present moment may at some point exist.

Why do we insist upon waiting? Why do we avoid what is right in front of us? The answers always differ, but I can say at this present moment, I’m avoiding the pain.

The pain of losing someone. The pain of losing myself. The pain in my hip, excruciatingly familiar and traumatic, reminding me of so many injuries past. And yet, it’s such a new sensation too. I feel these pains and I recognize that they are one in the same. Because what happens emotionally manifests physically. Because what happens physically is more than just physical.

I sit with my pain, back and forth between presence and wanting to escape it. Waiting. And in these pockets of moments of clarity, it’s not so bad. It’s teaching me. Teaching me to listen to my body’s wisdom, even if it is offered with bitterness. My old body left with that old person.

This body is new because I am new. And so the pain in my heart has moved through my nervous system, down the Great Wanderer, and into my iliopsoas, where it lingers deeply. It manifests so much from my past as a dancer, my present as a empath, my capacity to receive where it matters most. The depth of this pain, this physical injury, is complex. It winds into my groin and around the back of my thigh, reaching down my leg and into my heel. I know its presence in those moments when I take a step and a sharp sensation runs up and through my hip, leaving me reeling, barely able to walk.

I saw an older man with a cane yesterday, and I cried. I cried so deeply, for I saw time flash before my eyes. The relativity of it all. How in an instant my body has gone from indestructible to fallible. I cannot do everything. There is a limit. I am aging. And I am paying for the past. They say the body keeps the score. I know that to be true.

I also know that what I’m feeling is so much more complex and karmically tied to my emotions, my energy, my ancestors than just a mere injury. I believe that’s why it is so deep and hurts so deep. Because I’m hurting through layers. I’m healing through layers. As I do the exercises, massage with moxa, and use my tens unit, I start to move the pain, the sensations, the inflammation, the qi. It regulates my nervous system even just a little bit, and sends my brain the signal that I am safe, I am okay.

I don’t have to wait. I can sit right here, right now. And that is enough. Without this pain I wouldn’t know my limits. Without this pain I wouldn’t truly appreciate how good I can feel in my body. Without this pain, I wouldn’t remember all the good memories, all the love. Without this pain, I wouldn’t be called to keep searching for answers through my body, my mind, my heart.

So I do not wait for the external to feed me. I do not wait for what’s next.

I make peace with my outer world so that I may explore my inner world, waiting for my soul to speak.

Aho.