The Body/Healing/Mortality Tag

22 Nov

Posted at 17:04h in Sarah's Journal by

Always too busy, with self-imposed deadlines and unreasonable expectations of myself, today I have come to a standstill. My energy is low and concentration poor. I fitfully sleep then read. I am marooned on the sofa with the animals for comfort and company. Gigi uses my immobility as a chance to cuddle up and share warmth. I have slipped into a state of exhausted helplessness. A cold has delivered me briefly to ‘the kingdom of the sick’*. This is a temporary visit, but it’s a familiar place that I have spent long bouts of time in…I fall away from my engaged active life. My vision shrinks as though I am looking through a macro lens at my surroundings in close up. My eyes swim with the magenta of my shawl, my hands drink in the soft velvet of the cushions. A trip to the kettle seems an epic voyage. From moment to moment I track the aches and pains that circulate round my body – sore throat, swollen glands, headache, blocked nose, sneezing. I notice the heat ebb from my feet, squeeze knots of tension around my neck. I let myself off the hook, give myself to rest.
*from ‘Illness as Metaphor’ by Susan Sontag.

08 Nov

Posted at 22:06h in Sarah's Journal by

My second hand book arrived in the post. I love pre-thumbed pages, corners turned and if I’m lucky a margin note or dedication. To my delight an envelope fell out. “Open in case of zombie apocalypse” it reads, in green slime-like lettering. I have seen ‘Sean of the Dead’, so I know what a zombie apocalypse looks like. I take the Overground at 5pm where bodies cram close without communication. Pouring off the train at Highbury there is a collective movement towards the Victoria line. I see the signs – unsmiling faces (blank with dead eyes), that don’t connect, stiff limbs, movement that lacks verve, drab clothing in grey and black. I feel the intolerance as I reach out my arm in an individual action. It’s time to open the envelope…

08 Oct

Posted at 21:35h in Sarah's Journal by

After a delicious lunch – sushi dipped in salty with pickled and sweet – we walk to the beach. I am usually averse to cold, to wet, to mud. Today I slip off my trainers to walk skin on grass. My feet enjoy the experience. I take them to the shore where foam rolls towards them unpredictably. It feels good to stand in the shallows. Salt water laps up my calves. Salty liquids – great healers for so many ills. Later I lie and feel small pools of tears gather in my ears. No tragedy, just the trickling moisture of my humanity.

07 Oct

Posted at 21:08h in Sarah's Journal by

‘Nelson’ stands in the corner. His lower teeth push forward with an under bite. His jaw is anchored with two metal pins. We map painful places in our bodies in our workbooks. Tapping and massaging with fingertips, I find bands of tension around my skull. I open my mouth wide to allow more oxygen in. I feel the pattern of holding in the small connective muscles all around my jaw. These are the tendons, which pay for insincere smiles and nervous ‘like me’ grins. This is the spot that holds back my reluctant truths. This is the place where my nocturnal fear bites down. I breathe, stretch, massage and sound into these tight places of resistance. All around my skeleton I feel painful nodes, hungry for the attention of my persistent hands.

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