There is a story in every line and every curve of this body. It is the body of a man who snores so loudly because he sleeps so deeply because he works so hard every single day. The muscles of these calves are tight with daily hours standing on cement floors. The chords across these shoulders constantly hum with the tension of worrisome thoughts. And anything that catches the attention of this man, documentary or show or audiobook or overheard conversation, catches him as raptly as any animal hearing an interesting sound.
There is only one place this body emerges with freedom and lightness of being. One place where the lies fall away, and this body tells only the truth of what it’s made with and not also how it’s coping.
This body has been a soldier and stood at attention. This body has been a church member and stood reverently. This body has been in the company of friends and reclined into the cushions. This body has been a lover and—well, you know. But every moment it passes through, it has passed through to get to the next moment with a rigidity meant to make the energy last. The lines of this body tell the story of this. But there is a moment where this body pauses for the sake of living in the moment, where energy is not conserved but created. It is a moment where the body lives in peace simply for the sake of existing.
This is my husband, listening to the siren voices of a group of incredibly successful bicycle frame builders. There is no other time I have ever observed him looking so comfortable and in his element.
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