At the edge of it
Sometimes my ribs hurt - like my own edge wanting to expand outside of myself, a warning sign that somewhere, somehow, I might be tempering myself. Then I consider a different possibility, one where part of my clothing is digging into me, and that maybe I am just uncomfortable. It seems to me that the point of this work is not to live in a swirling world of potential signs but to be able to consider the reality that sometimes things are exactly as they appear. Yet, the sensation of one edge hitting another edge does feel significant. I experience it as a question, a curiosity for me to explore. Where am I tempering myself, where could I expand more, breathe more deeply and fill up more fully? Where have I mistaken a defensive pattern for a boundary or an edge?
I have begun to suspect that many people experience the world as a collection of blurry edges. Lines which people want to cross, hack and short cut their way through or just circumvent and ignore the keep out signs. I feel it in the movements of the people who long to be touched, of those who lean in too close and make you feel the full weight of their body and in those who never get close enough, who you never get to pin down or fully see. What a pleasure it is to stand next to those who truly know their edges, those who hug you just the right amount and meet you eye to eye. These people seem far and few between and I hope that on my best days I am part of their ranks too.
In the meantime, I find myself wondering and wandering about and around boundary lines. I walk up to places where I can and cannot cross and listen to what my body has to say. I notice it’s urges and annoyances where crossing over becomes difficult, and I notice the places in my life where more resilience and better boundaries are needed. I take note of all the things I do not say or do not do because of my own defensive patterns and where I have been keeping things at bay for so long that what started as a a sensible boundary long became a habitual protection against possible expansion and wonder.
I breathe in and I feel my ribs, my internal boundary and edge against the inside of my chest and skin that holds me all together and I sense a wholeness, and an impermeability. I no longer need to temper myself, or my expansion, I am my own whole self. My edges are safe and yours are safe with me too. I will not leak into you nor allow you to lose yourself in me. Our bodies do not merge together, they stand edge to edge with our wholeness intact.