Bones

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I used to think that I could feel my bones.  I believed I was able to separate the muscle and tendons and cartilage and my skeletal frame was apart from the fleshy body that stood around it.  I would sit or lie or stand very still and imagine the slow and small movement of my bones beneath my skin.  I would dance or shake or sway within my own body without moving at all.  The skin and fat surrounding my bones didn’t matter, the density and strength of my bones was all that I cared about.  I believed that they were more important than what could be seen.  Pearly white, but porous when looked at up close.  Dense patterns of honeycomb and refracted light is how I imagined my bones to appear.  They were delicate but as hard and tough as iron.  Any aches or pain that I experienced I attributed to my muscle and skin clinging too tightly to my frame.  My bones longed to be free, to dance that funny dance we’ve all seen skeletons do against a black backdrop. 

I have separated myself from the comforts of home that still remain in the Midwest.  I have taken nothing but my frame, my base, and my foundation with my hope to dance freely and wildly without the constraints of comfort zones, secure jobs and familiar faces.  Without my skin, without the protection of muscle and tendon and vital organs, I feel more acutely the pangs of homesickness, insecurity, loneliness, cold winds and harsh financial strains.  Dancing without fleshy armor is thrilling and liberating, but dangerous as well.  I can more easily break.  I might trip and fall.  I will be looked at like a crazy person, my motives and goals foreign to most.  

However, I have the opportunity to choose how I am rebuilt.  I am free to lay on the muscle and tissue that I feel is right for me.  My second skin will always be waiting for me up north, like a familiar cloak I can put on the second my bony feet hit the ground.  It is warm, and it is secure, and  I am loved there.  And that is comforting.  But I am also comforted knowing that if I was able to build a body before, I can do it again - and hopefully this time a little better...