The Sensuality of Solitude

This morning I dare to affirm my sensual reality. Being a woman over sixty,  who lives alone with two dogs and a cat in a woodsy domain, I tend to shy away from the thought of my body as a sensitive instrument still capable of intense response. Yet I live in this body, and regardless of my avoidance, it continues to be alive to itself. It has an intelligence of its own, and asserts its needs as my mind does its best to distract me from physical sensation.

I have lived for a great many years, and for most  of  those years I aligned my mind with my body. Had I any choice? To dance was to celebrate physical consciousness. My mind agreed that this was my reason for being, and yielded itself to the wisdom of the body, merged itself with the ecstacy of emotional release. I gave myself wholeheartedly to this dance,  whether I was actually dancing or engaging in the love dance of relationships. This was my way of life: not holding back. Certainly, I suffered at times, but I was alive.

I think that I have been a casualty of the aging process. For whatever reason, I have learned to separate mind from body for much of the time. I tell myself it is easier to get through the days without being too aware of the body’s yearnings. I rarely think of the possibility that my skin wants touching, that my nerves reach blindly for some kind of contact. It is true that  my hands involuntarily collide with the soft warm bodies of my pets a thousand times a day. A stroke or touch is a vital reminder that I exist. Sometimes I have to bury my face in the furry warmth of my sleeping dog before I can go on with whatever foolish occupation my mind has set before me. Some part of me knows that I continue to be a sensual being.

Today I remind myself of that. As I move through the rest of the day, I shall notice the sweet, strong presence of my physical self, seek to celebrate its smallest longing and response. May it be the teacher, lover, companion of my older years, and may we mutually rejoice once more in the language of the senses.

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2 Responses to “The Sensuality of Solitude”

  1. Kendall Says:

    Oh Leif, so brave, so bold, so true. Not a casualty if you see and can speak it. Not a casualty at all.

  2. leiflife Says:

    Thank you, dear friend. Yes… I saw it. I spoke it. Truly, the substance of this blog was like a visitation. It came up and touched me through and through. A complete surprise. At first I was afraid to try to express it through words. It seemed too personal and mysterious. But I am very glad I did.

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