Her Buddha Body

I was just walking down the sidewalk with my eyes closed. Opening moment, blink, squint up and into the sun drenched, bleeding red leaves. Lost my footing - ok, find my feet. A voluptuous woman approaches, looks down, lights up, lifts her gaze to me, but she is not looking at me yet. I catch her in that cave, the interior one that had me sailing inside moments ago, on the breeze of the cool morning wind. Just enough warmth, just enough light, just enough freedom in the mix, and we pass by each other. Dark-skinned beauty, and I want to say something to her, you know, something small in passing. But I don't. I already said something to her in passing a few days ago: Wow, you look....you look...radiant. She looked up, quick chortle, disbelief, surprise. Gone.

India Arie sings: I want to go to a place where I am nothing and everything, that exits between everywhere and nowhere. I want to go to a place where time has no consequence at all yeah. The sky opens to my prayers...

Now I am sitting in the cafe, back up against a cold concrete wall, but I cannot resist the temptation to rest my head back and close my eyes...again. She's still singing: If he were a building, he'd be a beautiful cathedral, cuz he's so traditionally spiritual. Now I am taken back to the moment of waking this morning. Just up from the dream, fresh sensation of breaking through the surface of the water, and I roll over to find dry land. The sun on my cheek - but it's really my husband's chest- actually, that curved nook between shoulder, canyon to the arm. If I think about it too much, I am flying over canyons, the Colorado River, but it's time to get up. Suddenly, the waters and the rivers, I feel them release and say to the day, "There it is." Before I can get to the other side of the bed, flowing red waters wander. Gushing. Three ovulation tests and three pregnancy tests later, I'm six days late. Kind of excruciating, that waiting. I thought perhaps it was time to push the boat onto the sand and find my place in the grove. But just as I veer toward land, I am called back to the river.

Last night I crawled into bed and wanted to ask Steve if he ever longed to make love for healing. Instead, I found my way into his embrace. It's been many months - I can't even remember the last time I sought comfort from him in this way. And I savor the insight - without having to sit myself down for a talk, without having to fuel the intention to connect, a beautifully clear impulse moves my body in his direction. And who is it in him that lifts his arm to welcome? We found eachother outside of our roles and the weight of marriage. I think of Mary Oliver's words:

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

I was still thinking about longing and lovemaking this morning, but asked instead, "Will you change River's diaper when she gets up? I have to jump in the shower or we'll be late."

Under the streaming waves, I lean against the wall to pause, something tender waiting. I can feel it. I circle it, wondering how it is that we ever distinguish between the subtleties of pain and gratitude and longing and worry? Around all this, I walk slowly, spacious desire to hold something new. But I continue soaping as the little babbling one enters. Through the shower door, blurry rabbit gathers her toys, already mid-stream in her morning journey. Mama...mama...mama she says to her blocks.

I open the door with delight, "Hiiiii, my river-girl! Good morning, sweetie." Dripping wet, I open my arms and she runs into me, with a squeel of pleasure, dangling toys caught in our embrace. "Mamaaaa!"

Sweet, sweet, wonder - I leave my post around the other waiting revelation for this one, close at hand, ever-present.