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.