I am not in this chair.

My body is limited. And the losses go faster than I can keep up with.
Yet, I am starting to adjust.
And it is not so much that I am adjusting to my body, but it's something
            different that I am adjusting to.
It is an attitude, a way of thinking, a different viewpoint.
When I am thinking, expressing my feelings, involved in activity, visiting with
            friends, talking on the phone, working (at home or at school), etc.,
I am not in this chair.

I am much bigger. Certainly I am in my body, but not completely.
Part of me is out there in the world, far beyond my body.
I am not in this chair.

I look into the trees outside my window and I see the house tops beyond that,
            and the snow-covered field in the distance,
            and beyond that the hills,
            and the sky above. I am right there.
I am in those trees, I am the dancing leaf in the fall that blew in the breeze 
            and swayed its way down to the ground. I am the snowflakes falling
            from the sky, millions of them at a time or just one. And I follow its 
            descent all the way to the ground.
I am especially the snow that sticks to the trees. There is something about 
            that wet and heavy snow that sticks there through wind and warm 
            sunshine, the kind of bright sunlight that should melt it away.
I am also the sky full of snow and clouds as it empties itself.
And sometimes I fly higher, above the clouds towards the sun and I free myself 
            completely from this chair.
That's where I am. That's who I am.
I am not in this chair.

When I watch the red-tailed hawk circle around way above the treetops
            from my window, spiraling up and up and up,
I am not in this chair.

When I am in this chair thinking or in bed meditating or praying or sleeping,
I am not in this chair.

When I am talking to Ginny, and looking into her eyes and feeling intense love 
            and sometimes sadness and sometimes joy,
I am not in this chair.

When I am planning my life, how to work through the week,
When I am meeting with music teachers at school
            or teaching students at school,
I am not in this chair.

Even when I am getting aquatic exercise in the pool, or when my physical
            therapist or home health aide is giving me range of motion in my chair,
I am not in this chair

            And when I am mad that I cannot pee by myself and am 
              frustrated that I need help to move my legs so that I can pee,

            And when I get frustrated and angry about all these things
              and let it all spill out at Ginny,

            Or when I let any number of little trials that go wrong get to me 
              -or rather when I let myself get me upset because I forget
              that I am not really this limited body in this chair,

            And when I get mad at myself and I am depressed because
              I think that I will never get better, because I forget that I am
              not really this limited body in this chair,

            Or when I worry about not getting better, because I forget that
              I am not really this limited body in this chair, and I forget that
              I am getting better every day,

            (Truly in leaps and bounds I am getting better, I am healing
              myself -and the "self" in "myself" is the big Self, the "I"
              beyond the body, -the body alone cannot know it really,
              it can only follow it-

            Well, really, really, it is the body that teaches, -and has
              much to teach),

            Or when I worry that I am getting worse -the body getting worse
              -because I forget that I am not really this limited body in this
              chair, (and in the case of the mind’s worries, the "I" is the small
              "I" -the mind is thinking of only the body, the mind forgets that 
              the "I" is much more than whatever is happening to the body),

            Or when I am so scared that I will be alone in dying and alone in 
              death, because I forget that I will never be all alone,

            Then, yes, then,
            I am then in this chair.
            And THEN, this chair becomes "my chair",
            It becomes my prison.

So what does it feel like to be in my body?
It feels good and it feels bad and it feels many things.
And sometimes I don’t feel things at all.
It is (as I have said in another poem),
            -it is a kaleidoscope of colors and feelings and sensations.

My legs, especially my right leg, often feel like logs, very heavy logs
            (or on these cold days they feel exactly like frozen blocks of ice).
My right foot feels like a pincushion full of pins and needles
            -though recently, it is not as painful to the touch as it once was.

And just now, in the last week or two, I feel great.
I feel healing going through my body, and sometimes at breakneck pace
            (but not the muscles starting to dramatically move again),
            it is a different kind of healing- and subtle.

I feel ripples, like little waves on a pond, in all the muscles throughout
            my body -not the big waves of the ocean yet, though the big waves
            of the ocean are just beneath the surface.

I have been so aware of my feelings throughout the last several weeks and 
            months, many, many different feelings, waves and waves of different 
            feelings, and filled with growing and expanding that often I don’t think
            about how my body feels.

I am very grateful for this chair.
            I have become accustomed to this chair.
I have even become accustomed to this disease and its limitations
            in some ways –but I do not stay there, in that comfort/depression
            zone too long -I’m too antsy for that, I’m too interested in growing,
            expanding, sharing, writing, teaching, moving on,
            healing, living- for that.

            I am on a journey, on the path, in this situation, and in a body and 
              experiencing this emotional and spiritual being, that requires me to 
              be in a chair all of the time -in fact for several months now I have
              not been able to stand with this body, (but I have stood up tall and
              stood up for myself -many times),

            And I am adjusting to the disabilities and changes and challenges
              that this illness/opportunity presents to me as best as I can,

                    But I am not in this chair.

So when you ask me, "What does it feel like to be in your body?"
I will say many things, but I will not say that I am in this chair, 
            for really and truly,
I am not in this chair.