Friday, April 27, 2012

Losing Steam

"It seems as though your muscles have forgotten how to relax," the doctor says. He wiggles his fingers along the vertebrates of my neck. He continually tells me to let my head fall and I think to myself what a funny concept.

"Your head's not that heavy," he laughs and I laugh, too, and finally let my head...fall.

He cracks my back and cracks my neck. He presses on spots in my back that angrily press back. He tells me about taxed adrenal glands and stress and unprocessed sadness.

I think This doctor is a fucking genius.

He tells me how the mind and body need to have a relationship that isn't based on the body being a slave to the mind. He tells me to make time in my schedule for resting and after I leave I understand what kind of rest he is talking about.

I wander into a coffee shop and try to read the menu but my mind is foggy and my body feels foreign. The barista finally asks me if he can help. I muster up the clarity to ask for tea. I sit with a cup of green jasmine and I watch New Yorkers run across streets, some with umbrellas popped, others with hoods on, heads down. I watch the new green leaves on the tree in front of me, heavy and delighted with these long-awaited showers and I watch the rain drop at a time.