Measurements

I walked into Fabricland a few days ago and bought a cloth tape measure.  You might be thinking that I’ve branched off into dressmaking but you’d be wrong.

My new trainer Derek has connected me to a daily online program that seeks to enhance my nutrition and mental health.  I have daily assignments and I knew what was coming up today: measuring myself here, there and everywhere, plus taking photos from the front, side and back.

I know the word “measure”.  It’s to “ascertain the size, amount or degree” of something.  Today it was neck, shoulders, chest, waist, hips, thigh and calf.  At the end, I felt like adding “head” to the list.  It was such a strange feeling, to sense the onset of inadequacy (too much of this, too little of that) and then to experience it fading into the background.  My previous bouts with body examination certainly weren’t that.  They were in my face.

So there I was with the tape, addressing the tasks in a matter-of-fact manner.  There was a lightness while finding clear evidence that my waist was large and my biceps were small.  Edginess tried to intrude but then apparently encountered some mysterious force (not my will) and decided to withdraw.

Improving my physical fitness, nutritional health and appearance is clearly a gradual process.  When I feel what’s happening inside, I’m fine with there being no hurry.  I also see that there is a better and worse here and measurements will reveal the changes.  However, there’s no tape measure for my heart.  Although I want my love to continually expand, there’s a wisdom that tells me to go deeply into whatever I’m experiencing in the moment, even if it’s not suffused with unconditional positive regard for other human beings.  I’ve glimpsed a place where all comparisons fall away.

It seems that measurables exist beside the immeasurables.  It feels like a dance between the horizontal world of becoming and the vertical world of being.  And I love dancing.

An Inside Job

I wonder what we look like on the inside.  I’ve turned the pages of anatomy textbooks and seen the jumble of muscle, blood vessels, organs and bone, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

If Spirit fills us all, it’s often not visible to the outside world. With many people, however, it does leak out into the atmosphere some.  But you have to be an alert observer to see it walking by you on the street.

Let’s say most of Spirit hangs out inside us somewhere.  Would it be in the brain, in the heart, tucked under my kneecap, or just spread liberally throughout the bod?  I wonder if an autopsy has ever come across patches of essence.

For the pathologist to catch sight of Spirit, it had better be some colour. How about red?  (That’s my favourite.)  Might get confusing, however, with all the blood that’s usually in the immediate vicinity.  Isn’t purple a common New Age colour? Perhaps that’s it.  Or … maybe you could reach under the spleen and find a pocket of rainbow – the full spectrum blended together, from Red to Orange to Yellow to Green to Blue to Indigo to Violet.  Maybe that’s how Spirit abides. And another thought: Is it possible that it can only be found in one human being on Earth – a certain Roy G. Biv?  No, that’s silly. Spirit is in all of us.

I also wonder whether the light of Spirit vibrates inside of me, or flashes, or if it’s a steady beam.  Relying on my knowledge of Christmas lights, I vote for steady.  The flashing types bother my brain, while a string of solid white lights looks so pretty in the falling snow.

These could be deep thoughts, or maybe shallow.  Whichever the case, please don’t go cutting into yourself to find the colours. Makes a mess and it hurts. Far better to let your pores shine out your goodness to the waiting world.