Story of my Body
Today I sat cross-legged,
Allowing my arms and trunk
To move as they wished.
There seemed to be no theme at first,
As there often is when I give my body
Freedom to tell its own story.
Then my hands and arms,
Moved as if plucking thoughts out of my head
And throwing or sowing them.
My right-hand then held a thought
And plunged it into the earth.
After this is I saw that thought
Slowly grow into beauty and light.
My hands opened up to it;
One hand held to express listening,
The other over my lips, saying,
“This cannot be spoken of.”
The hands then slowly dropped to the lap,
Open in receptiveness.