for the love of my body

a restful musing

I write today’s musing from a place of gratitude.

streams of gratitude (never ceasing)

echo in my heart and in my mind.

i’m grateful to be alive.

I sat down to write about the body, or rather, my relationship to my own body. I try to write often on my evolving relationship with my body because men, particularly Black men, don’t have a known habit of doing so in reflective, public ways.¹ I speak about my body, write about my body, because it is one part of who I am. It is a fraction of the arena that I meet God inside of. Perhaps I write and think about my body simply because for many years I was a stranger and an enemy to this vessel that I inhabit.

The Black male body is hyper sexualized, diminished, ignored, and a site of intimidation. And so, messages that formed me in caring for my body form a toxic mess as biblical mandates to consider myself a living sacrifice (as if I need to be sacrificed for something else in this disabling apparatus called America) or the sensual tones of an R&B song that demands my body be an instrument of sexual temptation….like I said. A Mess. I live in a country that has a strange relationship to bodies. I am involved in Christianity that, has an even stranger relationship to the body.² It is difficult to find outlets that are honest, vulnerable, and tender about flesh.

my body is changing

aging

folds and gray

The words of Baby Suggs whisper in my mind today, as they do most days. “‘Here,” she said, in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard…No, they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it. This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved.’” (Toni Morrison) I write today as a self-recovery tool, and in the process of loving my body beyond shame. I benefit from the work of those like

Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes

who have taught me so much about how to listen to my body well.

Listening to My Body

Before I leave this musing, I want to share good news. It is important to share gladness because…well. look at the world. At any rate, I got my final grades for the last classes that *knock on wood* I will ever take in life. I got straight As and my heart is singing because I closed out that portion of my PhD studies as a student who overcame. Grades should be just marks on a paper, but they are marks that mean something to me. I battled imposter syndrome years ago as I applied to graduate programs. I assumed that there was no way that I could get into any PhD program, let alone pass with flying colors. Yet. Here I am. Bless you all.

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1. I would argue that we do speak in ways that aren’t necessarily legible to the public. Through poetry, rap, and other creative venues, Black men attempt to investigate their bodies.

2. By this, I mean that this country has distinct messages about which bodies are good bodies. Which bodies are detestable. Bodies can be irrelevant or overly sexual. And. Christianity has a distinct view on bodies. Different strands of this big religion emphasize the resurrection of the saints. Others, the sinfulness of desire that resides in humanity. Sex is esteemed and not something to talk about…ya get me?