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the body keeps (carries) the cacophony (what is a score for when there is no winning)

the body keeps (carries) the cacophony (what is a score for when there is no winning)

Last updated on: August 11, 2023 at 11:15 am by Irisanya Moon

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the body keeps (carries) the cacophony (what is a score for when there is no winning) 2023-08-11T11:15:50-07:00 Irisanya Moon

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Sometimes, when I walk in the morning, it’s dark enough for my brain to stop thinking about what’s next on my schedule. These mornings, as the night creeps and stretches further across the start of the day, random phrases jump in my head.

I think of them as breadcrumbs along a path I wanted to follow again.

I don’t remember setting them down. I don’t remember carrying anything in my pockets. I don’t remember wanting to return to things like ‘don’t trust my firebox’ and ‘the body keeps the cacophony.’

But I do believe in following what curls its finger at me.

smoke illustration

Photo by Nihal Demirci Erenay on Unsplash

The Long Arc of Metaphor Bends

Being present is a gift, isn’t it? The possibility that arrives when I just let my heart and brain do as they like is unique, understated, and often revealing. I have found myself writing things I didn’t know I thought, believed, or grieved.

Breadcrumbs. Everywhere.

I want to interrogate those pieces of me, those parts of me that stand up a little taller some days. I want to ask them where they have come from and why they didn’t introduce themselves before I needed to learn their lessons.

Timing is everything.

The body keeps the score is a phrase to describe the idea that our bodies hold onto memories, even the ones we don’t/can’t remember. And I bet you already know this experience. Ever wake up and feel like garbage only to remember halfway through the day that it is the anniversary of some-awful-day? Ever notice that certain seasons bring up dread because of those who have died or left in previous years? Do you ever notice yourself bracing for impact when a certain date arrives?

I do. And I don’t.

July and August are months of wonderful memories. I have loved and loved more. I have traveled, made magick, met friends, and found myself laughing so hard my jaw hurts.

And…

I notice how those breadcrumbs become the floors I can’t sweep enough. The mess I didn’t make. The crumbling I feel without recipe or recollection.

All I know is that I feel the awful texture between my toes whenever I step. The one that makes my toes curl up, and my foot shake to the side.

The Panic of an Unassuming Morning

These months (and, the older I get, most months) are also reminders of leaving, making difficult choices, making not-so-difficult choices that were also difficult, and just sinking under the weight of summer’s heated embrace.

I forget too often. I wake up grumbling, with my thoughts arguing about how I am unloveable and unwanted. My brain reminds me of the ways I have been discarded and abandoned. But it doesn’t send a text or a well-chosen meme. It sends my body into a panic.

I want to run away. I feel like yelling. I feel heavier, and nothing tastes right. I feel like I did something wrong. Like I need to apologize for breathing. Like I need to rethink every relationship and every interaction.

A loud panic. One that doesn’t seem to have a home outside of everything that might be wrong with me. The body keeps a score, for sure. And I don’t know why it wants me to lose this game.

I woke up the other day clear that it was a day with weight and heft. But it was also a day I had almost forgotten about, and I was ready for it to be another Wednesday. And it was…until it wasn’t.

Suddenly, I was angry. Angry in the direction of breathing and seeing. Angry at the way my chair wouldn’t line up well with my desk. Angry at the coffee for being too hot and the cat for wanting to cuddle. Angry at everything that didn’t bug me the day before.

I tried to ignore it. WRONG.

I asked it what it was. OH.

I went for a walk in the middle of the day, the sun beating down on my skin and sweat pouring everywhere. I wanted to outwalk this anger. I wanted to forget and escape and get away.

I didn’t want to give it a name. I wanted to give it chase.

I wanted to terrify it. I wanted to scare it away from the score, away from my cells and breath and bones and crumbs. I wanted to show how tough I could be. How brave I could be.

And that’s when I thought, Why must I be brave and strong?

I stopped. I stopped.

I let it catch up to me. Deafening in sound and fury. Insistent and unrelenting. I let it all catch up. I let it back in.

It caught up with me. We looked into each other’s eyes, knowing where we’ve been.

This was no Hallmark moment.

But it was recognition.

I see you. You see me. This is real. This is true. This is hard. This is heavy.

I took a breath and let it fill my body. I demanded the feelings get really big, really uncomfortable, unmanageable. I stayed steady. I tried encouraging the feelings to get as big as they wanted to. I said, “Give me all you got.”

They did. And it was…quiet.

***

The cacophony might arrive for you, too. Let it. If only for a minute or moment. Let it look you right in the face. Let it wash over or burn you up. Let it in.

Let your body know that you know it knows.

It’s harder when it waits on the doorstep and knocks again and again.

About Irisanya Moon

Reclaiming Witch + Writer + Teacher + Priestess + Feminist + Ritualist + Invocateur + Drummer + Sagittarius + she/they You can read more about the author here.

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