The Soft Animal of Your Body

These words from Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese, touch my soul.

Mary Oliver’s poem, Wild Geese, is stunningly beautiful. And one phrase keeps coming back to me. The soft animal of your body. 

How easy it is for me to forget the basic truth and existence of this part of me. This soft, breathing, living part of me. 

My own internalized ageism tries to tell me that I no longer have the needs that I used to have, that it is too late, that it is over. But that’s not true. I still have those parts of me. 

Including the part that longs for touch. 

I live alone. And I love my solitude, most of the time. 

 I have no pets at this time, still recovering from the loss of several pets that came too quickly and all within a very short period. 

The touch of animals can be soothing and help heal what we need. Some of us, perhaps especially elders living alone, don’t have the opportunity for much human touch in our day-to-day lives. Our animal bodies can respond to other animal bodies. Touching and acknowledging the life within, the lives intertwined. The lives connecting to each other through this magical, sacred sense of touch. 

Yes, I hug wherever and whenever possible, with those friends where this is accepted as part of who we are to each other. I feel the love and connection. 

It does not fill that deep need within for the longing of my soft animal body to be held, to be comforted with that holding. The need to have my cheek lightly stroked. To have a hand resting on my shoulder, letting me know that someone hears me, sees me, reaches out to me. 

I go to a hairdresser and get my head massaged as she washes it. This is lovely. 

I pet animals that I meet on the street, with their human’s permission. And they melt into my touch and I into their fur and wagging tails and bodies. This is lovely.

I wash my sheets and slip into them at the end of the day, feeling comforted. Even more so with flannel sheets in the winter months. Getting under the covers in my bed when nothing else seems to work, and wrapping myself tightly with the covers, feeling held. (I have tried weighted blankets. They can initially feel comforting, but for me don’t work in the long run.)

I sometimes get pedicures, although not regularly. It’s not something that has been a routine part of my life. And there is something about the overworked staff talking to each other that can feel like they don’t see me or feel my presence, but only do their tasks efficiently. Occasionally I have had a special worker who seems to pay attention in a different way, makes eye contact frequently, acknowledges our connection in those moments. That is a gift. 

I take a long hot shower and feel the warmth on my skin, a comfort before I slip into bed. 

I can feel sunlight on my skin, the breeze touching me. I am included in nature and touched by her. I am grateful.

I place my hands on the trees on my walks in the redwoods and feel a depth of connection that is hard to put into words. These sacred ancient beings standing steadfast and with so many stories that they could tell. We are together at that moment in time. 

I feel the sensuality of my skin and body come up at sometimes random times, triggered by things that I may not have been conscious of. It is a delightful feeling to sense this aliveness still within me, and bittersweet in that I often feel as if this piece of my life is over with. I don’t know that for sure, but as a 70-year-old woman, the odds suggest this could be true. 

I am grateful for all the touch I have and have had in my life. 

And my warm and soft animal body still hungers for more.

It is a hunger that I have tried at times to feed with food. That serves only to numb things for a while but does not really help the need beneath the want for very long. 

So, here I sit in my soft animal body. Acknowledging its wants, its needs, its hunger for touch. It’s ok, I tell it. I am here. I know how you feel. And I am here. I allow the feelings to simply be and flood through me. It is a form of touch, if you will, to hear and see and validate myself and whatever is going on inside me at the time. 

I think that perhaps we may have a need for hug parlors. Not massage parlors. I am very particular about massages and often don’t feel comfortable with the level of touch, pressure, and false intimacy that can be triggered there for me. I often don’t feel safe enough. I am glad for those that can make use of this. I am not one of those. 

But a hug parlor? Now I could possibly get into that. 

A place to go to simply be held for a while, allowing feelings to come. Tears would be ok and would not frighten anyone away. Tears are the feelings finally coming to the surface and being acknowledged. Tears are my soft animal body shivering with relief and comfort at a touch that feels safe and loving. 

We inhabit these soft animal bodies for a short period of time. How lovely they can be. To feel everything that they allow us to feel.

And as we age, we may not be able to fill the needs of these bodies as easily as we did in our youth. 

Perhaps our aging bodies can scare those who would rather not see what the future holds for them, if they are lucky enough to live long lives.

Perhaps there is a false idea that elders don’t have the same needs that we did when younger. The needs may have shifted form, but the need is still there. 

My body may be less firm, less strong, more wrinkled, saggy and less attractive in society’s eyes. But it is still my soft animal body. It still has warmth and softness and aliveness within. It still breathes and hungers and desires. It is still alive. I am still alive. 

So, I will go for a walk today in the trees, feel their bark, and listen to the wind whispering through their leaves. I will breathe in the connection.

I will go and get my hair cut this morning. And feel the kind hands on my head and scalp, and allow the comfort of that to seep within me.

I will wrap myself in a blanket and hold myself quietly, acknowledging my needs and feelings. Breathing compassion and understanding into myself.

And I will intentionally love and cherish this soft warm animal body that is mine for such a brief time.