For the past few years, I’ve been trying to understand what it means to be embodied. This is an overused word in art school workshops. Often, when my classmates didn’t know how to critique essays they barely read, they’d comment that the prose didn’t feel “embodied.” But even writing about art right now the word feels overused by PR people wanting to hype the latest show.
In the spirit of a recently opened museum exhibition I saw on Friday, I want to attempt to write the definition I’ve come to in story.
Embodied is:
1. Last Monday in dance class, my instructor told me to both explore my full range of motion and grown woman sensuality. I had the moves but needed to commit to them and really go beyond my perception of my body’s capabilities.
2. While finishing an essay a few weeks ago, I cried and tensed digging through the issue between a former friend and me.
2a. It’s taken me 5 years to return to an essay I wrote in grad school; I haven’t healed enough from his death to go into the essay without feeling pain.
2b. A writing flow state
3. Uses of the Erotic by Audre Lorde
4. The gut has many neurons that are connected to the brain.
5. A meditation technique that I’ve used to fall asleep since middle school. I imagine myself a rag doll filled with sand. Every inhale, my seams bulge. As I exhale, a small prick at various pressure points lets sand out the tiniest holes. Slowly, I flatten into the mattress as sand leaves my limbs. Sometimes, by the end, right before I fall asleep, I float.
5a. Sun salutations 🧘🏾♀️
6. Planks
7. Releasing trapped gas