"like a fragile lover"

Yesterday, I heard an interview on NPR with Dan Gottlieb, a psychologist/author who also happens to be a quadriplegic. His health is failing him, and he clearly believes that the end is imminent. Regarding his body, he said:

"I treat my body like a fragile lover that I adore."

This wise man, though he has every reason to rage at his body, treats his body with compassion, as a "fragile lover."



I have a body that works, though it is not everything I wish it could be. I have none of his difficulty, and none of his wisdom. I cannot think what it would mean to be kind to my body in this way...

I would certainly not put it down for its stubby toenails or hundreds of moles.
I would kiss each imperfection gently, silently thanking God for each uniqueness.

I would not force it to eat too much chocolate or drink too much wine to quiet the tumult in my mind.
I would hug it fiercely around the ribs, being present with the fear or pain until it subsided.

I would not demand that it sit quietly in the room while I serve my job well into the evening.
I would listen to its shyly expressed wish for movement, and I would speak courage when it quailed at its lack of skill.



What patterns would you have to change if you were to treat your body as a "fragile lover"?