Hot Arkansas

This semester I’m in a class called “The Body: Experienced, Conceptualized, and Verbalized” with Dr. Don Hanlon Johnson of the Somatic Psychology program at CIIS. Each week we’ve been assigned short essay-exercises related to our readings that are intended help us verbalize experience “in fresh language close to the flesh.”

The first exercise had us verbalize our sensual experience in relation to a particular place:

The blue light from the screen I rest my eyes upon taxes them—they feel heavy. I’d like to close them, tuck them into bed for a nap. But I can’t take a nap today. I stop, close my eyes, and drift back to a memory. The time and space is high noon in June of 2018, walking down a sidewalk in Little Rock, Arkansas. I’m near the Arkansas River; the air is thick with moisture, its temperature seething with the heat of full sun. Today’s high is another record broken and the humidity must be 100%. I love it. I am home—“my” body knows it. It’s the first time I’m aware of knowing home without conceptual interference, a deep knowing that my intellectualism needn’t challenge.

Typing this, I realize I’ve begun to hunch forward—I’m onto to something. Smiling, I feel the warmth from that moment now. It rivals the AC running ridiculously high on the 4th floor of CIIS where I sit typing under fluorescent light. “Why is it always so cold in here?” I often complain. I have to wear a jacket indoors while at work, a fact that feels annoyingly out of step with the so-called integral mission of the university. Feeling the chill in my poorly circulated fingers, I decide to close my eyes and drift back again to that hot summer day back home.

I’m walking to the Root Café to meet a friend for lunch. My sweat doesn’t evaporate, rather, it glistens in little drops that cascade together and collect in the creases of my skin. I stop to pull my shirt off and let the sun kiss my skin. This is what I’ve been looking forward to since planning my trip back from the Bay Area. The thick heat of an Arkansas summer. When I was a teenager, taught not to sweat, I hated the summer atmosphere. Sauna-like, it kept my adolescent pit stains growing. I know better know. This is health, this response of my body. The moisture, opening my pores, makes me feel more continuous with my ecology. Cut grass, ants, squirrels, and the fellow on the street—we’re all swimming in this, together. My heart feels light. I am so happy—I holler it as loud and as deeply as I can, “I am SO happy!” If only it felt like this in Berkeley, I think to myself. And then I remember that record breaking highs continue to spike everywhere. To me, it’s bittersweet to think that, one day, I could feel this on the soil of the new place I’ve begun to call home—a place where my head and heart agree, but where “my” body has yet to catch up. Arkansas—this summer—is still home. When will California be? I wonder to myself. A quiet answer comes as “Time.” My thinking spins out trying to decide whether or not that’s wishful thinking or a deeper intelligence. I decide to wait and see.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: