Sweet Jesus

by Joanna D.

The other morning, while awaiting my SEPTA chariot, I watched two men wheel a statue of Jesus across the breadth of Moyamensing Avenue. That’s weird. I thought to myself. Jesus crossing the street on a hand truck. From one sidewalk to the other, his hands raised to the cloud filled sky with small drops of rain sprinkling lightly over his gold flake skin. I watched the procession as if it should hold some sort of meaning. A sign. It had my ultimate attention as I stood there waiting, pondering.

I could attach an interpretation to it. Just like anything. Question it, tear apart the simplicity of it. Create some complex meaning for a piece of material being moved from one place to another. But, images get moved from “here to there” all the time. Photos, painting, statues. Even the images in our minds shift. Cross territory much wider than Moyamensing Avenue. Ideas of where we are supposed to be or what we are supposed to be doing.

Events in our lives often change these images and ideas. Bring things into question by speeding things up or slowing them down. So we shift and change and adapt. Sometimes that process happens quickly, sometimes it takes a while to embrace. Historically… I tread on the longer side of that process.

The last two weeks have completely flown through my timeline via pain management and antibiotics. The fall thwarting my plans of preparation. Wanting to be in a stronger place to start assisting David at AYSP upon his return. To have solidified a strong rhythm in my practice and reconcile with the intense heat. Tapas. However, that’s not what happened. Instead of finding a steady cruising speed… getting bumped into the slow lane. Limited mobility calling for careful approach to every posture. Modified and guarded attempts at avoiding the massive wound adorning my shin bone.

On one side it’s a blessing that the accident wasn’t worse. It could have been much worse. The fact still remains… it takes time to heal. So I modify, move carefully, deliberately. Having to slow down rather than speed up. Everyday facing the images I create in my mind…

The limits; beliefs leading to self-doubt.
The possibilities; beliefs leading to self-impowerment.

As if I’m carting myself around on a hand truck. All squirmy and resistant. At times, having to strap myself in in order forge on. Attempting to do so with as much empathy as possible because the path is not always on even terrain or a clear one leading from point A to Z with well marked crosswalks.