Anatomy, Autonomy, and Intimacy

“I’d been had all along by grasshoppers, muskrats, mountains–and like any sucker, I come back for more. They always get you in the end, and when you know it from the beginning, you have to laugh. You come for the assault, you come for the flight–but really you know you come for the laugh.”  Annie Dillard, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

What gives life meaning? What is my purpose? Where am I going and why does it matter?

Have you ever asked yourself these questions? Or were you too busy just trying to eke out a living? I often find myself in the hustle and bustle of life, moving from task to task in a flurry of activity. I don’t always enjoy my job, but I have to work to pay bills, and frankly, the paycheck doesn’t always stretch as far as I need it to. So, I rush and—not unlike a little house finch—I am fluttering from branch to branch trying to find a morsel of food or a place to shelter.

No mirrors, but we have cell phones with no service

But sometimes I get to slow down and ponder the meaning of life. I find myself with fewer distractions and a good book in my hand (such as “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” by Annie Dillard). And I wonder if I’m on the right path. Her keen observations of nature resonate, especially when read by a campfire.

There are no mirrors at our cabin in the woods. The closest we come to knowing what we look like is when we see our reflection in the windows. The older I get, however, the more aware I am of my body. Little twinges of pain flare and throb like lightening bugs at twilight. Other times, my joints feel like a rabid wasp got loose and started stinging me. But on a good day, the only warmth I feel is the sun.

It looks so pretty on the surface. It’s what lurks beneath that is so terrifying.

Last week soaring temperatures and humidity meant any amount of time spent outside guaranteed a sheen of sweat on my skin. At one point, we snuck off to the river to cool down. We found delight in crawdads, little fish nibbling at our legs, and peepers (little hopping frogs). But we also discovered, much to our horror, leeches. Once a leech attaches itself to one’s skin, it releases a toxin that prevents blood from clotting. Therefore, once removed, we discovered the blood just kept flowing; a brutal reminder of the invertebrate that was recently attached. We thought we had autonomy over our anatomy. The leeches proved otherwise.

Nature reminds us how little control we have over not only our bodies but our lives. The river provides a perfect metaphor in that there are forces—often beyond our perception—pulsing and writhing with one instinct: feed! This hunger drives every living creature because in order to exist, one must consume. While the leech thrives on blood, it will detach if life blood stops flowing. Other creatures, like horseflies, bite and devour and care not whether one lives or dies. Then, one need only look up at the ever circling turkey vultures if we need a reminder that death is always lurking.

Our first day in the country, my husband found a dead bobcat on the road. The poor beast had been recently hit by a car and Eric couldn’t bear to leave the beautiful creature there to disintegrate. He placed it on the bed of his truck and—once off the main highway—took time to inspect it. He was intrigued by the markings, from its whiskers to its toes and its tail. This beautiful cat had been prowling and probably hunting before being blindsided by a vehicle.

Something beautiful had been destroyed and we felt the loss of it. Granted, the only intimacy we were allowed was surface level – namely we saw the body. We have no knowledge of her habits, her mate, or her young. We don’t even know what her last meal consisted of. We didn’t know this cat, but her life mattered if only because she was a valuable part of the ecosystem.

But was her only purpose “consumer”? I’m not sure what animal’s prey on bobcats. And if she was only a predator, was that all that gave her life meaning? Did she merely exist to reduce the population of vermin? When I look at such a creature, I find myself in awe of the splendor of her body. Had I hit her with my car, I would have stopped. Had she been alive, I would have wanted to help her. But I am also keenly aware of those teeth and those claws. Would she have wanted me to try to save her life?

Maybe it was not my purpose to have intimate knowledge about a bobcat. So, I spent time with my human neighbors instead. Those conversations helped me connect and know more about their lives. I walked away from each conversation feeling known and cared for. I hope they felt the same. This is the joy of the human experience: connection and intimacy.

When I consider these experiences, I am struck by something; intimacy has very little to do with anatomy. We stroked the fur of the cat, touched her toes and her face, but we didn’t really know her. In contrast, we little touched our neighbors but felt love.

How am I different than the bobcat? How am I different than the vulture or the leech?

My body implies that I am a 47-year-old woman. That is my anatomy.

My mind says I have autonomy. I have the freedom to govern my body.

But lately, my heart has been longing for intimacy.

Annie Dillard created within me a longing for intimacy with nature. I want to know the mysteries of rocks and flowers and bumblebees. There is so much beauty and I can’t take it all in, but I want to try.

I also desire intimacy with friends and neighbors. People. For all their messiness and hypocrisies, I want to know the inner workings of the human heart. I want to be shocked, amazed, and overwhelmed with compassion. I want to forgive and be forgiven. I want to know the comfort of my mother’s embrace.

More importantly (and mysteriously) I desire intimacy with the Creator. I find in myself longing to know and be known by a Being that made the toes of the bobcat soft and sharp, but who also made the jaws of a leech filled with venom. This creature that sucks blood has even been known to save lives. What kind of Being is this? And why do I feel within me this need to be known and loved by Him?

I am connected to something larger than my senses perceive. My body belongs not only to me but to the world and to God. Maybe that is why I feel pain when my neighbor rejects me. If part of my purpose is to be loved, it causes deep pain when someone rejects me. But I also know I have rejected people. I have caused pain. And that creates within me a longing to be forgiven.

People may laugh at me for these ramblings. “She is a fool,” they will say, “for posting such inanities. Who cares if people like or don’t like her? This is boring. I’m out.”

But it matters to me. I am trying to find my place in the world. Maybe the dear reader is too.

The wider culture would have us believe intimacy is touch, pleasure, passion. But those are fleeting. They are like the deceased bobcat after a few days in the woods; returning to dust. I long for deeper pleasures. A cool breeze on dew-drenched feet. The gaze of a friend who knows I regret the harsh words I said and says, “I still love you.” The sizzle of broccoli in butter on a cast iron skillet. The whispered words of truth when everyone around me is speaking lies. I want cotton candy clouds and great blue herons flying overhead and ferns that glisten in a random sunbeam. There is magic and mystery in the world around us if only we stop to observe and listen. There is truth if only we stop to consider and ask the right questions.

I am only a woman, but I am alive. And while I’m still living, I choose life. And life is not really lived unless one is loving and giving and experiencing the world both from the microscopic and mountainous viewpoint.

If the heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above declares His handiwork, I want to be His. I want to belong to Him. More and more every day. Therefore, I surrender my anatomy and autonomy to Him in exchange for greater intimacy. That is what gives my life meaning and purpose and ensures my final destiny. What about you?