The Whole Self

THE WHOLE SELF

“You put your whole self in
You put your whole self out
Whole self in and you shake it all about.”
The Hokey Pokey
When I think of the long history of the self
on its journey to becoming the whole self, I get tired.
It was the kind of trip you keep making,
Over and over again, you pack and repack so often
the shirts start folding themselves the minute
you take them off.
I kept detailed notes in a brown notebook, I could tell you
when the arm joined, when it fell off again,
when the heart found the intended socket and settled down to pumping.
I could make a map of lost organs, the scrambled liver,
the misplaced brain. Finally finally we met up with one another
on a street corner, in October, during the noon rush.
I could tell you what I was wearing. How suddenly
the face of the harried waitress made sense. I gave my order
in a new voice. Spoke the word vegetables like a precious code.
Had one relapse at a cowboy dance in Bandera, Texas,
under a sky so fat the full moon
was sitting on top of us.
Give me back my villages, I moaned,
the ability to touch and remove the hand
without losing anything.
Take me off this mountain where six counties are visible at once.
I want to remember what it felt like living by inches.
You put the whole self-I’ll keep with the toe.
But no, it was like telling the eye not to blink.
The self held on to its perimeters, committed forever,
as if the reunion could not be reversed.
I jumped inside the ring, all of me. Dance, then, and I danced,
till the room blurred like water, like blood, dance,
and I was leaning headlong into the universe.
Dance! The whole self was a current, a fragile cargo.
A raft someone was paddling through the jungle,
and I was there, waving, and I would be there at the other end.

_Naomi Shihab-Nye
Words Under the Words
The Eighth Mountain Press, 1995

Naomi Shihab Nye is of a female poet American-Palestinian heritage who grew up in the American Midwest and Southwest. She came of age in the 60s and brings a fresh voice to the poetry scene. She frequently uses images drawn from Native American culture or draws on her multicultural upbringing to give voice ot the everyday and add freshness to the mundane. In this poem, "The Whole Self," Nye explores the journey of finding your authentic self. She uses the tableau of a journey where one finds various parts of the self while traveling and seeing things from another perspective.

When I think of the long history of the self
on its journey to becoming the whole self, I get tired.
It was the kind of trip you keep making,
Over and over again, you pack and repack so often
the shirts start folding themselves the minute
you take them off.
I kept detailed notes in a brown notebook, I could tell you
when the arm joined, when it fell off again,
when the heart found the intended socket and settled down to pumping.

Everyone knows how draining it can be to feel as if packing and unpacking merge into one long and arduous task. Yet it seems the poet is telling us that the only way one finds oneself is by engaging in the this particular tedium of packing and unpacking the self. What do you want to bring forward? What do you no longer need? What can you do without and what no longer serves you? Questions all of us must ask at various times in our lives. They are landmarks that sing our names; we know exactly when pivotal, life-changing events occurred.

I could make a map of lost organs, the scrambled liver,
the misplaced brain. Finally, finally we met up with one another
on a street corner, in October, during the noon rush.
I could tell you what I was wearing. How suddenly
the face of the harried waitress made sense. I gave my order
in a new voice. Spoke the word vegetables like a precious code.

Finally, one day it all makes sense. You may feel as if we have lost parts of yourself, then one day all the parts reappear, reassembled and you see yourself in a new way. It’s as if you have found that authentic voice, the one you have struggled so long to own. The one voice that only sings the key of self. The moment of discovery is etched in your mind like a precious engraving .

Had one relapse at a cowboy dance in Bandera, Texas,
under a sky so fat the full moon
was sitting on top of us.
Give me back my villages, I moaned,
the ability to touch and remove the hand
without losing anything.
Take me off this mountain where six counties are visible at once.
I want to remember what it felt like living by inches.
You put the whole self-I’ll keep with the toe.

Then you are slammed and feel as if being pulled back out with a rip-tide. Everyone has moments where they feel as if they have made absolutely no progress and are still the same, despite efforts to change. You just don’t want to see the big picture, you tell yourself. Just give me back the tiniest slice of life, a few moments at a time. But no, you can see everything, not just the inches. Which way of life is more comfortable for you? Are you someone who likes seeing the whole picture or does that equate with worry and loss of control? Are you more comfortable with just a slice called today, this morning, tonight? How much can you handle? This is an individual preference, a decision one makes after experiencing life from all angles. Go back to your comfort zone, but keep with the changes. They become comfortable soon enough. .

But no, it was like telling the eye not to blink.
The self held on to its perimeters, committed forever,
as if the reunion could not be reversed.
I jumped inside the ring, all of me. Dance, then, and I danced,
till the room blurred like water, like blood, dance,
and I was leaning headlong into the universe.
Dance! The whole self was a current, a fragile cargo.
A raft someone was paddling through the jungle,
and I was there, waving, and I would be there at the other end.

Once the wand of change has waved over your life, you cannot turn back. It is a new reality for you. Something happens in that moment of surrender. You begin to like this new rhythm, this new pace of living. It is exhilarating, like surrendering to the current, like finally learning the turns in swing dance, like skiing downhill and flying over the moguls, like raking in rhythm to your own inner music. It’s that moment of freedom that comes when one acknowledges the true self, the one who was always meant to be. It is as liberating and freeing as dancing. Enjoy, you have earned the rewards.

Until next time,
Ann