Motion, I love thee — an unreadable poem


Young woman exercising with dumb-bells and loving it

Motion, I love thee, I love thee to death.
I am moved by every gifted breath.
As long as I have thee, it’s never too late
to do dancing or reaching or swimming or weights
or cooking or hugging or typing or talking
or the miraculous action of walking
with my movable moving arms and legs
and torso and feet and face and neck.

Thou makest me strong like a Herculess
thou blowest to pieces the thoughts that depress
thou pumpest more blood to my dear little brain
thou banishest big pain with good little pains
(the bigger and harder and longer I wiggle
the smaller and weaker and shorter the niggles)
thou quickenest my thinking speed
thou puttest to rights my executive deeds
(not my remembers but never mind that)
thou preventest the peril of falling down flat
thou postponest disease and frailty and stroke
thou propellest me towards those other moving folk
thou nourishest muscle and microbiome
thou regeneratest confidence and hope
thou tightenest the loose and loosenest the tight
and bringest the sweetest of sleep every night.
I move. I love. I live.

A frivolous poem with unpronounceable verbs in the antiquated second person form. And yet I’m deadly serious. Moving is an enormous privilege. Even to move a thumb is a privilege. To move is to be alive. And I appreciate the privilege of life.

Audio version of Motion, I love thee

21 thoughts on “Motion, I love thee — an unreadable poem

  1. Elizabeth says:

    I second your sentiments. I watch as one of our parishioners goes slowly into total paralysis from his motor disease and am thankful for my ability to move.

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      So tough.

  2. albert says:

    Good thoughts, reminders of what I too easily ignore. Thank you. And your reading is delightful.

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      Thank you Albert.

  3. Prue Densem says:

    You touch my experience every time Rachel!

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      I wonder why? 🙂

  4. lifecameos says:

    I told the diabetes nurse that I kept moving as much as possible, including walking rather than owning a car or mobility scooter. She pointed out that some people do not have that choice. Point taken.

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      We do know how lucky we are.

  5. alison41 says:

    Love the poem and a timely reminder!

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      Thank you Alison.

  6. Sadje says:

    Beautifully written. Movement is life. And thank God for it! 😃👍

  7. Great sentiments, Rachel.

  8. Gallivanta says:

    Very moving! Also funny. I like the idea of being a Herculess.

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      Aha and haha!

  9. JOY journal says:

    Your poem made me think of a recent winter when I fell on the ice and broke two bones in one leg. I didn’t know how precious mobility is until mine was limited. 🙂

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      That was a wake up, all right.

  10. anne leueen says:

    It is a privilege. And it is one that I give thanks for every day. Saw a woman in a wheelchair at the gym today. I have been seeing her there for years and we always exchange a few words. I have no idea what her disability is but she comes to the gym to keep her upper body fit and strong. i always walk away from her thinking how lucky I am. i can walk. I can ride a horse. 😊

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      Hold that thought.

  11. Humorous touches but the celebration is evident. Here’s to mobility … says he, hunched over his laptop!

    1. Rachel McAlpine says:

      and moving his fingers 🙂

      1. Haha, how long before that becomes aerobic?

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