Bare Bones

Lately, I've been lying in bed at night and thinking about how underneath all of this still fairly smooth skin lies nothing but a skeleton. The realization that that's all I really am has been sort of freaking me out. I don't know what got me thinking about that-thoughts of death, disappearance, essence. I don't mean to be macabre, but I've been feeling my mortality.

Then, my husband and I went into town-- he talked me into attending one of his politico functions (it was a war protest sort of thing, so I thought I should go-- was feeling the guilt of not doing anything further than donating a few dollars here and there, but that's another discussion altogether). So, when this "action" was over, we happened to walk right by the Bodies Exhibit.

We had to go in.

It was inspiring to see so many people, of all ages and economic backgrounds educating themselves on a weekday afternoon. And paying a bit of money to do it. The exhibit is layed out nicely, with plenty of information, and has a most excellent volunteer staff that can answer almost all questions. It's amazing how little we know about ourselves. Anatomy should be a requisite in all high schools.

Here's what I've been thinking about since: Why are we grossed out by our own bodies? Why did my stomach turn while looking at the muscles pulled off the bone? Why was I unable to look at the tiny preserved fetuses? My husband thought that it is our survival instincts kicking in--that , like pain, they serve the purpose of letting us know there is something wrong if we're seeing blood and guts. I always thought I was heartier, but now I know I could never be a surgeon or a coroner.

I'm not sure I'm any closer to feeling comfortable with Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, but it's good to have a bit of working knowledge about this form I'm walking around in.