My Body Knew Before My Mind Did

By Ryan Mimna

Author’s note: I wrote this while recovering from a broken foot during my first semester at Penn. Around the same time, a Ranger friend of mine was killed when his parachute failed to deploy, and my grandfather died of cancer. I could barely walk, but I kept going. This piece came out of realizing that my body had carried more than I was willing to admit, and that rest was not weakness.

We all have to find our own inner peace. It is from the soul that our passions come. So if that troubled soul is locked down, mired in grief, lost to the light, then how can those passions manifest themselves into the world? How many souls have been silenced by the burdens of life, through too many cold winters, so that the heart no longer sings? But I know that even during those long, hard, cold winters, spring will eventually come, and the sunshine will be warm again. As Alexander Pope said:

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blessed:
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”

And I can attest that, going from the loud city, where the chaos mirrored my mind, to the quiet solitude of the country, I came to appreciate what had once troubled me because it was the antithesis of my anxious mind. Physically, I feel so relaxed. I can feel my muscles relaxing, my breathing slowing to a lull. The fan is gently humming in the background. Oh, but my right foot, how strong it was to carry me through this. Broken in May, it carried me through. My calf muscles feel as if they are rising and falling. My body realizes it may rest.

Yes, my body realizes it can rest. Before, my mind was running and my body was tense. But now it knows it can rest, and my muscles, knowing they do not have to walk countless miles, begin to recover. Oh, and it shows how human I am. It is so natural to need rest. If only we listened to the needs of our bodies, I’m sure this world would make more sense. Oh, how wonderful my legs feel, as if they are being massaged, but they are just at rest. And I know, I know, I am safe.

I can feel my body. When I was trapped in my mind, I forgot it. I can feel my body. I can feel the blood flowing into my legs, repairing those torn muscles, making them stronger. But in order to become strong, one needs rest. Just as the world is a slave to the sun and moon, so are we. Our existence revolves around the sun, beneath a moon that waxes and wanes, and that is why we must learn to listen to our bodies.

Oh, I can feel my body. My legs can rest. They want to rest. Oh, thank you, body, for letting me rest. Thank you, body, for letting me feel. Because I can feel in my heart, I can feel in my body. I can feel, and it is so nice. I can feel the sheets. I can feel the soft bed. I’m sure glad I’m not dead. Oh, how wonderful it is to feel, if I’m to be real. The dreamer must awaken to feel the body. How can you feel the body when you are in a dream? What is the difference between a dream and a nightmare? As I come out of a nightmare, I know how wonderful it is to feel my body. The dreamer has awoken, and I write this in my bed before I go to sleep. My body may let me sleep now, because the dreamer has awoken.

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Ryan Mimna lives in Philadelphia and works in the finance industry. He served in the U.S. Army from 2011 to 2015 and, after completing the Ranger pipeline, served with 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, including multiple tours in Afghanistan. After leaving the Army, he finished a bachelor’s degree in political science at the University of Pennsylvania, where he began writing and later turned toward poetry. For The Havok Journal, he writes reflective pieces and poetry, often centered on fear, meaning, and the inner life.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.