Bodies

I have a secret suspicion, an inference that many would find anathema on the spiritual path. This personal intuition insists that the body, this covering of skin and fragile depth of bone and tissue, digestion and elimination, is as wise in its way as my “spirit” was ever supposed to be.

I suppose I’ve come to this by paying attention to my pets. My last cat, Lugh, a huge, strangely shaped and highly opinionated creature (a complete person really), taught me a great deal about respecting the needs and preferences of ones physical self. He made sure that all thumbs (humans) around him understood what they could do to help him fulfill his most urgent requests (for food, water and clean litter….after all, he no longer was in a position to provide those for himself), but after that, he took care of himself completely.

He slept when he needed to, played and explored often, contemplated most things calmly (he was the most self-assured individual I’ve ever known), and concisely expressed himself whenever he felt it absolutely necessary. He could train most thumbs in less than a day. He was very expressive both verbally and facially (if a bit startling and unnerving on occasion) and everyone who met him, human and animal alike, tended to admire or at least respect him.

He was ill very rarely, although he didn’t like riding in cars…I mean, I’m sure it made absolutely no sense to him that he should be moving through the world while being rooted in one place. It violates gravity after all…and I feel exactly the same in airplanes… if humans were meant to fly, we’d be shot out of cannons…

Anyway, his extraordinary physical grace, even though he was rather ungainly in appearance (legs so long he couldn’t tuck them under himself, patchy fur of every possible length and a funny little head with big ears) was a lesson to me every day I knew him.

He trusted his body implicitly, and toward the end of his life, when his kidneys started to shut down, he treated his stomach and ulcerated mouth with the tenderest delicacy. He would force himself to slowly stand and eat or drink a little. If the food or water came back up, he would rest and try it again until something stayed down. He didn’t want help up or down the stairs and would not permit my friend who was caring for him to treat him as an invalid. (I was, unfortunately, out of town on a prescheduled event and could not cancel).

My friend told me that on the last day of his life, he moved himself over to the steam radiator, not only for the warmth, but because he’d noticed a little mouse hiding in the nearby corner. She watched as his eyes brightened and focused and his body tensed a little in that old familiar predator pounce. Even in the extremity of his last hours, his body remembered its instincts, and although he couldn’t play anymore, he honored that impulse in himself. Lugh was a cat and he loved being alive every moment of every day. My friend told me that at the end, he accepted his death, but didn’t want to leave (I’m not sure he has….he pops into my dreams with regularity).

Lugh taught me to pay attention to the signals of my body: the symptoms, the twitches, the impulses. Many, many spiritual paths tell us about the body’s limitations, its appetites, its weaknesses. But I don’t buy it, not anymore. I’ve come to conclude that blaming the body for the ego’s machinations (the nafs) is the oldest and most successful game in the book. It works so easily because it seems so obvious. The body breaks down, it gets tired, it gets cancer, it goes through puberty, it’s crippled, it has allergies, or whatever. The ego (or “mortal self” as Jane Roberts calls it) can easily hide behind the conditions of the body, even allowing these conditions to act as judge and jury when we being to understand what is meant by “creating our own reality.”

But the body has a life of its own, not an autonomous life (no life is autonomous, only the nafs want you to believe that), but a focus that is its unique provenance. I’ve experienced my body protesting what my ego seems to be demanding of it and nuancing my spirit’s understanding of the physical realm through which it must travel. It is trying to manifest all the competing demands of my many voices and be the vehicle which takes me through this focus existence.

Regardless of their condition, all bodies are amazing. They seek to balance and protect our vulnerabilities with obesity and satisfy our yearnings with addictions. Many of us know and have experienced chronic conditions that are the complicated outcomes of physical selves trying to express and ground deep emotional and spiritual conflicts, some of which cannot be resolved in the physical for whatever reason.

There is this woman who comes into the store at which I work that weighs so much she hasn’t been able to walk for many years. She always brings her family with her, and each one of them expresses through their bodies, some form of what is obviously a deeply shared family spiritual challenge. The older daughter is also overweight, although much less so, and always pregnant. The women’s grandchildren are bright, hyper children who would probably be diagnosed with ADHD. Yet, the whole family just radiates a basic goodness, even though the mother is also pretty demanding and obnoxious: in this case, the bodies of each member are just so honest, and I have to say I appreciate that. It’s like a “Gilbert Grape” moment. (Johnny Depp’s first feature film. Check it out).

The compulsions and addictions that seem to manifest in my body are not of my body. Every recovering alcoholic or drug addict knows this. In fact, when you sober up or get straight, after the initial withdrawal, the body is often the happiest part of you. My body was so grateful when I’d quit drinking. I was sick for a month, but somehow, I knew what was going on and didn’t blame my body for its healing work.

Even then, I understood that illness is like an atmospheric disturbance. Tornadoes and other great storms are attempts by the atmosphere to balance competing air masses over particular kinds of topography. They are simply expressions of power. Sickness is often the same thing: what I experience as a symptom is actually my body attempting to come back from an already experienced imbalance—too much or too little sleep, food, work or play is often the culprit.

Does this mean that matter must rule over mind? Of course not—matter is a manifestation of mind…so where’s the enemy? Does this mean we don’t need doctors or medicine or better surgical techniques or whatever? Again, the extreme protestations of the ego. We need what we think we need. Every body, ego and soul is different, in its own delicate balance.

My large customer has a relationship with her body that asks it to be very large. I don’t know what that story is. I suspect that most people are offended with her because they feel like a sense of privacy has been invaded. There is this sense that a “mechanism” has broken in her and rather like a cancer tumor that’s gone amok, the expansive growth of that broken mechanism is out of control. However, with a tumor or even a mental illness, the manifestation of that “brokenness” is not visible and we can go about our business pretending that such things might not “happen” to us.

However, her massive presence is a reminder (to the ego, who is the real offended party I suspect) that none of us are in complete “control” over everything, that there is something about the body and how it expresses each one of us that is not entirely “controlled.” For all I know, her massive bulk might be what is needed to ground the mental, emotional and spiritual interests of her family: they might require that kind of extreme focus. Isn’t it amazing that a body could so completely and physically manifest that kind of need in that fashion?

This is why no one diet or eating plan works for everyone, and some folks can eat absolute crap and still be relatively healthy. Jane Roberts smoked for years and when she died, of a physically unrelated condition, her lungs were found to be pink and free from the effects. Does that mean that smoking is “safe?” Obviously, not for most people. The point is that bodies have their own foci, their own realms of expertise, which we share with them as we walk through life together and from whom we could learn a great deal.

I guess the reason why I’ve chosen to talk about this comes ultimately from my experience with my nafs. My nafs try to mask themselves in bodily impulses and in so doing attempt to shield themselves from scrutiny. It always seems that when I have a great deal to accomplish, I will “come down” with allergies or a cold. When I was younger, I would often have an accident that would injure some part of me so that I could have an excuse not to fulfill my schedule or purposes.

For many years I blamed my body for not being strong or graceful enough. And then gradually I began to see that it wasn’t my body at all that was behind these episodes. It was “other voices,” other parts of me that would cast doubt on my abilities, would question my motives---would seek to “protect” me from possible failure by prohibiting success. My body would try to express and balance these deeply conflicted and often opposing concerns, and illness or accident would often be the result. It didn’t help that I was told that bodies are bad, tainted with original sin and doomed to the worms.

When that no longer worked, my nafs turned to addictions, using my body’s impulses for creativity, relaxation and intimacy as the tools to further limit my own growth. In overcoming various addictions and compulsions (including drugs, alcohol, smoking, sexual behavior and the ever continuing challenge of misusing spirituality and food) I’ve come to understand that my body was often my greatest spiritual ally.

She never wanted the alcohol, the excessive sex or gorging….she protested and signaled and expressed her discomfort at every stage. My nafs kept telling me, “one more time,” “this doesn’t matter,” “this time you’ll get it right,” “don’t limit yourself,” and “you’re so much better than this or that…” and my body was saying, “we’re full now,” “this tastes terrible,” or, “this doesn’t seem very healthy,” and who wasn’t listening? My body has been so incredibly wise and open and honest and I’ve blamed her for countless misdeeds.

It reminds me of how we blame the earth for natural disasters and illness, forgetting all the time that she stands by while we murder each other, and take endlessly from her. Her arms enfold the killed and the killer equally, perhaps even dispassionately, while she patiently and simply waits for us to remember. Storms may whip themselves up from time to time, but is it her doing, or is it our response that is at issue? She is merely expressing and healing her organism, of which we are a part.

It is our task, not hers, to mourn, to reflect, to change. Who is this monster that wishes my “body” was slimmer (without effort), more tolerant of fatty meats and chocolate, and capable of endless physical and mental labor without rest? Who is this terrorist? My body doesn’t seem to care that it easily accumulates a little extra cellulite, has line backer thighs and really, really doesn’t like to digest pork. My body does not drive itself to those extremes.

Peoples, religions, cultures who have seen the earth as an endless assortment of devouring mouths that demand satiation seem to have forgotten that there is a cycle in this: eating and resting, consumption and renewal. Birth and death go hand in hand here….for some reason, we always seem to want more of one than the other, and then some of us despair of birth and project all our longing into death.

Very strange to blame the earth for our own egoistic and quite mortal distractions. I’m beginning to think that we don’t really see the earth at all. We have this noun “Nature” kind of like “Justice,” “The Holy Spirit,” “Law & Order,” and we think we know what we’re talking about. It’s an abstraction, it’s “out there,” it’s beyond the city streets, down the road, out in the “boonies” or in National Parks. No, earth is right here, in the bacteria that break down the food in your gut, the rats that periodically haunt the back storage room where I work, even in the give and take games of the market place.

A woman came in the store a few weeks back and declared that she wanted to get rid of all the bacteria in her body. I said, “Then, you’ll be dead. Without bacteria, you’ll digest nothing and you’ll die. Germs are your friends.” I don’t even think the physical problems (such as obesity or diabetes) of our culture have anything to do with loving food too much. If we really loved food, we’d pay attention to what we put in our mouths. We hate our hunger and regard it as a great enemy…so like the Aztecs who believed that more blood sacrifices would keep the end of the world at bay, we stuff hamburgers down our mouths to staunch a fear of emptiness…not true emptiness or even true hunger….but the fear of it.

Yes, I know that people die. That’s part of what we’re supposed to do, have chosen to experience here. That doesn’t mean we don’t embrace life. It means we come to understand that there is no Death….with the capital “D”…it’s not an abstraction. There is no need for a Huge Comforting Narrative.

Mortality is the greatest fear of the ego. Bodies, while loving of life, seem to have little trouble letting it go when necessary. In fact, I think bodies sometimes take this upon themselves. I’ve come to believe in the case of a former partner who suddenly died, that her body could no longer handle the intensity and complexity of her various impulsive ego demands and it decided to terminate the experience.

Women in the throes of birth pangs all have told me that at a certain moment, the baby and the body simply take over, and everyone who has gone through puberty knows that a maturing body simply does things from time to time over which neither the spirit nor the nafs have any control. It’s as if the body, even more than the spirit, and certainly more than the nafs, seems to instinctively understand that there is no death, only a change of worlds and focus.

Now that I’m beginning to age a little, I feel this more and more. All on its own my hair is graying rapidly, my joints require a little more stretching than they used to, and I have to respect my intestines more than ever. A few months ago, when my first mammogram revealed a “finding” that had to be diagnosed, I went through the initial jolt of unknowing by having a series of conversations with my right breast. My body assured me it was fine, but I sensed it wanted me to know it better. The “finding” turned out to be a benign cyst brought on by the onset of first stage menopause.

The conversations have become ongoing….as the symptoms have increased. Bodies are more flexible and creative than we often give them credit for, yet our spirits have decided upon a limited term in this focus reality (I don’t know why…maybe that’s the biggest question). Our bodies reflect and express that “limited term” in infinite ways; our egos/nafs protest and our bodies get the blame. Isn’t that interesting?

So, for me, the greatest challenge is untangling the demands of the ego/nafs from the honest expressions of the body. Of course the body is limited (although less than we might think). I prefer to say, the body is very focused. Our technologies are attempts to extend the range of the body. Our cyber-organic fantasies are egoistic fascinations with the limits of that range, since we instinctively know that we’ve manifested bodies which are both self aware and inclined to serve, like ultimate Hanumans.

Where all this will lead us is anyone’s guess. That doesn’t make the body wrong, sinful, or meaningless. Individuals who have been born with physical challenges know the potentials of the body in ways that “normals” (whatever that is) cannot understand. I have been fortunate to know many people who creatively demonstrate the possibilities of bodies formed with cerebral palsy, or without sight or hearing. I have been especially impressed with individuals who maintained very strong bodies that managed to get them through periods of extraordinary mental illness.

In my own case, my body has been my most profound friend and companion during my bouts of clinical depression by teaching me how to be patient, go slowly, to nourish gently and to relax. This, to me, is why breathing practices are so essential: breath is the root and ground of physical existence, the manifestation of spirit in and through the body matrix, so basic, so simple and we do it all the time.

Through our bodies, we are always speaking, always revealing, even if no words are used. In this sense, I am not a Gnostic who longs to get off world. This physical life has been and continues to be a blessing to me, even with its pain, insecurities and uncertainties. This love, as expressed in my only vehicle, will carry me. Or to put it another way, as the reading from our teacher tells us, as our bodies, times and places differ, so shall, so must our worship vary accordingly.