The body

I didn’t really know my body at all until my 30s, when I hired a personal trainer. My body was something I relied on to get me from point A to point B, to house a brain, to enjoy a drink or five. I can’t speak for others, but I wonder if this attitude might be the case for lots of people even today.

The trainer (thanks Martin!) taught me that if I focus on (“isolate”) one muscle group, I could get to know it, help it flourish. I’m blessed with some robust DNA, so expanding those muscles was easy for me, once I stopped protesting about how much it hurt and how I couldn’t possibly do it.

Fast forward decades later. My body is no longer a 25-year-old machine that can take any amount of abuse. I have to watch what I put in it, and move it around to keep those muscles from seizing up. But I’ve come to honour my body and listen to it, because it’s my temple. It’s the thing that lets me function in this world.

Our bodies are incredible machines. The muscles and sinews perfectly align to propel us, perform our will. All those sensing organs work seamlessly for us to engage in the cosmos around us. The DNA at the base of it all replicates, heals, advances, cheers us on with a happy feeling when we accomplish things.

The body’s magic is that it just does this stuff without our even needing to be aware of what it’s doing. Most of us just ignore our body. Put whatever into it, deprive it of sleep, muddle along. For some unfortunate people their body rebels, but for the majority their body just goes on and on without much more protest than the occasional hurt and pain. Until one day it stops.

It’s so hard here not to give glib advice. Get to know your body! Watch what you eat! Get moving! You’re bombarded with this advice I’m sure. Problem is, for humans the mind games sabotage the body. In my view, it starts by working on the mind …

Words [2]

Melting words

It’s three years since my last blog post. There was a pandemic. Things got crazy out there. And words seemed so … difficult. Loaded. Ephemeral. Not suited to purpose. Often disguising bullshit. It didn’t seem worth the effort to try to say something that couldn’t really be expressed adequately with words.

I did write words in angsty cursive, filling many hard-cover journals bought at the art store. Mostly lists of what I should be doing but don’t quite get to. (Declutter my house! Wash my walls! Contact people! Write a blog entry!!) With the occasional attempt at philosophy. And lots of “I want to blog about that one day!”

I went through awkward phases of purposeful ignorance, hiding out, blocking out, cursing out, checking out. But along the way some magic happened. I learned, with effort, to inhale and exhale with no other focus but to the person (or animal or plant or rock) in front of me at that moment. To feel honoured that I’m in a brief moment of time on a beautiful planet. That, yes, I’m insignificant in the universal scheme of things but yet, here I am with so many levels of consciousness and awareness. And with so many other beings going through it with me. I learned gratitude for all this.

These experiences started to feel so intense that I wanted to share them. But when I tried explaining to people in person, their eyes darted away and they changed the subject. I realized that I needed to write down the words and edit them ruthlessly to figure it out. Maybe I can get words to work after all …

So here goes. Blog 2.0.