For the love of my body.
As I enter I am immediately aware of the shift of energy. I leave behind me a sun-filled 65 degree February day in New England. A blip of hope. A reminder that spring will come, and it will be filled with life; birds chirping, humans bustling and plants bursting from their slumber. Once I step through, the large glass door continues its monotonous circular motion. A spaceship letting off one passenger at a time to this technological planet; then continuing its rotation, grabbing another and spitting them onto the conveyor belt.
The hallway is long and white and I can hear my footsteps reverberate off the concrete walls. So many people, at the same time the path is so cavernous, it feels lonely. There are two distinct populations inhabiting this planet; the observers and the observed. The observers move quickly, their steps clipped and sharp. They look up, all business, minds humming with knowledge. Their destiny known. The observed look down, the gravitational pull influenced by their dread. Rendered powerless upon entry, minds full of questions, swimming in anxiety. Destiny unknown.
The smell is antiseptic. To ensure there is no remnant of those that came before.
Last name. Birthdate. Identified. Branded around the wrist. Directed to remove clothes. Stripped of humanness. Demoralized. The gap in the two populations on this planet begins to widen. Now engulfed under the enormous invisible microscope. The newbies are obvious, they startle at the gunfire of personal questions directed right at their face and heart. And so, the quest begins. The poking, prodding, repeated questions (didn’t I just answer that one?), needles, more questions. Eyes stare compliant, we speak when spoken to. Desperately trying to make sense of the line of questioning. We file the words away for rumination later. If we are practiced, we have the ability to escape from ourselves and watch from the safety of above. This is only attainable for the veterans. Honed with acute skill. That said, being a member of the observed is the great equalizer. We are all eager for answers to the quest. The quest? Yes, the what is wrong with me quest.
Alone. Vulnerable. Naked under the simple cotton (or paper!) johnny. Upon entry to this planet we are stripped of any confidence we might have had of this magical temple that we inhabit. That energy that I felt when I walked in, the heaviness, the dread – it also had a sucking, a pulling of strength and knowledge. All confidence gone, our power handed over; in return now veiled in a cloak of helplessness.
We wait. Wait to hear what is wrong. And there will be something wrong, this is why we entered. This is what they do on this planet, they look for what is wrong. And when the information is finally shared, we are as vulnerable as baby birds. At the utter mercy of their care and direction. Upon entering we handed them our agency, believing only they could magically provide hope and make our world sun filled and 65 degrees.
It is morning.
Eyes flutter open.
Lungs inflate.
Fingers move.
Wherever you find yourself, whatever wrong they found, do you realize there are 14,000,000 rights that are going on in your body in this moment?
Perhaps you woke in a hospital bed. Surrounded by blinking lights and beeping machines as a result of your visit to the technological planet.
Will I ever feel better?
Perhaps you woke in your warm bed with the anxiety of your previous days visit to the planet detonating like a bomb as you greet this new day.
What is wrong with me?
Perhaps you woke noticing the aching joints, your sore back or the muddy feeling in your head, or upset stomach – both lingering results of the previous evenings indulgence.
I’m getting so old.
Stop.
Did your eyes flutter open?
Did your lungs inflate?
Did your fingers move?
As a culture, we spend an enormous amount of time highlighting, focusing, finding, fixating … on what is wrong. What is wrong with our body, as if it is a separate entity that we have no control over.
How is this “wrong focus” possible when the things going right are likely a million times more than what is wrong? This may sound like a crazy concept. We have made it crazy with our negative, not enough, what is wrong culture.
Stop.
When I was diagnosed with cancer I was the most fit – mentally and physically than I had ever been in my life. I was in the eleventh month of a year-long yoga teacher training program. I was completely immersed in yoga. Observing. Reading. Practicing. Breathing consciously. Meditating. Eating healthy. I could do crow pose and handstands for crying out loud! At the same time, I had some cells that went rogue. My oncologist, my beloved Dr. Argenta, actually said, “Other than the cancer, you are a very healthy young woman.”
Seriously?
Yes. Seriously.
That was fifteen years ago. Last week was my 15th anniversary dancing with NED (no evidence of disease). I celebrate it every year pouring gratefulness over the team of doctors still practicing on the technological planet I frequented so often. Today, with hindsight as my guide, I realize I am still here because of the 14,000,000 things that were going right, not those 400 rogue cells.
Okay. Full disclosure. I certainly was NOT thinking this way at the time. Hindsight is 20/20 remember? But here I am. Here to share this experience, to save you the pain. So you can learn from me.
When first diagnosed it was a whirlwind of hyper-focused wrong. But I was blessed to be surrounded by a community that helped me simultaneously, albeit subliminally focus on the things going right. My yoga community enveloped me. My teacher, Christa, read healing meditations into a tape recorder that I listened to so many times I must have worn the tape thin. These healing messages talked to my sick cells but also spoke to my healthy ones – “giddy up” it said. She came to my house after surgery and gently, in her beautiful melodic voice (which I can still hear today when I do certain poses) encouraged me to move my body so that scar tissue did not take over. Neighbors brought homemade smoothies and peach ice cream to Unit 7C during my week-long stays. I was being pumped with chemo 24 hours a day, whose job was to kill the rogue cells but unable to differentiate, took the good guys too. The food prepared with love and care nourished every cell, giving them a little lift. “Giddy up” it said. Packages and notes of love arrived daily reminding me of my community and that I was not alone, “giddy up”. My sister gave me a gratitude journal that I wrote in most mornings. Some days all I could muster was…
My eyes flutter open.
My lungs inflate.
My fingers move.
Of course, fifteen years later allows me the hindsight to see these gifts that were the counter balance of what was wrong with me. Unconsciously, I was focusing on the good. Rallying those 14,000,000 rights.
So. Let’s start again.
It is morning.
Eyes flutter open.
Lungs inflate.
Fingers move.
Take a few moments at this break of day to body scan the temple you live in. Notice the things going right.
Start from the top of your head.
Your brain is functioning.
Eyes take in the sun soaked wall across from you.
Ears awake to the birds singing outside your window. Or maybe the giggle of your children? A loved one whispering sweet nothings in your ear? A dog gently woofing it’s desire to relieve itself? The purr of your kitty that wants to be fed? The hum of your refrigerator?
Your inhale begins with your nose and moves down to inflate your lungs, ribs yawn open, belly rises. Your exhale travels the path in reverse.
You swallow your sleep soaked mouth and then reach your arm to the glass of water next to your bed. You drink it in and let it bathe your organs.
Can you feel your heart beat? Can you feel the reverberation of your blood flow all the way to your fingers?
Stomach growls from fasting for the last 7 hours.
Feel the points of your hips, relieved to lie flat for precious hours after being folded for so many behind a desk, or the wheel of a car.
Your feet. Those amazing things that allow you to walk through this one wild and precious life.
Yes. Yes, you should acknowledge the pains you might encounter in your body scan. For me it is my lower back, the click in my right shoulder. I thank these parts of me that suffer. I have worked this little temple so hard.
Start your day acknowledging the shell that you reside in. From there step into your world and do so with confidence. It does not matter if you are answering questions in that cold technological planet or at the grocery store – you know your body. You know more than anyone in the world what is right for your body and what is wrong.
Take ownership. Be grateful and be a part of your healing. Spread mad love to this life through every cell of your body.