Listening to the Body: A Practice of Kindness
For most of us, for most of our lives, our bodies are a slave to our needs and desires. There is a tendency to push our bodies mercilessly, until some kind of illness or breakdown occurs. At this point, we pay attention to our body, as it is now screaming out its distress, and is no longer available to function in service to our needs and desires.
One day, I had the realization that my body was quietly communicating to me all the time. However, I was only taking the time to listen and respond to it on occasion, once its distress had escalated. I had spent most of my adult life engaged in body centered movement and healing practices, but I still wasn't actively listening to my body and attending to its needs on a regular basis. As an experiment, I made a commitment to pay attention and respond to my body's communication every single day. The results of this experiment far exceeded my expectations. This commitment transformed my life.
Essentially, I made time to be present for my body, and respond to its stored pain and wounds. I was not trying to fix or change anything, but I did hold an intention for healing. The specifics were actually quite simple. I spent a lot of time just holding my hands on places that felt tense or wounded. My body would indicate which areas most needed tending, by subtle sensations of uncomfortableness, or overt actual pain. Typically, after holding these areas for a time, there would be a physical release. I would then tune in again with a fresh open mind, and see what my body wanted next. Often, I held the same places over and over again. Occasionally, my body wanted movement, in addition to touch.
It turned out that my body, not my mind, held a deep knowing about how to unravel trauma, and how to heal itself. Step by painstaking step, my body released its underlying chronic tension and holding patterns. The spacious and relaxed feelings of an undefended body, after an hour or more of release, felt amazing. But typically, I would fall back to sleep, or go about my day, and my body would tighten back up again. Like Sisyphus rolling a boulder back up a hill, the next day I repeated the same process all over again. I felt like a weary parent with a newborn. Every night my body called out to me, and every night I rose to feed it. I answered the call to be there for myself, irrespective of outcome or level of difficulty. My heart knew the value of this simple kind practice. I felt compelled to stay with it, even though it felt so hard.
Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, my body began to unwind a lifetime of accumulated conditioning. With time, some patterns released themselves fully. Those places remained more reliably relaxed and open, instead of returning to their usual contracted state. Slowly, layer by layer, my body was safely and comfortably unraveling itself.
I didn't know it when I first began, but devoting time to listening to my body and being present for it, turned out to be one of the most loving things that I'd ever done for myself. I wasn't trying to be loving, yet deep feelings of unconditional love began emerging as a by product. I wasn't trying to get rid of physical aches and pains, but I noticed that most chronic pain disappeared. I wasn't trying to be less reactive, but my capacity to remain present, in emotionally challenging situations, gradually increased. In time, this body centered practice became more effortless. I looked forward to it, as a relaxing and soothing part of my day.
I didn't fully understand it initially, but the real benefit of this work went beyond progress or results. I had grossly underestimated the value of presence, surrender, listening, and other receptive acts of non-doing. My body was teaching me the merit of incorporating these qualities into my everyday life. Moreover, I discovered that presence was actually far more effective at facilitating change, than methods of pushing to get somewhere or striving to be something.
As the body-centered work slowly crept into other aspects of my life, I became a better advocate for myself. I took more risks. I listened and stayed attentive to my body in different kinds of situations. I wasn't trying to switch the overall dynamics by having my body lead my mind, although there are teachers and traditional practices that advocate this kind of reversal. I simply noticed that I felt better whenever I remembered to stay attentive to my body. I was learning to listen to and be physically present with what was happening, in each moment of my life. It became easier to welcome and work with difficult moments. I had learned on a visceral level that things evolve and change by themselves, once given the fertile, accepting ground to do so.
To my surprise, instead of mind commanding body or body leading mind, I now realize that my body and mind are collaborators, functioning together as a unit. A new sense of alignment has gradually been replacing the inner division and conflict. Listening to my body has slowly retrained my consciousness. As my body learns to hold patterns of open receptivity, so does my mind. What a relief, to sense my bodymind as one integrated, receptive whole. We are not meant to live divided, mind against body. This division actually takes enormous energy to sustain and uphold. An increase in my level of energy has been an unexpected but welcome gift, from this inner work.
The truth is that we already are whole, all of us, without exclusion. Our wholeness has been obscured by our mistaken identification. We view ourselves as separate selves, struggling to survive in an often hostile, divisive and fragmentary world. And to a certain degree our viewpoint is understandable, as much of our world actually promotes division, violence, dishonesty, and greed. It is hard to feel, much less move from wholeness, when living in a culture that supports its opposite.
For most of my life I have felt like a victim, a person perpetually betrayed by the world, other people, and her body. I have moved through life as this wounded vulnerable person, in perpetual conflict with her body and herself. I know firsthand how hard it is to perceive oneself and the world to be otherwise. But this simple body practice has cracked open and unraveled my defenses enough, so that I now regularly perceive a wholeness that has been there all along. This wholeness includes everything, even the dark broken places. However it is crucial that you feel it, and not just know about it. Simple daily acts of kind presence toward yourself, eventually allow access to a felt sense of indivisible wholeness: a felt sense that is at once utterly ordinary and yet seamlessly profound.