The Slowest Part of Ourselves
The body is the slowest part of ourselves. Our thoughts, emotions, spirits — these can move at lightning speed, switching from one state to another in an instant. The body, though, takes time to learn. The metaphor shifts from lightning to ocean liner, changing direction in the vast sea: slow, laborious, needing time before it can complete the turn.
The other side of that, though, is that once the body gets it, it knows how to keep moving steadily in the direction of healing. It demonstrates what a loyal and powerful ally it can be.
Everything we do in our lives is mediated by the body. Ultimately, our deepest thoughts are transmitted by electrical pulses along neurons. A parent’s profound love for a child involves a massive dump of hormones into the endocrine system. Peak spiritual experiences may expand the chest or cause tears to stream down cheeks.
We are in this world, embedded in this physical reality for however long we’re alive. What’s more, we need not delay finding paradise until after death — it’s available to us in the here and now. This is known as a radically realized eschatology. (Eschatology is the theological term for how we understand final things.)
Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker notes that radically realized eschatology “begins with affirming that we are already standing on holy ground. … Instead of striving to get somewhere else, our goal can be to fully arrive here and greet each day of life with gratitude.” This applies as much to arriving fully in our bodies as in the world.
For years, due to my own trauma history, I spent most of my time away from my body. With time and practice, I started recognizing the signs that I was dissociating: the edges of my vision would grow a little hazy. I’d lose track of what I was saying. My sense of presence turned into a notable absence.
I also learned techniques to come back to myself. I’d wiggle my toes within my shoes, or I’d go around the room noticing objects and their colors: brown table, blue shirt, yellow book. By grounding myself in the here and now, my body became an anchor in my current reality rather than my traumatic past. I came alive rather than merely existing.
I know that this can get tricky when the trauma is still ongoing. But I also know — after decades of hating my body and believing that it had betrayed me — that our bodies are always on our side. They alone remain with us from birth until death. They consistently lean towards healing as best they can, even if they can’t make it to wellness.
Whether or not the spirit is willing, the flesh is not weak. It is the magical machine that makes the human experience possible. We find paradise, Dr. Parker reminds us, through “a profound embrace of this world” — including our own embodiment.
If we can feel at home in this world — truly at home, without any asterisk about our size or disability or anything else — we won’t just benefit from the steadfast gifts of the body. We’ll also have better access to the gratitude, compassion, and peace that keep us connected to all the beauty of this sacred world. May we always remember that we, too, are holy ground.
- The Slowest Part of Ourselves - June 1, 2021
