It’s a long story, the details of which are probably not necessary for this post, but I spent yesterday morning visiting with frustration, trying to get to the bottom of it. After digging through the surface issues, I finally hit the core of the matter. The core, of course, is very personal. It was a realization that I have not been honest with myself.
I was going to write “truth is such a fickle thing,” but that’s not true, is it?
Your body is the piece of the universe you’ve been given; as long as you have a pulse, it presents you with an ongoing shower of immediate sensate experiences. Red, salt, loneliness, heat. When a friend says something painful to you, your chest aches. When you fall in love, that same chest feels like fireworks and waterfalls and explosions of ecstasy. When you are lonely, your body feels empty. When you are sad, it feels as if there is a Mack truck sitting on your lungs. Grief feels like tidal waves knocking you down, joy like champagne bubbles welling up in your arms, your legs, your belly. Our minds are like politicians; they make stuff up, they twist the truth. Our minds are masters at blame, but our bodies… our bodies don’t lie. Which is, of course, why so many of us learned to zip out of them at the first sign of trouble.
~ Geneen Roth, Women Food And God
I’ve been spending time learning how to be present in my body. Listening to my body. I’ve learned that my body knows truth. No matter what my mind might be nattering on about, no matter what my emotions might be, my body holds the truth of the matter.
It’s not always easy to stay present, to sit with the body and with a truth. It is, however, liberating. Once I know, truly know, what’s at the base of an emotion, I can deal with it. It’s the not knowing that keeps me tied up in knots, unable to move on.