I would be a better writer if I had smaller breasts. Stay with me. Sitting here now, loaded up on ibuprofen just to write an article might sound extreme, sensory discomfort interfering with my creative, cognitive process, well that’s just part of being female, right? The physical experience we have inside our body whether conscious or not can’t help but shape our world.
Let’s back track for context.
Given ‘the whole package overnight,’ I was one of those lucky girls who awoke age 12 with it all going on. Puberty was not a gradual process. I can think of nothing crueler for a girl whose life revolved around local leisure centres and regional swim meets. Even when I descended into anorexia aged 15 I was still a 30F! I was a rebel with a cause; to vanish completely from view.
At war with my own body this was more than just a hangover from 90’s waif culture. It was an attempt to show the world on the outside what was happening on the inside. Nothing says ‘help me’ more than your lips turning blue with cold whilst holding onto handfuls of your own hair. It was a slow suicide mission although I did not want to die.
Ironically, I just wanted to be seen.
As I came to realise (after pushing it to its absolute limit) ‘the meat suit’ sure did have (ironically) its restrictions. Yet through maturity I have begun to understand something else. The body is a container, a conduct for what is truly important – a home for our soul. When the soul is unhappy then so too is the body and it will cry out to us in all manner of manifestations.
Take for example your heart.
We are conditioned to think of it only in terms of its physicality, we keep our cholesterol down, cut the rind off the bacon, thinking we are taking adequate care of ourselves, but what are our spiritual hearts? The consumption of information we ingest and who/what we give our time/attention too all matter just as much.
Poignantly, I now find myself living in a world that’s spiritually anorexic, living alongside a species accessing only the basic amount of its true nature, malnourished from meaning beyond the material plain.
Our souls are literally starving.
In ancient cultures, they had Shamans, or Elders in the community to oversee such matters but these sacred rites have been lost amongst mainstream religious dogma, and ‘top down’ systems. A little under a few hundred years ago you could be killed for experimenting with divinity beyond the parameters of an organised or theoretical God. Yet this is your birthright, and that of every other person on this planet. You have abilities fair beyond what you have been led to believe you are capable of.
Spiritual development is nearly always prompted by suffering.
From a young age we are taught to respond to the world through our mind, our personalities (ego) the accomplice in this façade whilst our body just a holder for ‘the thoughts.’ Hardwired to avoid dis-comfort entire industries have been built up to help us evade the cold dark truth of our own pain. Big pharma treats the mind (temporary respite) but can’t hold the soul. Yet, this anguish is necessary if we are to evolve as a species as it propels us to look beyond what we’ve previously known to pull us through.
Acknowledging we have a spiritual nature is the first step.
Humans are flawed and the physical world uncertain which is why we shouldn’t be afraid to look beyond it for help. Looking back now and my heart breaks for that 15-year-old girl caught up in a toxic (low calorie) soup of blame, shame and pain. Now I would never go a day without food, and the same is true for how I feed my soul. By communing daily with ‘that which is higher and wiser than I,’ call it God/Source/Allah; it transcends words/labels.
This is how I stay full.