mind body balance | Dare Boldly

As I journey through the inevitable process of aging, I’ve come to realize it’s high time I extend an apology to my body and seek its forgiveness.

Growing up with a blend of East Indian and Catholic influences, I’ve absorbed various cultural perspectives, but am, by and far, a product of western culture. In our Western-centric world, I’ve often treated my body like an Uber for my brain – a mere vehicle for my thoughts and ambitions, sometimes paying it with rich nourishment, sometimes with trash-talk and trash TV.

But here’s the challenge: although I might treat ‘my body’ as simple the arms and legs to move my head around, there’s no body-mind separation. I am my body – my body is me; it’s not just a sidekick I occasionally acknowledge like a distant cousin at a family reunion. My body isn’t just a vessel; it’s me, through and through.

And here’s the kicker: my mind has this annoying habit of trash-talking my body, especially those parts that are showing the wear and tear of time or my own neglect. Which, to be clear, given that there is no part of me that isn’t all of me and my body, when I call my right knee which is currently in one of its depressive states, stupid, I am calling all of me, stupid.

What’s even more amusing – or perhaps alarming – is how I feed my mind with garbage and then blame it for feeling sluggish. Hello, pot, meet kettle! Pouring junk into my “mind” is akin to dumping it directly into my body. Remember, there’s no compartmentalization here.

So, it’s time for a heartfelt apology to my body – and that includes my mind, my whole being. I’ve realized I’ve been verbally and at times physically, abusing myself in a way I wouldn’t dream of with my closest friend.

Mind, body, et mois are inseparable. We are one.

Forgiving myself is a crucial step in aging gracefully without lugging around the baggage of self-condemnation. It’s about letting go of the unkind words I’ve whispered to myself and the neglect I’ve inflicted on my body by treating it like a second class citizen in the world I inhabit.

Ultimately, forgiveness isn’t just a ticket to peace; it’s the path to gratitude. This morning, as I listen to the geese honking and watch them strut and fluff their wings on the ice bar where they are gathered, the sun is gracefully painting the sky in hues of rose and gold.

This is my world and all of me is welcome, no scratch that, needed in my world. In this place where I sit, one with the world within and around me, all of me gives thanks for this miraculous, mystical, and yes, occasionally creaky, vessel that houses the entirety of who I am.

If I Knew Then…
Art Journal Cover
Mixed Media

river flowing forward
dawn breaks
darkness falls back

I am on my mat. Body bent in child’s pose, forehead touching mat, posterior reaching for heels, arms outstretched above my head. Torso pressing down towards the earth.

I am a supplicant bowing before the altar. I am a priestess offering up her prayers. I am hot and sweaty and I am crying.

They are unexpected these tears. Not particularly welcome either. Who cries in a yoga class?

My eldest daughter tells me it’s not unusual. Yoga touches the core. At the core, emotions flow and when released, can express themselves through tears.

Yeah? Well I don’t cry in public.

Good thing my forehead is pressed to the mat. Good thing I’m sweating so profusely. No one will be able to see my tears.

I replay the teacher’s words through my mind once again.

“The body needs the mind to be engaged. They need each other for strength, courage, balance…. Where the mind goes, the body follows.”

Even as I type the words, I can feel the emotional tug of recognition, remembrance, awakening.

My body and my mind. I have treated them as separate. Independent. They have continually battled for voice. To be heard. To be recognized. To be known — as independent. The mind fighting for control, the body fighting to lead the way, to take charge, to be in charge.

Connect. Make peace. Body bows to mind. Mind makes way for body.

I imagine a bridge. Water flowing beneath. My mind wants to take the bridge, the route of safety. My body wants to swim. To immerse itself in the raging waters and go with the flow.

From above, the water looks dangerous. “Do not go in,” my know-it-all mind cautions. “You do not know what lies within. The current is too strong. You might drown.” And then it adds for good measure, “Someone built that bridge to make it easier. Why not take the path of least resistance?”

“I will never know what lies within if I do not venture,” my dare-it-all body responds, desperately trying to break free of mind’s control. “Anyone can cross a bridge. But to swim across, to tempt the fates, to venture into the depths, to discover what’s really there, ahhh, that takes courage. Fortitude. A spirit of adventure. A willingness to risk.”

“The bridge is there for a reason,” mind parries back. “The object is to reach the other side. It doesn’t matter how you get there, what matters is you get there.”

“I disagree,” yells body. “You always decide where we’re going but I am the one who carries us there. I am the one who decides how we take the journey.”

And they duke it out on the safe side of the river, the distant shore forgotten in their fight for freedom from one another.

And the water keeps flowing and I keep holding back from stepping away from the shore where I am comfortable in what I know to be true. Whether I step onto the bridge, or enter the waters, it isn’t about how I take the journey, it is that I take it with mind and body engaged, each one supporting, loving, carrying and caring for the other.

To live means to risk. It requires stepping into the unknown. Pushing against boundaries, forging new trails.

Many years ago, Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”

And I remember what I have forgotten in my flight and fight to get to the other side.

On the journey, no matter where I am going, there is only one thing that carries me across, through and over. There is only one thing I need to carry to wade into the waters or step onto the safety of the bridge.

Love.

In Love, I am safe no matter where I go or how I travel.

In Love, body and mind travel united.

In Love, all things are possible.

I bent my head to the mat. Tears flowed and I found myself once again, flowing in Love.