In the New York Times there was article about runners listening to their bodies, see below-
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/25/health/nutrition/25best.html?ref=nutrition
I felt my heart rate go up as I read this article. I kept thinking, "Phoenix Rising! Phoenix Rising!" as I read it. Coming from a background in fairly extreme athletics and dancing, I can relate to much of what these runners talk about when the article says, "But sometimes even when you have a bad feeling about sudden pain, it can be hard to stop, especially during a race." Indeed! During a race, or a performance, or even a rehearsal it can be hard to stop. A lot of my athletic ability was based on how well I could handle the aches, pains and discomfort required to get stronger or to learn a new trick, or to come back the next day so sore it was painful to laugh, all so I could get better. I could hear all the messages my body was sending me, I just learned how to override the signals. If I heard, "ugh, I'm so tired, I need to stop" I could hear it and choose to ignore it. This is a typical dancer-ly response. We have been rehearsing for nine months and we have two performances. The pressure to make them the best, to excel, to fully rejoice in the culmination of so many hours of work and be recognized for it doesn't have a lot of room for backing off and slowing down in order to hear a tiny internal request for some tending.
As a child, I competed in gymnastics, played on several soccer teams and danced. I reveled in what my body could do. I still do. It wasn't until I became a dancer for STREB in 2000 that I mastered my ability to override my body's instincts and signals. Because STREB was so dangerous, I had new and different instincts to override. Deeper ones. I learned to tune out fear and my body's impulses to save me. This included simple bodily reactions such as catching myself with my hands while falling belly first so my organs could be protected from impact, or resisting the urge to sit on my butt when falling backwards so my skull and brain were saved from impact. I perfected these new techniques for curtailing impulse. Even though they went against impulse they actually made biomechanical sense and had value in protecting me from joint or muscle strain. My brain didn't care that I was falling on a padded surface, for my brain impact is impact and my body advised against it. Our bodies are programmed for survival, meaning our animalistic core is very interested in saving organs and brains and can let an arm get broken if it means saving a head from banging into the ground. All in all, its a good system and it usually works. But there is a cost to tinkering with and manipulating these deep core impulses that the body offers. It begins to pave over a sensitivity to the quieter messages. When all signals can be disregarded, when there is the ability to tune out or shut down and dissasociate from the body's instincts and wisdom, we lose touch with our center of self.
Ok, I admit, that is a big statement, and what is the "center of self" anyway? Its hard to find anyone who tells us to trust what our bodies tell us. Usually we are told someone else has the answer. The body must be shaped and directed. We must control our instincts, impulses and urges because if we didn't, we would all be shoving mountains of donuts into our publicly fornicating bodies while surrounded by piles of mess and would only cease for moments of apathetic zoning in front of mindless entertainment. I actually believe that that is not true. I believe that that impulse for a donut is only the first part of the message, we don't bother listening after that because a donut is a really easy solution. The body gets your attention with the sweet smell of a donut, and then you stop listening and in minutes buy and eat. "Problem" solved. First of all, there is not problem in wanting a donut. We humans like sweet things. However, we are also very complicated and layered beings. If you open up to hearing and listening to your body with an increased sensitivity, and with a genuine curiosity, underneath that impulse for a donut, is more- maybe an anxiety in your chest, a sadness in your gut, an emptiness in your belly. Much like a child who starts out with a scream, if you listen lovingly, the child begins to cry and eventually communicates not anger, but hurt. The emptiness, the longing... may not be for a donut, but you'd have to slow down and tune in enough to your own deep experience to hear the rest. Ok, somebody is saying, "yeah, well, what if I really just want a donut?" Well, then by all means (and make it a krispy kreme)! And when you eat it and after its done, you should feel a sweet, simple and uncomplicated joy and fulfillment.
This kind of tuning in is what I call "listening to my body." And it has taken many years of practice inside sessions of PRYT and on my own to even begin to actually hear the subtlety of the wisdom my body offers. I struggle with it daily. It is not always a clear ringing out, and some days I don't want to listen. Those are the days I end up regretting missing another chance to practice being a kind listener. And it certainly comes with intellectual complications, the philisophical debates: What about the implication of this dualism of Me and Body, isn't that a kind of seperation? Or is it that we use this dualistic language for the efficacy of communicating within experience, to develop a relationship between two identities? But, wait, I am my body! And furthermore, who is the listener and who is the body? Well, maybe we can save that for the next blog entry. Me, myself and my head hurts. Simply put, using this language of "my body" and "me" has served a very essential purpose for me, to cultivate a more connected experience of life in and around me. Maybe it is tool I can abandon when I've outgrown it's use. I would like that. But for now, it is a conversation I learn a lot from.
I share these thoughts and my reaction to this article because I enjoy feeling integrated. Meaning, I enjoy hearing, listening and living from my truths. It is deeply fulfilling. And I love witnessing this process in other people. As I continue to explore what fulfilling is for me, I strive to stay open to it changing into something else. Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy has been the place where I began to hear on a much deeper level, who I am- mind, body and heart. When I first layed down on the mat and was asked, "what's happening now?" I had a hard time answering. I didn't really know, it was like being in a room with very little visual variation. The path was covered with weeds and had detours and felt jungled over with misconceptions and judgments. I can say it is a clearer path now, and I love to answer that question "what's happening now?" It begins a journey, a very rich conversation. When I am listening clearly, I am connected to my own experience with the same brightness that I am with the world surrounding my body. And I experience a profound joy in that connectedness.
So, the part of the article that says, “I never listened to my body,” he said. “Maybe I should have. So let’s get that clear right off: I think it’s an impossible task.” is kind of right on. It is hard to hear what your body is saying! But impossible it is not. That's why we need to practice it. You can't learn to speak a language if you don't practice it. And without nurturing that practice, it will be difficult to experience the depth, humor and poetry that that language offers.
