Do you have a body?

Are you your body?

Are you a being that inhabits a body?

Who would you be without your body?

How do you know your body?

These are fundamental questions that reveal perspectives on the body and how we relate to our bodies based on those perspectives. Then, depending on how you relate to your body, you will inevitably move according to the nature of that relationship. Along with your mind, this is your most intimate relationship. Yet attitudes about the physical self go largely unnoticed.

As I have deepened my dharma practice, I've bumped up against the Buddhist notion that we are not our bodies. That's not so unusual; many spiritual traditions say similar things about being more than, or other than, the body. The Buddhist view, however, goes farther. It says that we don't own our bodies either, they are just borrowed for this life cycle. 

I struggled with this at first. I mean, if it's not my body, whose is it? We tend to get attached to our bodies, to identify with them in ways that make every sensation mine, every somatic experience Me. When I began to observe my experiences with present moment awareness, I realized that nothing I can do or feel or know through my physical self is separate from my mind, and sense contacts are just that -- moments of sensory contact, which I then layer with meaning or a story or something more. 

For instance, if you are meditating and you feel pain in your knee, you say "my knee hurts." Or if you have indigestion you say, "my stomach hurts." But if it's not your knee or your stomach, perhaps it's just a sharp ache or the burning sensation of acid reflux. This shift in perspective brings some relief. When you put a little space between the sensations you are feeling and your ownership of the body, it often gets easier.

You can check this out for yourself. The next time you're aware of discomfort or an unpleasant bodily sensation, notice the thoughts that accompany it. Your mind might be predicting a terrible outcome or despairing about ever being free of this pain. Then step back, get curious about what you are actually feeling. Is it sharp or dull, hot or cold, in one place or moving around? You don't have to like what you're feeling, but can you say, "it's like this right now," without personalizing it? If you can, you'll begin to see how the sensations are changing, possibly even fading as you remain close to your experience. Maybe it's not the intractable, monolithic problem that your mental habits tell you it is.

This works for pleasant, enjoyable sensations too. It's lovely to savor the taste of something delicious, but do you feel greedy for more chocolate even as you're tasting it? Do you feel disappointed when you've eaten it all and there's no more left? We get attached to everything, unless we begin to see this tendency and learn to let go.

Still, what about my slightly smartass question, "if not my body, then whose?" Thich Nhat Hanh once said, "There's a screaming baby in the room. It's not yours, but nevertheless you must care for it." My body isn't mine but it's my responsibility to care for it as best I can. A teeny tiny part of me feels this is kind of a raw deal. But ultimately it has been incredibly freeing and uplifting to understand the truth of it.

Not being the owner of my body turns it into a dear friend or loved one that needs and deserves my care and support. This body has been my most excellent teacher, especially since I began practicing the Alexander Technique 35 years ago. By not confusing it with Who I Am, I can hear what it has to say with less fear and without needing to manage it into some more perfect condition or way of being. The body becomes a wide open resonator as I move through the myriad experiences of any given day.

This different way of relating to the body helps me navigate my thoughts and emotions with more kindness and less confusion. I have deepened my understanding that it is all simply nature, and it's easier to participate with the flow and natural unfolding of this life. For me that means I can let go of the illusion that I control my body and mind. 

Again, check this out for yourself. You might think you're controlling your body when you walk, for example, but when you observe the experience closely you'll see that you're merely making a choice (volitional movement) and participating with the body's built-in ability to walk upright on two legs. Earlier I said that you will inevtiably move according to how you relate to your body. If you think you need to "make" your body move, if you force yourself to do tasks and other actions, if the body is something you have to wrangle into submission to your will, your movement will reflect that. 

Alternatively, if your body is a friend (or sometimes a screaming baby), you'll relate to it with care and kindness, allowing it to move and do what it does more naturally. Then you'll be participating with it and perhaps even rediscover some wonder about its miraculous complexity and beauty.