In recent days I have been going through quite a few emotions, whose effect on my body I have been observing with interest. It is nothing new, being aware of how our feelings create our physical make-up; it is the obviousness of it that has taken my breath away, as it were (pun thoroughly intended).
Honestly, things like Joy bringing on tears, butterflies in our stomachs at the first kiss, or sweaty palms from nerves, are not novelties. But these are all seemingly transitory states, often disregarded for their very fleetingness. Few of us realise that there is a plethora of other feelings that affect us, from both the 'good' and the 'bad' realm. That is damning unawareness. However, the truly harmful ignorance lies in the fact that we disregard their cumulative power, downplaying it where we should respect it.
If I were to recap my most extreme/clearly observable reactions from the fortnight, the bottom would go to illness from the anxiety involved in a family visit (actually having to get to bed to sleep for the full day, cancelling other activities); shakiness, a queasy stomach and difficulty sleeping from watching an extremely violent film; crying myself hoarse after someone's uncaring words. The top, however, would go to bubbling laughter at an inside joke; restful nights in a protective embrace; the ability to go further my sports activity after a chat with a friend. From all these, the obvious result is to choose to experience as many of the 'good' and as few of the 'bad' moments as possible.
Now, our body cells have something called 'plasticity', or the ability to be altered and remember the alteration as well as to return to its initial self apparently unchanged. If you were to think of plasticine, you might be able to envision how your thumbprint can be transferred to, and preserved on, its surface. Plasticine has plasticity too, but it will also begin to show the influence of the imprints even after it is 'restored' - it will eventually become harder, dirtier, grainier... So, too, do we. After each reaction to a feeling, our body will retain some of that experience, becoming altered by it even though seemingly 'back to normal'. Yet, in time, the accumulation will be noticeable, so we will complain, unable to pinpoint the reason: why do we have dodgy backs, if we have been so careful to go to the gym and sit straight? Whatever it is, it may well be a result of experiences long forgotten, whose residue now pollute our beings.
Ominous, scary, yet full of hope, this thought. Just as we can imagine ourselves suffering from old scars, we ought to realise there are other things, similarly old, that also affect us, though on the positive. Do you remember the warmth of that scarf your Grandma knitted in your favourite shade of green? What about the smell of the puppies the neighbours let you pet? And your parent's glowing pride at your first recital (when your silly red socks kept falling, so Johnny and Mary kept giggling, so you forgot good part of your lines, too)? Your first love? The day someone wolf whistled when you went by? The first job you were given? That day your mate needed a shoulder, and you saw how your mere company was a balm? There are so many wonderful 'polluters' that it is a wonder we find so many things to complain about!
Daily, we suffer and strengthen the pain. Yet, day by day, our body, beautiful gift that it is, regales us with our senses alert, with amazingly complex organic functions we think nothing about. Each of such instants is a miracle, a miracle that will keep on giving if we recognise it, if we nurture it, if we feed it more 'good pollutants' to imprint it with Joy, with Love, with Life. The instant we take a breather and rethink, our body will become more powerful, friendlier, grateful. Begin by remembering one, then all the blissful instants will rush back, clamouring for attention, strengthening us. The more, the merrier.
Hold my hand, open your eyes. Smile, so you can run.
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