Time to dust off and stretch these writing muscles after a long, wonderful summer of inactivity (for them, not me)…
The Zeal to Heal
There was a sign on the wall in my old chiropractic office, right next to the doorway leading back to the adjusting rooms, that read, “No negative thoughts beyond this point.” I used to tell everyone they’d get zapped if they tried it. We suggested that folks dump their stuff before going back to get adjusted by writing it all down on a piece of paper (which we would ceremonially gather and burn each evening—and no, we didn’t read them) and then grab a strip of paper with a positive affirmations written on it. Admittedly, this was wonderful for me because I didn’t have to hear 150-200 tales of woe each and every day. But it was equally wonderful for the folks who came in, because for at least those few moments, they had the opportunity to focus on something positive. They had the opportunity to be as enthusiastic about what was right with them as they generally were about what was wrong with them. They had the opportunity to think good thoughts about their bodies and their lives. What a precious thing and, sadly, what a rare thing those moments are in many lives.
My God, can a group of people my age get together without our prostates, eyes, and assorted sagging parts being the main topic of conversation? When you ask someone how they are doing, assuming you’re really asking because you care and not just as another way of saying hello, do you ever hear things like, “My body is a temple for the unlimited love of Spirit” or “Did you know that my body is capable of doing 600 octillion things simultaneously?” or “Hey, check it out! Those Twinkies I ate for breakfast are now part of my eyeballs and prostate!”? I doubt it. You probably hear what I hear–stuff about bone tired and bad knees and weak bladders and bum hips and sour stomachs—all communicated with great zeal and enthusiasm.
I recently saw a bunch of Jewish haikus, and this one applies beautifully:
Her lips near my ear,
Aunt Sadie whispers the name
of her friend’s disease
What if we applied as much zeal and enthusiasm toward affirming our own greatness and wholeness as we did toward our own frailty and symptoms?
I have made a long-time spiritual study of my own self-talk and, historically, I was just as guilty of badmouthing my body as most people. But not anymore. I’m following the example of Myrtle Fillmore, the co-founder of Unity. Myrtle was essentially an invalid for the first few decades of her life, diagnosed with tuberculosis, which was considered hereditary and incurable. One night she heard a speaker utter the words, “I am a child of God; therefore I do not inherit sickness”, and she proceeded to completely change the way she talked to her body. In addition to much prayer and meditation, Myrtle continually praised her body, she send love to her cells, and she apologized to those parts of her body that she had previously maligned and belittled. After two years of this practice she was healed, and lived and thrived to a ripe, old age. She believed it took two years because that’s how long it took to overcome her own deep-seated doubts.
What would happen if you and I did this?
Here’s a tool I’ve been using to help myself remember how I choose to talk to my body: whenever anyone asks me, “How are you?” I make believe they’ve asked me, “Who are you?” Then it’s easier for me to respond with something at least remotely aligned with the biggest, grandest vision I hold for myself. It’s easier to respond with something like, “Terrific” or “Awesome” or “I am filled with the power of Life” or “Every little cell in my body is happy and well!”
Speaking of Every Little Cell, it’s actually a song that we sing regularly at Unity at the Lake. It’s sung to the tune of “Momma’s Little Baby Loves Shortnin’ Bread”, and there are several versions on YouTube. Check it out! I did some research on it, and apparently it calibrates at 600 on David Hawkins’ consciousness scale (from the book Power Vs. Force, for those of you who are into such things). It was written by a German guy who had fractured his 2nd lumbar vertebrae in the early 80’s and was told he’s be a paraplegic for life. Clemens Kuby wrote this song, sang it to himself, walked out of the hospital in less than a year and is still walking (and speaking about self-healing) today. I’m singing it every day!
Whether we praise, affirm or sing, let’s work up a little zeal to heal!
And if that’s all we remember, that’s more than enough for now…