Your Nervous System is Part of Your Spiritual Life (or: You Can't Bypass Being Human)

A warm bath to help the nervous system decompress.

So there I was, minding my own business, waking up ahead of my alarm on Saturday morning (yes, the alarm was set because I had stuff to do). I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, raised my arms to stretch overhead... and I heard as much as felt a clunk sensation in my lower back that sent muscle spasms up my back and down into my hips and legs. It knocked the air out of me.

And it was at that moment that my back said "I don't care about your plans. I'm the captain now!"

I had things to do. I wanted to clean the house. Do some freezer meal prep. Groom the dog. Do some journaling. Exercise a bit. Meditate and maybe a divination session. But noooo - all that was replaced with ibuprofen, warm tea, and time on the couch with my laptop and my microwave heat packs. Because my body decided it was going to be a snarky old lady! One false move (like blink crooked) would make the muscles lock up again. So much pain I could barely think.

Fortunately, as my day went on, the heat and anti-inflammatories and rest helped to relax the offending body parts, and I was able to do more. Not the more physical things of course. But I was still able to get the cooking portion of the freezer meal prep done, because slow cookers are magical - "electric cauldrons"! And I got the journaling done. And the meditation happened, too, followed by a muscle relaxer-induced nap.

But this is exactly what I'm talking about when I say that if your body doesn't cooperate with the way things are normally done, you have to find your own way to do it. You do what you're able. You find ways to do things that work with the situation you're in. Even if it means you only wipe the kitchen counters but don't get to mopping the floor. Even if it means postponing a good brushing on a squirmy 98 pound German Shepherd who would rather roll in the grass than endure de-shedding. Even if it means keeping to gentle stretches until you are able to handle strengthening movements. This is as true for the mundane activities of life as it is for spiritual practices.

My meditation session was far from perfect. I had to lay flat on the bed, heat pack under my lumbar, knees propped up on pillows. In my state, there was no pushing the relaxation or the silencing of my mind. All I could do at first was breathe, count my breaths, noticing my body and being present. And while it wasn't everything I had wanted to do and the discomfort wouldn't allow the flow I normally have, it felt good and grounding. I achieved some of what I'd hoped to there, too.

No shadow work tonight. Only bubbles.

And I ended up having a bath, with Epsom salt and bubbles that smelled like vanilla. And in the tub I was able to relax, reconnect in my body a little more without trying too hard. No ceremony, nothing fancy - just a bathtub, some bubbles some Epsom salt, and a moment to let my nervous system decompress and uncoil. Sometimes the spiritual moment is simply giving your nervous system the opportunity to be soft.

Like it or not, our bodies and nervous systems are tightly entwined with our spirit. If one's bruised, the others will reflect it. And I think the current trends in spirituality aesthetics give us the impression that our spiritual practices must be "just so", and pretty, and shining with fairy lights and smelling of patchouli. But even the prettiest spiritual practice can become inaccessible when your body or nervous system are overwhelmed. Once those parts are in alignment, the rest of it falls together.

Your body might have to adapt to all the demands of physical life. But your spirituality may need to adapt compassionately to the reality of being in a body. There's no bypassing being human.