“I am large. I contain multitudes.”—Walt Whitman
I have nothing against my body. It’s very useful for playing pickleball, for taking selfies and for passing out hugs to fellow humanoids.
But to see my body as the boundary of my being is a myopic belief. My body is but one piece on the chess board of who I really am.
My true self is a much wider realm made up of my joys, my ideas, my fears, my interest and my loves. My body is a temporary clown suit that’s happening within the larger phenomenon of me.
To give our bodies so much attention, as we do in this culture, is to miss the whole point.
Does it really matter which purse it’s carrying? Which type of mascara is trimming its eyes?
According to A Course in Miracles, the body was made by the ego in order to strive…
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