These bodily urges are impersonal. They are not mine
Contemplations on the body
I am sitting here like I did yesterday and the day before(and the day before this)—right by a tranquil pond. It mirrors the sky above as I watch dragonflies playing—their delicate wings shimmering like fragments of stained glass in the sun. They dance in wild, erratic patterns, spinning, diving, and weaving through the air as if they’re painting invisible strokes of art with their flight. Every now and then, one alights on a slender sunlit reed rising from the water, pausing for mere moments before resuming the ceaseless ballet.
Oh, it’s mating season, and the warm remnants of Florida’s autumn coax them into action. The creeping cold edges nearer and so it gently creating in them the reminder that their time is short, driving them to fulfill a desire that only nature-impersonal puts in them: it whispers in their ears: “lay eggs in the water, ensure a future for your kind”.
Their aerial acrobatics are unmatched in the natural world. You see, a dragonfly in pursuit of prey is a spectacle of precision and power. A mosquito darts by, unaware of the predator’s intent until it is too late. With lightning speed, the dragonfly maneuvers, folding the air into its favor. It forms a basket with its spindly legs, snaring the mosquito mid-flight. This feast takes place on the wing, a savage and elegant testament of survival. Fueled by this burst of energy, the male dragonfly begins his search for a mate, a task charged with this same impersonal urgency. And it searches withvigor. When he finds her, he clasps her firmly with the specialized claspers at the tip of his abdomen. Together, they unite in a spiral, a poetic coupling that promises the continuation of their lineage. Do they know anything of any lineage? No! They just do as nature says to do.
Not far from this display, they rest on this reed. Its stillness hides the peril just beneath. A fish lurks in the shadows, its body tense and still, a coiled spring of hunger and patience. The dragonflies are unaware, their delicate forms hovering on the precipice of fate. In a flash, the fish strikes, breaking the surface in an eruption of water and light, swallowing its unsuspecting prey whole. The pond returns to calm, but for the fish, there is a return to its true nature — happiness. It retreats into the depths, joining its school with a satisfied pulse, as if fulfilling a sacred order written into the marrow of its being. And its mission was impersonal! It was laid upon it by Life itself.
Yet even this moment of triumph is transient. The fish, blissfully unaware, will not see the sun set on this very day. An anhinga snake-bird, sleek and resolute, pierces the water with a surgeon’s precision. Its sharp beak finds purchase, and the fish’s struggle is brief. In a single, fluid motion, the bird swallows its prize, its silhouette rising from the water’s surface, triumphant. The anhinga’s dark form glides to a perch to dry its wings in the sun, a momentary pause and it returns to its natural state—happiness.
But nature’s cycle is relentless. The anhinga, a masterful hunter, falls prey itself. It was just this morning that it had eaten that fish. But less than a day later, a water moccasin rises from its watery lair, jaws uncoiling like a trap sprung from the underworld. The snake’s strike is precise, and the bird’s life ends as suddenly as it claimed the fish. The moccasin, too, is ensnared in this web of interdependence. Two days later, a red-tailed hawk descends from the heavens, talons sharp as fate itself. It seizes the serpent in a dramatic flourish, carrying it high into the sky. The hawk’s cry echoes, a triumphant coda to this verse of the endless song of life. This cry was the cry of joy! Something in this bird’s nature found completeness.
The body is an energetic field of desire, endlessly yearning to capture, sense and consume. The fish waits for the dragonflies not out of malice but because its body yearns for it to transform another life into its own vitality, bringing the external internal in this marriage of bodies. In the silent unspoken urgency of this exchange, it fulfills its purpose, growing stronger, momentarily and whole— a symbolism of the wholeness that is. And this relentless yearning is not cruelty. It’s by design— one form dissolving into another as fuel, an alchemy of survival that connects every being.
Even the hawk, fierce and sovereign in its flight, is bound by this need. Its talons grip the moccasin, not because it needs to conquer anything but because of this impersonal yearning that its burdened by. The captured body feeds the capturing one, and so the cycle repeats. Life seeking to extend itself through another— impersonally.
In this endless exchange, you may begin to see that bodies are not entirely separate from the earth itself. Perhaps the earth is transforming, renewing and cycling through itself as different objects in the most complex form of alchemy.
I am acutely aware of this body and all the sensations raging in it— the one that subtly moves the body to go home, to find something in the kitchen to eat, the parts of the body that vibrates tenaciously while the mind attributes it to fear from recent events— a bid to protect the ego. I am aware of the parts of the body that want to stretch, to find some expansion for the muscles. Also, the parts of the head with a light headache together with my mouth, parched and dry, signaling its longing for resolution, prompting the mind to rise and find solution in its loudest narration: "I haven’t drank water in three hours."
Each sensation, each pulse of need, each vibration revealing the body’s independence. Each sensation, each yearning, each vibration seeks to absorb and integrate the world into itself.
To be aware of these inner stirrings is to recognize this profound truth: there is an awareness of the body and so I am not the body. There are longings of the body, but they are not mine. No, this is not dissociation. Instead it’s integration. It’s an integration into the wowness that’s overlooked of our nature— the awareness! Somehow what’s revealed is mystery: while I am not the body, I am all that’s happening. None of the sensations and the needs of the body are impersonal. Not even the awareness of this impersonality is personal. You see, I do not control the knowing that I am. I just am! If I could, from where would I control this knowing?
This! This is yet another gateway to fall in love with the Mystery that’s unfolding as the body— as everything!
Contemplative Prompts
Look at your hand. Watch it open and close. Marvel at the dance of thoughts about the intricacies of muscles, tendons, and bones, and notice how none of this movement feels truly personal. What does it reveal about the nature of control and ownership?
Sit with a sensation—hunger, thirst, or an ache—and trace its origin. Can you find where it begins or ends? Observe how the mind leaps to assign meaning and action. What happens if you simply stay with the sensation?
Notice the rhythm of your breath, its rise and fall independent of your will. What does this tell you about the body’s intelligence, its quiet knowing that sustains life without need for intervention?
Reflect on the cycle of need and satisfaction. Consider how the body’s longings draw it outward to engage with the world. What shifts when you see these yearnings not as yours but as expressions of life itself?
Observe a moment of stillness. In the absence of movement or action, where does awareness reside? How does this change your understanding of what it means to be embodied?
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