Are You My Body?
I can’t find my body because it isn’t there.
Emotion is real because we feel it in the body. My heart is broken, you make me sick, weak in the knees. It’s such a cliché that we barely know it anymore. In the experience of PTSD, of moments and feelings so big that the body can’t hold them and shuts down, we know even less. The space between perceptible and overwhelming grows narrower and narrower. Living every day like that, it starts to feel like maybe we don’t have a body at all.
But these experiences, too, are made material, whether we know it or not; every horror we experience is written into our genome. Everything is material, because material is everything we interface with and also through which everything we call immaterial is expressed. The stuff of our lives, our thoughts and our feelings, is simply stuff.