I have always believed that there is a definite connection between our thoughts and illness.
It probably became ingrained in me by my mother’s unequaled directives when it came to
these things; she was a very educated and intelligent person and had no time to cater to her
four children while also trying to juggle the responsibilities of her career and education. So
if any of us ever felt “too sick” to go to school or carry out our responsibilities, she would
talk us out of it by saying that “It’s all in your head.” Since we were not rewarded by any kind
of pampering whether our illness was real or faked to get out of something, I learned very
early that I might as well just suck it up and carry on.
When I was a teenager, I became fascinated by the books on the “occult” that were available in
our local libraries. I probably ventured into those shelves because they were precisely the kind
of reading that was banned by the Catholic school I attended. Anything forbidden always became
more interesting to pursue. So I read all about Edgar Cayce, the mystic, and I began to explore my
own position regarding the things I read. I had so many responsibilities as a kid that reading was
one of the few escapes in my otherwise “work cut out for me” days. I am not writing that to elicit
compassion or anything, it is simply a fact. We are talking about more than 50 years ago! That’s
hard to believe, I still feel so young and vibrant.
Reading Edgar Cayce introduced me to new ways of thinking and I paid attention to my body
and its reaction to things. Funny, at some point in my early adulthood I stopped paying attention
to the sensations in my body and listened instead to the logic of my mind in order to escape situations
that were difficult or unpleasant. I now wonder if that led to a kind of detachment in me that is with
me this very day. I find that I don’t feel things as deeply as other people around me do and I wonder
if that is a good or bad thing. One thing I do know, however, is that my mind and body (and soul, I
suppose) work in tandem and when I am thinking good thoughts my body responds in positive ways.
When I am anxious or angry, I am prone to slipping or falling or waking up stiff from not sleeping
well. Fortunately, that very detachment I mentioned earlier keeps me on an even keel most of the
the time. When everyone around me is falling apart, I find that I can keep my head on and take care
of the things that require my attention. I have often been the source of comfort for people with whom
I share small and large responsibilities because they see a sturdiness in me that they don’t always
find in themselves. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to let go of some of my responsibilities
and float through my days the way I see many people do.
Some of the people I think float through their days in less than responsible manners, however, later
suffer terrible illness and early death and I suppose the prospect of not being healthy or alive might
be one vital reason I work towards being centered and worthy every day of my life.
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