Embodied Transformation

Transformation must be embodied to be real. Any sort of change that is limited only to our minds is unlikely to make any actual difference in the world.

                    

It is perhaps sad but nonetheless true that many, if not most, of us have suffered some sort of bodily trauma in our lives. We carry the remnants of these traumas with us in our bodies—the memories are felt at least as much in our limbs and chests and necks and backs as they are in our minds. And yet we seem to think that we can transform our lives by merely changing our attitude.

Surely our minds and heart must be open in order to be transformed. But just as surely our bodies must practice opening to transformational healing. This practice embraces singing and dancing and playing, running and rolling and ambling, stretching and reaching. If we wish to transform our woundedness, we must find ways to dance with it, and we must let our bodies lead the way.

In the book of Exodus, after the Israelites have escaped Pharaoh's army and crossed the Red Sea, we are told that "Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women followed her with tambourines and dances. And Miriam called to them: Sing to God." And the people sang, and they danced.

The Israelites carried with them the many bodily wounds and indignities they had suffered in Egypt. And they began the process of transformation with singing and dancing. It was just the beginning of their journey, to be sure. But Miriam knew that, if they were to have any chance of healing, any chance of transforming their suffering, that the change had to start with their bodies and not just their minds.

Shifting from Identity to Solidarity

In order to transform we must be willing to give up our culture of identity and move toward a culture of solidarity. There is a tendency to belong to groups based on how closely those groups mirror our own beliefs and backgrounds. As a result, those groups have little potential for transforming themselves, the individuals who belong to them or the larger world.

Mere “believing and belonging” in religion (or in any sphere of human activity) tend to lead us toward like-minded people and groups that look and think much as we do. A commitment to real transformation, on the other hand, tends to lead us toward diverse groups of people who most likely look, think and believe differently than we do. The transformation that takes place in and through such groups enables us to see those who seem radically different from ourselves to be like-hearted and united with us and all the world in an essential way.

When people first discover a religious community that feels like home to them, they might believe that their religious journey is done. But such a religious community is at best a starting place or home base from which the transformational journey might begin. This journey leads us toward a culture of solidarity—a culture of “acting with” rather than “believing in” or “belonging to.”

Transformation and Loss

Transformation requires loss. Transformative change simply cannot occur unless something is left behind, whether it’s an old way of relating to the world or beloved friends or a hometown or a cherished home. But leaving the old things behind does not mean closing our hearts to them—such a thing isn’t really possible, even though it might seem more desirable than experiencing loss.

What’s required is not only a turning away from something and a turning toward something else but also a willingness to feel both in their entirety and to be truly changed by the experience. We grieve not so much to “get over” something but rather to let ourselves be softened by the experience. For it is through our softness that we are transformed.

Writing about the experience of the death of a loved one, Anne Lamott said: “It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

So it is with any big loss: Either we learn to dance with the limp or we stop dancing altogether. And it is only through this kind of dancing that we are transformed.

Transformation and First Steps

In a journey of religious transformation, the first step is never a wrong step. It may be uninformed or misguided or unfortunate or even ridiculous. But it is never wrong. The step after the first step is more telling as it may indicate a particular direction that lends itself to some sort of evaluation or consideration.

Jazz great Miles Davis is quoted as having said, "It’s not the note you play that’s the wrong note – it’s the note you play afterwards that makes it right or wrong."

But even those next notes or next steps, although they may be wrong-minded or ill-considered, are not actually wrong in themselves because there’s always another note or step yet to come. It’s possible to construct a melody that doesn’t make sense for quite some time until you come upon a note—sometimes the note—that makes sense of all that came before it.

So it is with the journey of transformation.  When we take that first step, we cannot possibly know where it will lead us. In fact, the more we think about that first step, the less likely we are to take any step at all and instead remain mired exactly where we are.

Take a step. Take it boldly and with joy. You may later regret that first step, but at least you will have started the journey and you will have done so in a spirit that will sustain you.