In my blog, books, talks, and classes, I use some nontraditional terms—terms that I hope will soon become widely used. Partly I’m bending the English language—but mostly I’m being more accurate.
You and I are usually called people, as in people of color, white people, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, etc. But the bland noun people doesn’t adequately reflect our essence.
As the famous primatologist Frans de Waal reminds us, “The reality is that we are bodies born of other bodies, bodies feeding other bodies, bodies having sex with other bodies, bodies seeking a shoulder to lean or cry on…Bodies matter, which is why anything related to them arouses emotions.”
For this reason, I often speak of Black bodies, Brown bodies, Indigenous bodies, Latinx bodies, Asian bodies, white bodies, etc. These terms give birth to other formulations: white-body advantage, white-body supremacy, and so on.
I also don’t say people of color, or BIPOC, or colored people, or any another such term. Instead, I speak of bodies of culture to refer to all human bodies not considered white.
This both acknowledges our existence as human bodies and displaces the other terms that make white bodies into the norm and otherize everyone else. I’ve also found that the term bodies of culture resonates positively in many people’s bodies.
The truth, of course, is that all of us trace our ancestry back to southern Africa. This means that Black bodies are in fact the standard model of homo sapiens. All other variants are recent extensions of that original Black African brand.
Occasionally someone with a white body asks me, “Don’t white bodies have culture?” Of course they do, and nothing about bodies of culture implies that they don’t. If I put a bumper sticker on my car that says I love my beagle, this doesn’t mean I hate other dog breeds. And if I put a Black Lives Matter bumper sticker next to it, it doesn’t mean that other lives don’t.
Even the word body has some limitations: it artificially (and falsely) separates body and mind. (More on this in a moment.) So, at times, instead of writing your body or our bodies, I write your bodymind or our bodyminds.
But I don’t use the phrase bodymind of culture. While it’s technically more accurate than body of culture, it’s much less mentally sticky, much more of a mouthful, and potentially confusing.
Pause.
Do you experience yourself as a mind living in a body—or as an integrated bodymind?
We are bodyminds in a multitude of ways—but especially because of two essential organs: our vagus nerve (which I call our soul nerve) and our psoas (which I call our soul muscle). These two structures are essential to our physical and emotional health, our connection with other bodyminds, and our bodymind’s ongoing interactions with the cosmos.
Your soul nerve unifies your entire nervous system. Your soul muscle connects the top and bottom halves of your body and is instrumental in maintaining and regulating the energy flows between the two.
These two interactive structures are profoundly intelligent. They help our bodyminds to mobilize—and, when necessary, immobilize. They are where we experience resonance, dissonance, connection, disconnection, a sense of rightness, and a sense that something is off. They are also gateways to cultivating, experiencing, and deepening resource of all kinds.
Separately and together, both structures support the metabolization of healthy pain (which I call clean pain), the healing of trauma, the process of growing up, and the practices of Somatic Abolitionism. Both naturally express who we are and what we experience. Both resonate with the signals we pick up from inside our own bodymind; from other bodyminds; from our surroundings; and from the present moment as it unfolds.
When you have an emotional response, such as when your stomach clenches, your voice catches, your pulse races, your shoulders tighten, your breathing quickens, your bodymind braces for impact, or you have a sense that danger is lurking, that’s your soul nerve at work. When you feel your heart opening or closing down; when you feel anxious in the pit of your stomach; when you sense that something wonderful or terrible is about to happen; when something feels right or wrong in your gut; when your heart sinks; when your spirit soars; or when your stomach turns in nausea—all of these also involve your soul nerve.
Your soul nerve is vital to your health and well-being. It regulates your breathing, heart rate, and blood pressure. It helps prevent inflammation. And it can reduce pain, improve your mood, and help you manage fear. Without your soul nerve, you literally would not be human.
Your psoas—your soul muscle—is equally vital to your well-being. While your soul nerve generates and responds to electrical signals, your soul muscle responds to the flows and movements of your body’s many fluids. A healthy soul muscle is very fluid, supple, and juicy.
Your soul muscle helps your body experience a sense of coherence, integrity, and safety—or, when something is wrong, the lack of these. It locates your body in space and time, and it is your body’s central messenger of connectivity.
Separately and together, your soul nerve and soul muscle are where you build your resilience, grit, discernment, tolerance for clean pain, and racial acuity and agility. They are where you store your ability to slow down, pause, and pay attention. As you get in your reps with a variety of body practices, they are where much of your tempering and conditioning will unfold.
With some attention and patience, you can learn to work with your soul nerve and soul muscle—deliberately relaxing, settling your body, sensing your environment and situation, and soothing yourself during difficult or high-stress situations.
Every human body is in constant interaction and communication with its environment—and, often, with other bodies, human and otherwise. (As a quantum physicist might add, each human body is also in constant communication with the entire universe.)
Our challenge as human beings is to temper and condition our bodyminds in order to explore these vibrations and resonances—and to become more aware of them. The practice below can be an ideal place to begin.
BODY PRACTICE
EXPLORING YOUR SOUL NERVE AND SOUL MUSCLE
Sit comfortably, by yourself, in a fairly quiet spot. Keep pen and paper nearby.
Take a few slow, deep breaths. Then think back to a time when you experienced strong grief. Briefly recall what led up to this grief. Then recall a moment when your grief was at or near its peak.
Pause. Focus your attention on your bodymind’s experience of grief. Where do you experience it? What are its physical qualities and nuances? Is there constriction? Heat? Cold? Some other sensation?
Pause again. Stay with these sensations for a few more breaths.
Now, soul scribe about your experience by focusing on the physical sensations. Write down the qualities of each sensation and exactly where in your bodymind you experience it.
Each time you do a new rep of this body practice, pick a different emotion from the list below:
- Joy
- fear (or, if your bodymind can handle it, terror)
- dread
- profound relief
- excitement
- disappointment
- disgust
- loneliness
- pride
- horror
- delight
- anger (or, if your bodymind can handle it, rage)
- anxiety
- hope
As you work through this list, you will begin to become familiar with how your soul nerve and soul muscle express important emotions. You will also begin to create an internal map of both structures.
The bodymind practice above, and other portions of this blog post, are adapted from my recent book The Quaking of America: An Embodied Guide to Navigating Our Nation’s Upheaval and Racial Reckoning. My newest book, Monsters In Love: Why Your Partner Sometimes Drives You Crazy—and What You Can Do About It, was published in early 2023 by Central Recovery Press: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781949481792.