Our fascination with bodies effectively obscures True Self, which does not change, age, fall ill or die. I am the light of the world, I AM said, a solar system bar-coded as “Keith.”
Memory is not primarily a mental function. The body is a flesh chronicle, a trove of old pain, of unresolved and still-percolating historical issues. Typically, difficult-to-diagnose illnesses take a long time to manifest.
Perhaps you’re familiar with the term “mucking out.” One goes into a stall and shovels animal waste into a wheelbarrow for disposal elsewhere.
Too bad we can’t muck out the head. There is no ‘elsewhere.’ Our mental waste is dumped straight into the body, there to foment and ferment and howl for Maalox.
The body is so innocent. It takes for real this churning turbidity.