by David D. Horowitz
Eleven years ago, just after selling books at a weekend-long book fair, I suffered a herniated disk in my neck (disk C-5). During the Monday morning bus ride to downtown Seattle to visit a doctor, my neck felt like it was jabbed by a dagger. Each bump in the road meant a knife in the neck. I could barely raise my left arm. I had to abandon my office temp assignment, and I dreaded my consequent medical bills.
I had routinely been working after midnight, falling asleep at my desk with my neck bent over. This aggravated the stress on disk C-5. Finally, a crack developed through which thick spinal fluid seeped; pain seared every waking moment. I stayed mostly bed-ridden, and a physical therapist had to retrain me to rise from bed, tie my shoes, read (on my back in bed), safely lift heavy objects, maintain my posture, and exercise. I followed her instructions, worked in some gentle yoga and t’ai chi ch’uan, and slowly I started to heal. Although an MRI ordered by a physician convinced him I would need prompt surgery, I told him I wanted to wait several weeks, hoping to recover sufficiently to defy his diagnosis. He offered me that option, and I did recover. By adhering to the therapist’s advice, not working, and gently exercising I improved so much that within six weeks I could raise my left arm almost to shoulder height, although with some pain, and I would not need surgery. I resumed more active habits.
During this time I experienced my body as a community. Typically, “community” implies a group of diverse individuals unified by a shared location and, or purpose. Well, I started to understand my body was made of discrete organs, muscles, bones, and cell types. Now, my neck and left arm needed a support network, and I consciously coaxed my blood, bones, right arm, heart, and mind to root for them. Like a leader urging unity amongst potentially discordant followers, my consciousness related positive messages to my neck and arm, and I complimented my other body parts when I improved.
I also more deeply appreciated how philosophical tenets and personal habits might develop potentially injurious inconsistencies. I wanted to promote the books I had published—but I needed to stop falling asleep in my chair and straining my neck. I needed to yoke ambition and leisure into a compatible rhythm. A human being might have a single body, but it is made up of many parts; likewise, with our perceptions of the world. Ambition and leisure can be strange bedfellows, and I needed to make them more compatible not merely to succeed, but to stay healthy.
Before we advise others we need to examine our own inconsistencies and potentially damaging habits. Understanding life’s complexity, beginning with that in one’s own body and perceptions, helps one generate community within oneself—and thus more likely in the world beyond the self.