One morning a couple of weeks ago, I was mindlessly munching a slice of toast when one of my molars broke. More specifically, it crumbled. Like ancient ruins under the ravages of time and weather, minus the windswept romanticism.
This was a tooth that had once been protected by the fortress of a crown, a gold one no less (“my most valuable possession!”). But that crown popped off almost a year ago. I had since been working around the tooth, choosing softer foods and obsessively cleaning the affected area. Perfectly normal behavior for one reared in a family of stoics. Or Ostriches.
The disintegration was, at first, remarkably pain-free. This pleased my inner denier to no end, and I happily forged onward with my day, with nary a thought of calling my dentist.
About a week later, pain crept into the ear above my tooth. It slowly but surely wound its way down through my jaw into my neck, then spilled over the causeway of my shoulder before emptying into my arm. It began politely enough, sort of subtly clearing its throat to announce itself. But by day two, it howled hotly until I cried uncle, then whimpered a plea for mercy on my dentist’s voicemail.
It turned out that my dentist couldn’t see me until the following day, so I spent 24 long hours reflecting on my history with this tooth. I reviewed all the choices, big and small, that led us to this fork in the road. I really – I mean really – regarded my habitual tendency to ignore warning indicators of all kinds. From my car’s instrument panel to my body, to the Universe at large.
It was time to make a change.
If you read either of my previous posts and/or know that I have been training to become a life coach, you might already be guessing what happened next. Yes, friends. I decided to have a little chat with my tooth by way of some non-dominant handwriting, which accesses the right hemisphere’s creative problem-solving abilities.
Like dream symbols, body sensations arise in service to our awareness. They’re trying to alert us that something is out of balance or off-kilter. Just like those pesky dashboard indicator lamps alerting us to a potential malfunction. The problem is, the bossy, fearful left-hemisphere, ever biased in favor of the thinking mind, tends to dismiss the body’s wisdom out of hand.
In any case, my inquiry with my tooth went something like this:
Me: Tooth, please describe yourself with 3 adjectives.
Tooth: Crumbling. Dis-eased. Dying.
Me: Tooth, what is it you want me to understand? What are you trying to get me to see?
Tooth: It’s time to let go of all the old ways of being that keep you small and limited. Stop working around everything you’re afraid of. Trust that letting go will be good for you.
What took less than 5 minutes (approximately three of which were spent sitting silently while I waited for the answers to arise, and two the time it took me to painstakingly form letters with my very clumsy non-dominant hand), left me reverberating with tooth’s truth.
It was obvious: for the past several years, my world had narrowed considerably. I’d been playing it “safe” by playing it small, hiding from the rising tide of anti-trans and queer sentiment and the Covid reign of terror. But over the course of the past year, what previously felt like a sanctuary had begun to feel more like a prison.
The tooth was merely a symbol of a deeper call to let go of fear-based coping mechanisms, to molt my Harry Potter Cloak of Invisibility. To do what I need to do to eat all the sticky, chewy, brittle things rather than limiting myself to liquids and mush.
***
As I contemplated writing this today, I tried to talk myself out of it, saying that it seemed silly and selfish to write about my dental drama and my non-dominant handwriting when the world is looking like a giant dumpster fire. Genocide, war, systemic oppression of all sorts, and the rise of fascist sentiment the world over.
But then I decided differently.
Large-scale inhumanity can only come about and continue when humans dissociate from their own human bodies – including physical sensations and emotions. Disembodied people are dangerous because they’re disconnected from themselves and thus everyone else.
I had disconnected from myself, so my body tasked my tooth with calling me back in. My simple act of inquiry allowed me to make peace with myself – not just with having my dental procedure, but with my own burning desire to expand beyond my fears.
So, I leave you with this. What if we all listened to what our bodies were telling us? What is your body trying to tell you?
Oh friend, I’m sorry to hear about your descent into dental hell, but I love the wisdom you gleaned and shared. What you said about the danger of disembodiment rings so true time. I don’t think we can be fully tuned into our bodies (and the truths they speak) and at the same time intentionally go about hurting other people. Even UNintentionally hurting others becomes so much less likely. So in the face of all the overwhelming suffering in the world and the overwhelming difficulty of figuring out what to do about any of it, choosing to deepen your self-awareness, embodiment, and integrity makes so much sense to me. It’s what I’m trying to do, too. I’m wishing you many deliciously crunchy foods and experiences of expansiveness in the days to come!
“Disembodied people are dangerous because they’re disconnected from themselves and thus everyone else.” I really believe this. 🫶🏽 Echoing Lisa’s sympathies for your dental woes. I got my teeth cleaned this week (why not add another appointment to a chaotic holiday week) and loved the [somewhat sad, printed-on-wrinkled-computer-paper] sign that said cleanings affect heart, lung, brain and other health. I really hold to this so kudos to your for heeding the call and listening (even if the tooth had to ring a whole lotta times and then bring its trusty painful bullhorn. Been there!!)