The body remembers, the bones remember, the joints remember.

The human body and it’s ability to process information, heal, and continue to carry us wildthrough life is miraculous.  We forget that our life story is stored in this magical house, and that the process of becoming a whole person involves coming back into the felt experience of living in our bodies, and all that it remembers.

‘In the instinctive psyche, the body is considered a sensor, an informational network, a messenger with myriad communication systems – cardiovascular, respiratory, skeletal, autonomic, as well as emotive and intuitive. In the imaginal world, the body is a powerful vehicle, a spirit who lives with us, a prayer of life in its own right. In fairy tales, as personified by magical objects that have superhuman qualities and abilities, the body is considered to have two sets of ears, one for hearing in the mundane world, the other for hearing the soul; two sets of eyes, one set for regular vision, another for far-seeing; two kinds of strength, the strength of the muscles and the invincible strength of soul. The list of twos about the body goes on.
In systems of body work such as Feldenkrais method, Ayurveda, and others, the body is understood variously as having 6 senses, not five. The body uses its skin and deeper fascia and flesh to record all that goes on around it. Like the Rosetta stone, for those who know how to read it, the body is a living record of life given, life taken, life hoped for, life healed. It is valued for its articulate ability to register immeditate reaction, to feel profoundly, to sense ahead.
The body is a multilingual being. It speaks through its color and its temperature, the flush of recognition, the glow of love, the ash of pain, the heat of arousal, the coldness of nonconviction. It speaks through its constant tiny dance, sometimes swaying, sometimes a-jitter, sometimes trembling. It speaks through the leaping of the heart, the falling of the spirit, the pit at the center, and rising hope.
The body remembers, the bones remember, the joints remember, even the little finger remembers. Memory is lodged in pictures and feelings in the cells themselves. Like a sponge filled with water, anywhere the flesh is pressed, wrung, even touched lightly, a memory may flow out in a stream.’
– Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run With The Wolves).