This morning my body woke up first.
It didn’t ask permission.
It simply announced itself through a list of complaints:
knee, ear, elbow, general attitude.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough to make sure I knew who was running the show.
My mind didn’t argue, but it wasn’t thrilled.
It prefers to start the day with plans:
yoga, maybe a walk, maybe something productive.
My body’s plan seemed to be:
“Let’s sit very still and think about not feeling well.”
There’s a strange tug-of-war in that.
The mind knows that moving usually helps—
every time in the past, a walk or yoga made things lighter.
But the body keeps saying,
“Not today. Maybe later. Ask again after breakfast.”
It’s not rebellion, really.
Just weariness.
Healing takes energy,
and apparently the body has placed all available energy
into the art of quiet complaining.
The mind tries to be rational:
“You’ll feel better if we move.”
The body gives a small shrug,
like a tired employee who has been through this speech before.
So we compromise.
Breakfast first.
Maybe stretching later.
Maybe not.
And somewhere in the middle of all this,
I realized that taking score—how many things hurt,
how many things feel off—
doesn’t really help.
It just turns the day into a game no one wants to win.
Sometimes there isn’t anything profound happening,
just a body doing its best
and a mind trying not to take it personally.
Spiritual Gravity 