I have always known in a deep, yet acutely obvious way that I am not just the body, and that the body’s perceptual senses are alien to Knowing Love.
As a child I would look at the body and literally ask myself, “What is this?” It was even disconcerting to be perceived by others as a body, to the point of being angry with my parents — for apparently having made my body. “Why would they do this to me?” I would rail, furious over feeling trapped in the flesh.
“I’ll just get rid of the body then, I will cancel it out,” I told myself, and became an “emo” teen, bent on suicidal “solutions”. Those didn’t work either; harming the body just increased the overall sense of guilt and frustration. Self-harm just reinforced the subjectivity of helpless suffering. I would learn to treat the body with kindness, because I would learn that my Self has no idea of being unkind.
“The world was made as an attack against God,” (ACIM)
Indeed. I felt guilty as hell about the body, as if through its pain and suffering I was attacking myself for the belief in it. I saw it as a prison sentence to have to live in it “from birth to death” and wanted the key to get out. When Truth was Recalled, It was the Memory of what has never left, it was Knowledge of the Beginning, before the idea of separation, before the body. In the Beginning there is no idea of a body. There is no idea of anything, there is nothing at all. There is only Self. I am nobody; I am only Love.