Embodiment, Integration, and Transformation

The journey toward belonging

This made me cry. Attribution unknown; if you know, please share!

In reflecting on my own experience of transformation—and more broadly, how humans learn—I’ve come to think that there are five elements:

1. Desire: openness/willingness to transform

2. Insight: becoming aware of something previously outside awareness

3. Metabolization: translating that insight into something we can engage with

4. Integration: letting the new wisdom land in our bodies and infuse our being

5. Action: completing the cycle; transformation to a new way of being/acting

Lately I’ve come to think that the process of transformation often breaks down on the fourth element: we don’t know how to integrate new insights into our bodies. They remain superficial: lessons observed but not learned. We may change our behavior, but it remains effortful and inconsistent: we have not transformed our way of being. Prentis Hemphill’s beautiful new offering The Embodiment Institute puts it this way:

It is not enough for us to envision new ways of being, but we need support to practice, to feel, and to stay the course of transformation.

So today I want to talk about integration, and the process of embodiment. Without it, I fear no enduring transformation is possible.

TL;DR: Integration is the slow and intentional art of allowing wisdom to land in our bodies; of embodying a new shape and way of being. It requires intention, a deliberate effort to carve out space and time… and specific practices that invite us out of our heads and into our bodies. Once we have allowed insight to land… it is repeated practice—developing new habits—that leads to embodiment, and completes the cycle of transformation.

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The journey to integration… and embodiment

I want to try to share my learnings here via my own experience, hoping that doing so can make something abstract/intangible feel more accessible to readers.

2023 for me was the Year of the Phoenix. A time of intentional harvesting and composting, of preparing for new beginnings. A key aspect of this was my first experience with guided psychedelic journeys: an intentional effort to get out of my head, into my body, and be open to whatever wisdom needed to emerge. I set intentions, spent several months interviewing and choosing a guide, and in August went on two journeys: the first more focused on inner work and my relationships; the second more focused on my relationship to Earth and the world, and my call to action. We pulled cards before commencing the plant medicine on my second journey, and my guide pulled… the Phoenix.

From the Wild Unknown Animal Spirit Deck and Guidebook

The intentionality with which I pursued the experience set the stage for transformation: I had the requisite desire, and enlisted support in the form of an outstanding guide who shared my values. The journeys themselves were utterly profound: insights surging through me in ways difficult to convey or absorb; they didn’t (don’t) lend themselves to cognitive re-telling via the written word.

The first real challenge was what I’m calling Metabolization: I needed to render the insights actionable in my body, translate them into something I could understand. I’ll give an example from a couple years ago to try to illustrate this point: I was in a workshop on boundaries. The facilitators encouraged us to practice receiving a “no,” and asked us to repeat this prompt after someone said no to us: “Thank you for taking care of yourself.” I understood cognitively (insight) what they were getting at, but it didn’t land in my body. I spent some time trying to understand why: is this some resistance I need to let go of? Finally I realized: it felt selfish to me. It implicitly understands a boundary as something you do for you. I don’t conceive of boundaries that way: for me boundaries are an invitation to connection, to how we want to relate to each other, to interdependence. Once I clarified that, I was able to translate the response into something that resonated in my body, that I could practice: “thank you for taking care of yourself, and our relationship.”

Ah, now the really hard part: integration. What Isabel Santis calls “the journey after the journey.” To continue with this example: I want deeply to be the kind of person it is safe to say “no” to. Intellectually I’m on board, and have invested years of deep work in an effort to understand the complex dynamics that make this simple interpersonal exercise fraught under our systems of oppression. But my entire life I’ve been socialized to expect deference, to a “yes,” and given very little practice on gracefully receiving a “no.” It’s not enough to intellectually want to transform; my interlocutors are subtly (and often subconsciously) reading all kinds of clues in my body language to assess a felt sense of safety: my only chance is to embody this new way of being. Movement elder Alta Starr defines the term:

Embodiment: to have competencies or capacities and ways of being so deeply in your muscles and nervous system that they are available to you with little or no thought.

Yes… after over three decades embodying one way of being… it takes intentional effort to unlearn those deep patterns and chart a new course.

Integration requires intention: the power of declaration

If we are going to change a way of being, we have to make an energetic and forceful effort to do so: swimming upstream against our conditioning requires effort. I have been deeply moved in recent years by my practice of somatics (the art of listening to and working with our bodies) with the Strozzi Institute, which introduced to me the idea of a Declaration. They explain:

A declaration is a clear statement you make about a vision, a meaningful desire, or even a longing you have. It is about imagining positive futures, and creating a practice that will bring those futures about.

They understand a declaration as a commitment to a new way of being: something you seek to embody as part of your identity. Hence, all declarations begin with the statement “I am a commitment to…” I love this description from Patricia Albere (hat tip to Gibran Rivera for the share):

Commitment is an act, not a word. Further, I would argue that commitment eventually becomes not even an act, but a state of being. It’s not a thing you do; it’s who you are. To be fully committed is to allow yourself to be shaped by what you are committed to and, eventually, to become one with it.

I first attended Strozzi’s flagship Embodied Leadership course in March 2020, on the cusp of the pandemic. There I formed a declaration that helped give me the courage to launch the Building Belonging community, and has guided my life and actions over the last three and a half years:

I am a commitment to sharing my longings, from a place of invitation and noncoercion.

Super hard work for me as someone long accustomed to what Marcia Baczynski calls “desire smuggling.” Importantly, it wasn’t enough just to share my longings: I had to do so in a way that empowered my interlocutor to hear them without pressure, to be genuinely open to a no. But in August during my second intentionally guided psychedelic journey I felt a very clear call: time for a new declaration. I felt a need for something more action oriented: sharing longings is great, but what happens if they aren’t reciprocated? Or if they are? I wanted to feel more momentum and clarity toward the change I was seeking in the world, and to embody that energy in my body.

Integration requires creating space… and claiming time

I received that calling in late August during my plant medicine journey, and wanted with all my being to answer it. It took almost exactly a month: a month of intentionally creating space and claiming time for integration. The body works on what I’ve come to think of as earth time: the rhythm of nature. The body is pre-digital and pre-globalization: it does not respond to the imperatives of capitalism or the mandates of artificial deadlines. To me this is one of the most radical and countercultural aspects of embodiment and integration: it requires that we slow down. And listen deeply to what our body is trying to tell us.

This is simply not possible inside of the status quo: it requires an energetic effort—and often, a lot of privilege, or at least some temporary freedom from attending to the basic material needs of ourselves and those we are responsible for—to carve out sanctuary within which to listen… and feel. I feel deeply grateful to have a supportive spouse, the financial stability, and the professional autonomy to have been able to embark on this journey with the intentionality and care it demanded.

Outside a four-day in-person beautifully facilitated retreat at a dedicated dojo (the context in which I formed my last declaration)… how do you create space and time to integrate? I became fiercely protective of my integration time, blocking out two hours each afternoon. I treated walks in the park with the priority I might hold an important funder meeting: non-optional. And I worked hard to identify propitious conditions: trying to feel into my intentions with two children tearing around the house at top volume… not so much. Same with late evenings… I’m simply too tired.

I joined an online practice space this morning with Richard Strozzi-Heckler (founder of the Strozzi Institute) where he shared this lovely poem from Martha Postlethwaite:

Create a clearing

in the dense forest of your life

and wait there patiently,

until the song that is your life

falls into your own cupped hands

and you recognize and greet it.

Integration requires practice

Of course, creating time/space is a necessary but insufficient condition. I then had to use that time. It’s a weird art to be productively unproductive… it feels radical under capitalism. I had something I needed to do, to “get done.” And that thing required that I not try too hard, that I stay to the extent possible out of my brain, and that I remain open to what the earth was/is trying to tell me.

I settled on three distinct practices. One came to me during the plant medicine journey, and I framed it as a commitment before I left the space: to create space/time to feel the world. Not to feel my feelings, though that too: to feel the world. To allow the energy of earth and our collective soma (the hopes, dreams, and suffering of all beings) to permeate me… without allowing myself to be overwhelmed by it. I focused on allowing myself to feel love: to truly try to let love land in my body. The love my kids feel for me, so trusting, unconditional, easeful, and deep. The romantic love I receive. The love the earth offers. The form this took for me was sitting in a hammock by my local creek. A spot that gloriously didn’t have a cell signal: no distractions! The sound of running water, sunlit leaves overhead… perfection.

Second, I prioritized exercise in nature. My wrist injury (torn ligaments requiring surgery and a cast :-( meant I couldn’t mountain bike, so instead I went for long hikes, sometimes pushing myself, sometimes going intentionally slow. Allowing my brain to wander, sometimes intentionally thinking through something, other times just listening to the wind in the trees. Feeling gratitude for the watershed, and my ability to enjoy it. At one point during a bad spate of wildfire smoke I headed to the Pacific Crest Trail in the nearby mountains above the haze and set up my hammock….

Third, I journaled. A lot. Fortunately I was able to do so with a cast on, though my handwriting was worse than usual. For me it’s essential: one of the ways I disentangle all the threads running through my brain, to work through my distractions by putting them to paper so I can focus on the essence that lurks beneath the noise. I also relied heavily on Staci Haines’ outstanding and practical book The Politics of Trauma, which includes some essential reading on how to set a declaration. Finally, on a walk among the native Douglas firs of my local watershed here in Cascadia, I landed it in a way that felt deeply and somatically true to me:

I am a commitment to repairing the ruptures of patriarchy—in myself, in my relationships, and in the world.

From integration to action

Ahh. From that feeling of deep grounded clarity at the end of September it took another entire month to feel ready for action. I felt clear relatively quickly about the nature of my work in the “I” and “We” space… and struggled to align on a path to engage with the World. When I finally sat with what was holding me back, it was simple: lack of courage. I knew what I was feeling called to do… it’s just really hard. And really vulnerable. I knew the next phase of my World work would require lots of leadership: specifically, leadership as the act of invitation (following Rich Bartlett’s insight).

Here I turned to somatic therapy, and the skillful support of Emily Athena. And finally landed on four steps I am trying to take to realize my declaration, particularly in the context of the work I now have to do: inviting people to join me (following Mariame Kaba’s edict: “everything worthwhile is done with other people”). I want to share here what this looks like in the event others may be able to relate to my process… or have ideas on how to be better! The context is a one-hour meeting with someone where I have a specific invitation or request: usually someone with whom I already have some degree of relationship, even if tenuous. I am almost always working with women, femme, or queer folks, and often BIPOC… so at the outset we are already navigating a pre-existing power dynamic.

1. Convey a felt sense of safety. This is part of my work as a large White male-bodied person: allow my partner to feel that I am safe, that I am aware of the system that surrounds us, and doing my part to create belonging. This might look like a “down and back” posture, an upbeat but slow tone of voice, opening the conversation with warmth and relationship-building.

2. Share my vulnerability. Share why my work matters to me; why I am in it; why the relationship with this particular person is meaningful to me. Let them feel my desire; let them know that they matter to me, that their answer will impact me. This might look like a soft/slow tone of voice; a soft front; touching my chest; even doing somatic work in real time to process my feelings (I often feel tension in my jaw when in vulnerable space so may unhinge or massage it to stay in my body and connected to my partner).

3. Extend the invitation; make the request. (In this I follow Betty Martin’s brilliant work: an Invitation is to meet in a place of mutual desire: only say yes if you also want this. A Request is to meet from a place of willingness: even if this is not your preference, is it in your zone of willingness to meet me here?) Honestly, I’m still not quite sure how to embody this one. It feels like of necessity a forward-leaning energy; clarity requires direct communication… but I desperately want to avoid the dominant culture energy of “pitching,” or perpetuate the gender/race dynamics of asking someone with less social power to prioritize my preferences. I haven’t yet found a way to hold this that feels fully in integrity. I would love suggestions!

4. Return to safety: convey safe harbor. I’ve been playing of late with different metaphors to convey the energy I strive to embody, and I like the idea of safe harbor. A place you can come anchor for a respite from the storm… and can make a home on land if you like, or leave when you feel called. After my request I want to create space for my partner to allow it to land. To trust that what I want above all is for us to stay in relationship and in consent. To feel how much it matters to me without allowing my desire to overwhelm their truth: to trust that I am as open to a “no” as I am longing for a “yes.”

The final step of integration: repeated action as habit

Recalling Alta Starr’s definition of embodiment emphasizes the importance of repeated practice. Richard Strozzi-Heckler explains:

Researchers say 300 repetitions produce body memory, which is the ability to enact the correct movement, technique, or conversation by memory. It’s also been pointed out that 3000 repetitions creates embodiment, which is not having to think about doing the activity, as it is simply part of who we are.

This sounds daunting, but Richard offers a helpful reminder:

It’s necessary to come to terms with the fact that we are always practicing. In other words, the body is incapable of not practicing. And what we practice we become.

People make fun of me sometimes for how intentional I am: isn’t that a lot of work?! Well, yes. But whether or not you have intentions for parenting, or your sex life, or your work, or your relationships… you’re going to be doing all those things. Wouldn’t you rather be intentional? My friend Andrea Mignolo (who I met at Strozzi!) had a beautiful piece recently about the importance of practice, concluding:

Practice really needs to include intention, purpose, and embodiment.

It’s about practice, and it’s also about the person I want to be: as a father, a husband, a partner, a friend, a colleague, a human. This idea is core to James Clear’s bestselling work on the power of habits: he emphasizes the link between intention, action, and identity, explaining:

Your habits are how you embody a particular identity.

This remains a weakness of mine; I’m far better at setting intentions (30,000 feet) than I am about their ground-level implementation. Strozzi talks about “conditions of satisfaction”: the work of translating high-level intentions into metrics/indicators of progress success. To give an example: one of my primary “conditions of satisfaction” for the “I” part of my declaration (repairing the ruptures of patriarchy in myself) is to feel my feelings. Instead of centering my partner and imagining/inhabiting their emotional experience (the pattern I learned in childhood)… can I simply allow myself to feel my feelings? I really like this simple-but-difficult guide from Amber Rae, which I’ve found helpful to do as a practice:

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I’ll leave it here for today, and invite you to claim some time and space for intention and integration this holiday season. I’d also love to hear your own practices, and any suggestions for escaping the dominant culture speed frame into a more embodied liberatory metaphor.

Recently I thought of it this way: we see each other at the speed of light. We hear each other at the speed of sound. We feel each other… at a very different speed. The speed of co-regulation? I’m sure there is some physiological/scientific explanation for what is happening at the level of molecular exchange (made more complicated in virtual interactions). I wonder if there’s something about focusing on purpose and the necessary preconditions to belonging (to integration) that takes them out of a speed frame. Like ingredients, perhaps, or scaffolding. Or maybe it’s as simple as the process of growth: the redwood needs sturdy roots to reach its full height.

My next post will be my annual year-in-review Best Of list… stay tuned!