Learning to Stay: The Sacred Art of Remembering the Body

For years, I thought awakening meant leaving the human experience. I believed it was floating above pain and becoming “light.” But the plants taught me differently. Simply feeling my breath rise and fall and sensing my heartbeat as I rode the waves of the medicine showed me true presence. The soft breeze against my skin or the quiet murmur of my pulse in stillness grounded me in the present. Awakening became a deep dive into life, not an escape.

During one of the most visceral ceremonies of my life, I asked for remembrance. Not visions, not bliss—just truth.

The medicine met me in that prayer. Rather than lifting me toward the stars, which I had always seen as leaving behind my physical self, it brought me deep into my body: into bone, into heartbeat, into the spaces I had forgotten were sacred within me.

For decades, I fought with my body, trying to fix her, hide her, push her. I wanted her smaller. I blamed others for not loving her when she only wanted me to love her first.

That day, as the medicine moved through me, every muscle became memory. I saw the years of abuse and the grief stored in my cells. I saw the times I left her behind, chasing the spiritual light of escape.

The plants are honest teachers. They don’t let you skip steps.

They show that surrender is not weakness. It is the path to knowledge.

As I surrendered, my body began to speak.

She showed me she was never the problem. She kept what I had avoided facing.

She had grieved for me when I couldn’t grieve for myself.

Every ache, every tension, every extra pound I had judged was my body saying, “Remember me.”

In that remembering, something changed.

In that remembering, the boundary between my spirit and my physical body seemed to melt away.

I realized embodiment isn’t the opposite of enlightenment. It’s the doorway to it. As I stood at that threshold, self-doubt crept in. I remembered a moment when I felt vulnerable. One day, standing in front of a mirror, I hesitated. I faced the years of self-criticism and shame. In that moment, I chose to step forward. I trusted that embracing my body was as sacred as seeking light. It was a risk—a leap into the unknown. That risk opened the way to deeper knowing.

When we are in our bodies, we stop running from the lessons. We stop trying to leave the pain, because we know pain is a sacred communication.

The plants taught me that creation doesn’t happen in constant motion. It happens in the moments of stillness: in the silence between breaths, in the pause between drumbeats, in the quiet after the release. Notice the silence after your next exhale.

That is where wisdom lives.

That is where the divine whispers, “You are already home.”

We fear stillness because it feels like emptiness, but the void is not just a blank space; it is like a womb where remembering grows—a place where new understanding can begin.

It’s where surrender becomes loving your body. It isn’t self-indulgence; it’s self-initiation.

It’s saying yes to being human, to being messy, to being alive.

It allows the divine to experience itself through skin, sound, and breath, so you can begin to co-create again with the light.

The plants didn’t heal me. Instead, I met the healer within when I found myself lying on the bathroom floor—alone yet surrounded, whole even as pieces fell away, safe though unaware how true that would become. My hands traced the floor, feeling it as the earth’s surface, its pulse allowing tears to unwind. My breath and blood moved as gentle reminders, sending warmth throughout that called me home.

They taught me that my body is not a cage trapping me; it’s a compass guiding me to what I need to know.

And every freckle, every scar, every curve is like a constellation on my skin—a unique map guiding me home to myself.

When we stop trying to escape the body, we stop escaping ourselves.

We anchor heaven into earth by staying fully and consciously in this human form. We begin to know we are truly connected. We are always ok.

So the next time you feel like escaping, instead, stay curious and explore. Feel the cool earth beneath your feet, grounding you to the pulse of life. Place a hand gently over your heart, acknowledging the rhythm of your being. Welcome yourself home to your body, to the place where your journey is witnessed and honored.

Pause. Place one hand on your heart and one on your lower belly. Breathe slowly and let your body answer the question: Where am I leaving myself? Stay for three breaths longer than feels comfortable. Presence is the doorway.

TAKE ACTION: If you feel called to deepen your relationship with embodiment, plant wisdom, and somatic remembrance, explore Sicadia-Paige’s work at her website.