Last week I began taking a class to develop my intuition. According to my teacher, the class is really about learning to trust yourself. The first session was all about energy and space clearing. We talked about the two kinds of troublesome spiritual entities, and she taught us a little prayer we could say to get them moving along.

This part freaks a lot of people out, she told us. But don’t be afraid, you’re the ones with bodies.

This struck me as a peculiar reason to feel confident. Bodies are so fragile, so vulnerable! Our hearts explode without warning, our knees give out, we faint. Bodies are confined to three dimensions; spirits live outside of space and time. They can float through walls and penetrate our dreams.

It’s not that I’m afraid of ghosts, only that they seem to have certain advantages. But then, I’ve never really given my body much thought, unless I was hating it. For many years I suffered crippling dysmorphia, which resulted in a cornucopia of self-harm. Historically, I’ve ignored my intuition and pain to my own detriment. The even shittier flip-side to this is I’ve eschewed pleasure, too. It isn’t possible to ignore the body piecemeal.

After a lot of therapy and inner jihad and just plain old getting older and getting a grip, I realize I still have a long way to go. I may not hate my body any more, but do I love it? What would it be like to consider my body an ally, a tool, a gift? How would it feel? How would it look?

I’d like to find out.