I recently finished leading a group study of my book Decolonizing the Body.  A question emerged as we thought about carrying this work forward into our lives and world.
 
“How do I explain what Decolonizing the Body is to folks who are totally unfamiliar?” Is there some way to introduce this topic that doesn’t require me to teach, defend or explain?
 
I love this question. I love it because it’s one that I’ve intimately grappled with. When someone wants to know what kind of coaching I do … When asked what my book is about … When invited to introduce myself and my work to a group …

How I talk about Decolonizing the Body depends on who is asking. I’m not interested in defending myself or arguing with someone. I’m also not interested in vulnerably sharing my soul and being met with platitudes.
 
Here’s what I say most of the time: Decolonizing the Body means reclaiming our humanity by reconnecting to the ancestral wisdom that already lives within us.
 
If this invites more questions, I’m usually happy to answer them. If not, I keep it moving.
 
Lately though, I’ve been curious about how I might name what the process of decolonizing the body moves us toward.
 
At its core, colonization is a violent act of disconnection. As we are disconnected from the land, we become disconnected from our bodies. We learn to live our lives from the neck up as a form of protection and to try to secure resources in a system with insatiable demands for speed.
 
What might we call the slow, healing journey of reconnection? Are there words that point toward this path of feeling and honoring?  How might we describe a life oriented by earth-reverence, animism, and body-centered practices that make space for ritual, movement, and stillness?
 
Yes, we are reclaiming our humanity, but what does this mean? Could we not also say that colonization is an expression of humanity? Nearly every part of the world has been touched by this harm.  
 
I believe what we are really doing is navigating toward a specific truth -- the truth of inherent belonging.
 
We all come from a people who were indigenous to some corner of this earth. Our ancestors knew nature and lived in relationship with it. They understood the seasons of things. There was no need to practice feeling the body because daily life required that this capacity be intact.

Our ancestors sang as they shaped the clay that would become the water vessel. They danced with fire to honor spirits and other worlds, they told stories of those who came before, and these living myths offered wisdom, guidance, and solace.
 
If decolonizing the body is taking off what doesn't serve us, might we say we are bringing forward the wisdom of these indigenous ancestors? That we are on a journey of reclaiming indigeneity?
 
This is a frame I’ve been dancing with in my facilitation work to mixed results.
 
Reclaiming indigeneity doesn’t mean looking to the intact Indigenous Knowledge streams that survive today and appropriating these cultures. Nor is it an invitation to identify ourselves as indigenous. Rather, it’s a redirection toward trusting our wholeness by attuning to the natural world and the wisdom that lives within.   
 
I’ve been asked, “Do you have relationships with Indigenous Elders? What do they think about you saying, “reclaiming indigeneity?”
 
“Is there another way to phrase this?”  
 
“Is this work different for white folks?”
 
Some have suggested, “Maybe rather than capital Indigeneity this is little i indigeneity?”
 
I've wondered, in our social climate, is this the best way to say this? Would I use reclaiming indigeneity with a predominately white audience? Probably not. Am I suggesting folks bypass looking at real racial harm? Given the emphasis to hold our healing within the larger societal context, I also don’t think this is the case.
 
But I understand the concern. The possibility of saying something wrong and being cancelled looms large. The folks of color I work with are highly attuned to appropriation. No one wants that accusation.

At the same time, most of us can trace our ancestry to many different cultures and traditions. Being on a journey of reclaiming indigeneity frees us from centering just one. Instead, we're broadly affirming the life-supporting practices that sustained the vast majority of humanity over time. Reclaiming indigeneity invites us to illume for ourselves how these practices might come forward in this time. Our bodies and our relationship with the living planet become the authority.  

If our hackles are up, it’s not a bad sign. We’re exploring something real with feelings and fears attached.  By taking a somatic approach, we can hold what is activated with tender inquiry. That's what I'm hoping to do here. 

I think of the journey of Decolonizing as one of taking off the colonial overcoats that we were born into. As we peel back layer after restricting layer we feel how weighed down we’ve been. There’s satisfaction in the journey itself.  It's natural to then ponder, what is it that's surfacing? This beauty, this connection, this trust in spirit, how do I name it?