For a long time, I judged the physical realm as the least important.

I saw the body, the material, the world of sensation and appearance as secondary—at best—a distraction, at worst—a prison. I thought I was being noble. I thought I was being wise. I thought I was giving reverence to what “wasn’t”: the womb of spirit, the space of mind, the depth of emotion. I honored the intangible. I gave my trust to the unseen. I learned to speak to wind and vision. I walked with the soul and saw the physical as the illusion.

But in doing so, I also dishonored the gift that made those perceptions possible in the first place.

Because the truth is, none of that is accessible without this body, this world, this now. The physical isn’t beneath us—it birthed us into this experience. It holds the receivers of every insight, the vessel for every emotion, the ground beneath every epiphany. It is not separate from the spirit, mind, or heart—it is the meeting place of all of them. The temple. The portal. The evidence that source didn’t just want to be everything—it wanted to experience everything.

Anything we hate in the physical, says we hate our cosmic selves.

We wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t already, on some higher plane, deeply valued the physical. We wouldn’t have chosen this incarnation if embodiment wasn’t sacred. Let that land.

The physical doesn’t need to be glorified through scientific theory or cosmic storytelling. The Big Bang wasn’t the beginning. It was source’s play, a creative eruption from the stillness of being. It wasn’t the cause—it was the expression. What’s the point of being it all without experiencing it all? And what’s the point of experiencing it all if we shame the very container that allows it?

So yes, I understand the temptation to push away the body, to resent the pain, to bypass the density. I understand because I did it too. I put the physical aside because it hurt too much. I didn’t want to look at the wars, the wounds, the losses. I didn’t want to face the limitations of flesh or the betrayals of matter. But in doing so, I forgot that the physical isn’t just the source of pain—it’s also the stage for our greatest joy, creativity, and connection. It’s the only plane where we get to hug someone while healing them. To cry and kiss and run and rest. To create art, build sanctuaries, and give birth to new life.

We came here to love all of it. The mental. The emotional. The spiritual. And yes—the physical. And not from a place of hierarchy, but from harmony. These are not steps of importance. They are layers of experience. Each one interwoven with the other. Each one deserving our respect.

The goal is no longer to escape the body, nor to worship it. But to be in right relationship with it. To remember that our bones, like our beliefs, are sacred. That our skin, like our spirit, is divine. That our pain, like our peace, has a purpose.

So for whoever needs to hear this—who, like me, turned away from the physical because it felt like too much—I invite you to come back. Gently. Reverently. Slowly if you must. Know this: The physical is not your punishment. It is your permission slip. To feel. To touch. To choose. It is the living altar upon which heaven and earth become one.

And I, for one, am done rejecting the realm that made my remembering possible.

Let’s honor this plane not because it’s perfect—but because it’s part of the perfection. Let’s value the physical, not as a burden, but as a bridge.

Yes, the world hurts. But it also heals. And I would rather find peace in the pain than pain in the peace. Because that’s what we came for: not just to know love, but to embody it.

And that, my friends, deserves a standing ovation.