Secrets of Your Cells: Discovering Your Body's Inner Intelligence (17 page)

We are always trying to solve the riddle of miraculous healings. Could one explanation be that when people soften their attitudes and tissues in some way, this triggers the cells to move toward normalcy? If I hadn’t spent years in the lab showing that leukemic white blood cells could be pushed toward becoming more normal, it might not occur to me to ask this question:
can
cancer cells become normal? We accomplished that change in the lab using benign chemicals, though we didn’t test whether those molecules worked by changing the tension of the cells or the genes. However, we did learn that their membranes became more fluid as they picked up more mature abilities in the process. But outside the lab, the question remains.

And it is followed by other questions that widen the scope of our discussion: If rigid environments can contribute to the disorganization of normal cells, what about rigidity when it comes to individual people or whole societies? How does inflexibility influence our development? What might we each be able to do to create a softer, gentler environment?

Ever wonder why someone doesn’t try softer?

— LILY TOMLIN

Looking back into the microscope, we find scientists discovering that if embryonic stem cells are grown
in vitro
on a stiff structure, they will be more likely to become muscle cells; when grown on a soft, rubbery structure, they will become neurons.
¹¹
In other words, the mechanics of the environment influences the tension in the cell and its genetic expression, telling the stem cell what it is to become and which genes to use.

Changing Cancer

My passion about cancer prevention and treatment came from spending a great deal of time with children threatened by the disease. I saw the hopeful yet devastating effects of chemotherapy and radiation and questioned whether there could be something else, some other less-toxic strategy, to reverse the disease. My explorations ultimately brought me to learn more about our cells and the role of tensegrity in physically altering a cell’s outcome. It also brought me to ever-deepening shamanic and inner practices for healing.

Crossing Over

In the preface I related my experience as the “balloon lady” on the pediatric floor of the hospital and of my great friendship with little Alvaro. When his leukemia returned after a year of remission, I was
overwhelmed—his death seemed inevitable, and I didn’t know what to do. I called on the support of Dr. Tomas Pinkson, a psychologist who was clinical director for the Center for Attitudinal Healing at the time. Tom had also started one of the first hospices in the United States, so I knew he dealt with the end of life every day. When I called to ask him how to deal with Alvaro’s impending death, he told me, “You don’t deal, you feel.” Of course, I didn’t
want
to feel—that’s why I was calling him. I was sure I’d be overcome with grief.

I met Tom in his office. Expecting a typical pristine professional space, I was surprised when he led me into what seemed to be an indigenous healer’s space: it was entirely another world. On the floor were a Navajo rug and drums, on the walls were drawings and Huichol art. Tom invited me to sit on the floor across from him. Once I was settled, he lit what looked like a small bundle of twigs, blowing on them to raise smoke. Then he waved the smoke all around me. I would later learn that burning sage (“smudging,” as it is called) is a Native American practice for cleansing and focusing energy.

From that moment, Tom’s nonintellectual, nonlinear “shamanic” approach to inner wisdom intrigued me, and he became my lifelong teacher of healing—heart, mind, and soul. From him I learned a bit about letting go of my questioning mind and reaching into my knowing heart.

Changing Consciousness

My first experience of shamanic consciousness takes place at a drumming circle on the “left coast” of California, a place geographically, psychologically, and spiritually on the leading edge of human development. The year is 1985, and the place is a funky community center. I have traveled narrow, winding country roads to arrive here at Tomas’s invitation.

Flickering candlelight brightens the darkened room. People are sitting on the floor in a circle. Some are drumming, shaking rattles, and chanting, and some are still: it is a strange scene to my scientist’s eyes. I
wonder why in the world I agreed to come here. I sit down in the open space nearest the door—in case a quick getaway is called for. My mind chatters endlessly:
Get me out of here
now.
You’re crazy to be doing this, and so are all the people sitting in this circle!

I close my eyes, believing this will help me endure what I think will be a huge and awkward waste of time. But then the sound and vibration of rhythmic drumming and rattling begin to nudge me to a quiet place inside. Despite my mental struggle and the physical squirming that accompanies it, something else takes me over. The chatter stops. Images begin to fill my mindscape. And then the reason I am here becomes clear: I am to connect with a deeper kind of wisdom than I have experienced before, to seek a knowing beyond my intellect. Soon I am being held in this sacred space, and a sense of calm envelops me. I feel connected to myself, to the other people in the room, and to the divine holiness of the moment. Moments of inner peace, tranquility, and—who knows?—maybe even enlightenment penetrate my being.

Afterward, I couldn’t deny my surprising and almost reluctant experience of the sacred. But my chattering mind resumed its monologue—how to make sense of this? I needed a physical explanation of how changes in consciousness and emotions occur before I could truly trust what had happened as genuine. I couldn’t grasp how that internal “shamanic” shift to peace and wisdom had happened to me or to any of the others in the room whose state of consciousness had been altered. The answer was a long time in coming; it wasn’t until I learned about the most elusive cytoskeleton decades later that I began to understand.

The Real Deal—Science Meets Spiritual Practice

When we drum, laugh, move our bodies, make love, or experience any other form of pleasure, our bodies surge with chemicals called endorphins.
¹²
Molecules ebb and flow, brain waves change, cell tensions ease,
and we re-create our emotional condition from the inside out. Our cells have the ability to use physical rhythm and the vibrating energy of our senses to create these pleasurable states. Energy shifts. Our muscles soften. We may even reach another level of being or knowing. Within our cellular scaffolding is where humming, drumming, light, movement, “vibes,” and thoughts shift mind, body, and spirit.

Shape-Shifting

The underlying matrix of the cytoskeleton has roles beyond gene regulation. It is the “shape changer” and energy transformer; some say it’s the seat of consciousness.

Shape change transmits information.

Shape-shift
is an unusual word typically assigned to the shaman, magician, or mystic.
¹³
You may have read tales of Carlos Castaneda’s Don Juan shape-shifting into a coyote or Harry Potter’s godfather, Sirius, turning into a big black dog whenever the spirit moved him. While the idea is convenient in storytelling and myth, for our purposes
shape-shifting
means shifting our point of view and our emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual energy. According to many sacred teachings, when we change our body we shift our consciousness (and the reverse is also true). Our potential changes. Here science supports an ancient claim: if we move our bodies in certain prescribed ways, we can alter how we feel and what we are able to do. Our cellular kingdom changes.
It shape-shifts us.

Ancient mystics and shamans discovered that certain tension-changing body postures improved overall well-being by uniting mind, body, and universal energies. To shift the mind and soul for this purpose, many traditions use complicated patterns of movement: among them shamanic dance, tai chi, yoga, and the ancient ritual postures explored by anthropologist Felicitas Goodman.

Carlos Castaneda, who purportedly spent years in Mexico studying sorcery and magic with Yaqui shaman Don Juan Matus, claimed that ancient physical practices can enable us to sense energy flows and
shape-shift our bodies. By doing what he called
magical passes,
we can tune in to both inner and outer energies and effect a change of consciousness. Though he never talked about the
cellular
tensegrity we have discussed here, he nevertheless codified these techniques as tensegrity movements—this was the subject of the
Yoga Journal
article I discovered in the bookstore that momentous day. The term is appropriate for magical passes and the other body practices previously mentioned, all of which emphasize tensing, stretching, and relaxing muscles and organs—similar to the very movements our microscopic cells naturally undergo.

An obvious question arises: if we engage in magical passes, qigong, or dance, do we change our cells’ tension, memory patterns, or genes? Do we alter their intelligence or their future? By moving our bodies, can we adjust our state of mind, energy field, or consciousness? Consider that the property of tensegrity within our cells may provide a new explanation for why staying physically active prolongs life; it alters our mood and energy. It expands our potential for pleasure, well-being, and peace. Movement can change our lives; Sri Aurobindo would call this “yoga for our cells.”

Our cells change shape, move, grow, and “choose” what to do with the help of tensegrity. They manage us through tensing and releasing tension. Our bodies need to stretch and move to keep our tissues healthy and flexible. Yoga and other forms of movement as well as massage and chiropractic may be viewed as therapeutic interventions based on this principle. They bring us into our bodies, help us sort out thoughts, enhance energy, and encourage letting go of patterns that no longer serve us by tapping into what I call our
cellular shaman.
When we pay attention to the matrix of forces occurring inside and outside of us, we can change our lives. Here is where science and sacred wisdom meet.

Consider that one stiff muscle can change the structure of the whole. If you have ever pulled a calf muscle or stood up from a session at your desk with a pain in your neck, you know this is the case. Tense structures share a critical factor: their tension is continuously transmitted
across all structures. The whole body reacts to a pain or pulled muscle. Muscles—which are bundles of cells—are able to shorten, lengthen, or freeze in place. A muscle held taut in one position reduces circulation of blood, breath, and information elsewhere in the body and can cause chronic pain. Rigid lung cells can hinder breathing.

These linings, wrappings, cables, and moorings are a continuous substance. Every single part of the body is connected to every other part by virtue of this network; every part of us is in its embrace.

— DEANE JUHAN
Job’s Body

REFLECTION

By understanding the mysteries within our cellular matrix, we uncover a teaching message from our cells: stretch and move for renewal and change. How have you stretched yourself today?

Tuning Our Strings

Our cells possess “tone” just as muscles do. To use an analogy, a stretched violin string produces different sounds when pressure is applied at different points along the string. In a similar fashion, a cell processes chemical signals differently depending on how much and where its cell strings are distorted or pressed.

Recalling the physical nature of our cellular matrix, we recognize that we are made of strings. Our cellular fabric shape-shifts us when we engage in physical, energetic, or shamanic transformative practices.
The strings of the universe can now include the strings of our cells.

Only with personal experience can you find out if this is true.