When the Body Knows But the Mind Can't File It Yet
I've spent decades learning to distinguish between what's real and what's mental/emotional fabrication. Through my years of apprenticeships with Native Americans—a path that led me to receive the Holy Pipe and become a Pipe Carrier—I learned something essential: the body gives the only reliable answers. Neither the mind nor the emotions can be fully trusted.
Uppaluri Gopala Krishnamurti, simply known as U.G. (not to be confused with the more known Jiddu Krishnamurti), states exactly the very same: "the body knows" and "enlightenment is a naturale state" if we only allow the body to function as it should!
The body has its own language. When something is true, I feel calm, clear, grounded. When I'm moving in the wrong direction, there's a specific sensation—a kind of a whirl, a faint, in my heart zone, or in my brain, like air spinning, unpleasantly pulsing, wobbling inside. When it happens in my brain I call this "cerebrotic whirl"—a cerebral spinning. In both cases that signals I've left truth behind and entered mental or emotional construction.
This body-based diagnostic system has served me well. Until recently, when I lost track of it.
The Confusion
Two years ago, at seventy, I discovered I'm an Asperger. This revelation explained so much—the difficulties with relationships I'd attributed to my unusual family history, the constant need for clarity and structure, the way my brain works so differently from what's called "normal."
Growing up I had to learn to mask my diversity in order to fit into society. In the Asperger Syndrome it is called "masking". You try to adapt to society expectations.
That means learning how to bend your Asperger personality into what you are expected to perform.
But little by little, as the years passed, I began to be aware that in my personality there were two identities: the exterior one and the interior one. The first: brilliantly audacious, with a lot of sense of humor and communication skills. The second one: extremely frightful and scared of people and of any interaction.
I am a highly educated woman, with a long, deep, and discipined path into esotericism. Being an Asperger allowed me to put together an incredibly mass of knowledge that I kept elaborating, expanding further my awareness, empirically tested. I don't care about recognition, but I care about the just distribution. What is mine is mine and you have to respect it. What is yours is yours and I honour it.
Masking allowed me to walk my way through. Untill I clearly realised I had two "me" inside. This terrible awareness threw me into an abyss. The pressure and the chaos within became unbearable. I moved to India to purge and cleanse the disaster I felt inside. But it took many more years before I understood what I was actually dealing with: an Asperger brain that had been forced to pretend it was something else.
The Filing Problem
As an Asperger, I need precise categories. I need to file experiences and understandings in clear mental folders. When something remains vague or undefined, it creates physical pressure—a kind of cognitive static that generates an almost unbearable agitation.
Many years ago my daughter accused me of having no pride. In her opinion I don't care what people think of me. And it's true—if someone tells me I'm an imbecile, I genuinely don't care. I know I'm not. If the person speaking is an imbecile themselves, I care even less.
She meant that with my education, with all the languages I speak, with the incredible experiences I had... I should let people know and present myself from the height of all that...
But I'm allergic to the idea of promoting myself. My work, my websites or YouTube channels. The level of information and insight I offer is so much higher than the new age stuff that floods the internet. Only people who have matured their own reflections in solitude, and the inevitable pain, will find comfort and validation in what I share. And there are such people. Not the mass, I am not speaking to the mass who needs another vocabulary, and simpler concepts.
This is my spiritual strength—an inner steel that doesn't bend to compromise, doesn't seek validation, doesn't need external approval.
But my daughter's words created doubt. A doubt that still now, so many years after, sometimes pops up into my everyday life. A sneaking guilt. Should I care more? Should I try harder to connect? Should I promote my work to help more people?
And beneath that: Is my "steel attitude" actually authentic spiritual clarity? Or is it a defense mechanism for my emotional unavailability, dressed up as spiritual detachment?
Body Truth Without Categories
This question created pressure because I couldn't answer and file it properly.
Was my indifference to others' opinions:
-Real Asperger structure (finally being myself)?
-Spiritual development (cultivated wisdom)?
I couldn't sort it cleanly. And for an Asperger brain, that inability to categorize creates profound discomfort.
Then I remembered: I already have a sorting system. The body knows!
When I asked myself if my not caring about what people think is my just action: no whirling. Just calm clarity.
When I considered if my not promoting myself and my work is right: no whirling. Just knowing I would compromise the message for those who truly need it.
When I felt my daughter's distance—sad heart, yes. Aching, and sometimes even profoundly for the detachment between us. But no whirling. No sense of wrongness.
My body answered. All the pressure came from trying to force those body-truths into conceptual categories I don't yet have.
I've only known I'm Asperger for two years. I'm still learning what parts of me were always there (just hidden under the mask) versus what I developed spiritually. I don't have enough lived experience as unmasked-me to create precise categories yet. But I don't need them.
Body clear = sufficient truth.
Filing incomplete = tolerable for now.
The categories will develop through continued experience. For now, I can trust what the body knows: My steel attitude is correct. My refusal to compromise the signal is right. The sadness about my daughter is just sadness—not evidence I'm on the wrong path.
I can feel sad and be aligned with truth simultaneously.
The Method Restored
Anxiety had pulled me away from my reliable measuring system. The heart aching drew me into emotional processing, which triggered cerebral spinning trying to explain the pain. I lost connection to what actually works.
Now I'm back: Body truth is the compass. When the whirling starts, I've entered mental or emotional fabrication. When there's clarity—even if accompanied by sadness—I'm on the right path.
My Asperger brain will eventually create the filing categories it needs. But the body already knows what's true.
That's enough.
