BOWWBLOG #52: The Colonoscopy, the Flu, and the Call to Stop: What My Body Had to Say After 30 Years of Meditation

How two weeks of procedure preparation, scans, fevers and sleepless 3ams reminded me that inner work cannot be rushed—and that suffering, met gently, becomes a teacher

WHAT: When the Body Forced a Pause

The week before last was grueling.

It began with the preparation for a colonoscopy—three days of liquid diet, the nightmare of endless purging, all while working full-time from home. By the time the procedure was over, my immune system was compromised.

Then the flu struck. Monday of last week. Fever hovering between 39.1 and 39.5 degrees Celsius for three straight days. Add a dry, whooping cough that left me breathless. My mind began to imagine worst-case scenarios. (Thankfully, not COVID.)

Through it all, I kept working. Until I literally could not.

Looking back, I broke my own rules of self-care. I ran myself into the ground. And I had to ask: Where is this coming from?

SO WHAT: The Fragile Archaeology of Inner Work

What kept me going—if you could call it that—was my daily meditation sits. Centering prayer. Vipassana. Zazen. Even lying down, I sat.

I felt every fiber of the fever gnawing through my frail sinews. I felt the chills yanking through the chains of my skeletal system. I felt the waves of dry cough—each one promising a breakthrough of phlegm, only to settle back into extreme dryness.

And yet, it was the returning to these sensations, one at a time, millimeter by millimeter—not confronting all at once, not avoiding—that somehow brought rest. In the quiet of my room, in the silence and sleeplessness of 3am, I found something unexpected: stillness within the storm.

This reminded me of what Fleet Maull Roshi teaches in Neuro-Somatic Mindfulness: a trauma-sensitive, neuroscience-informed approach that directs attention to tactile, physical sensations. It calms the nervous system, releases held tension, and shifts us from the noisy cognitive mind into embodied presence.

Most of us engage with life impatiently. We push. We shove. When threatened, we fight, flee, or freeze. We want it all or nothing.

As a change professional, I sometimes want to go in, "intervene," go deep as fast as possible, and come out with a changed system. But change does not happen that way.

Illness, I believe, is the body's way of saying: You have to stop. You have pushed too hard, and the system is bursting at the seams.

Inner work is delicate. Fragile. It cannot be pushed harder or faster for "results." It is often compared to peeling an onion, one layer at a time. Or, as Fr. Thomas Keating once said, an archaeological dig. You do not bulldoze your way through ancient ruins. You brush away the dust, gently, patiently, reverently.

NOW WHAT: Tending to the Ruins Within

It took two weeks of "medical bodywork" for me to realize, once again, that my inner work is fragile. It calls for authentic tender loving care and compassion—beginning with the acknowledgment that I am not a superperson.

I have capacities and capabilities. I am deeply motivated to use them to help co-create conditions where people can become one, well, and whole. But my first responsibility and accountability is to myself.

The 7 Pillars of wHEW—Body, Heart, Mind, Spirit, Social, Financial, Environmental—also entail letting go more often than grasping and holding tight. The primordial practice of connecting with the breath and the body, while watching feelings and thoughts come and go, opens the wellspring within us. It is in suffering—and meeting that suffering gently, tenderly, eye to eye—that we glimpse deep peace, happiness, and freedom.

Your Gentle Call to Action

You don't need a colonoscopy or a 39-degree fever to hear what your body is saying. Here is a simple, doable practice for when you feel yourself running into the ground:

1. The "Millimeter Scan" (5 minutes, lying down)

· Action: Lie on your back. Close your eyes. Bring attention to one small area of your body—the tip of your nose, your left pinky toe, the space behind your right ear. Feel that single sensation. Then move, millimeter by millimeter, to the next spot. No rushing. No fixing. Just feeling.

· Why: Your body speaks in whispers before it screams. The millimeter scan teaches you to hear the whispers.

2. The "Fever Dream" Journal (when you are sick or exhausted)

· Action: Keep a notebook by your bed. In the middle of sleepless nights, write down one sentence about what you are feeling physically. Not what you think about it. Just the raw sensation: "Chest tight. Left knee cold. Throat raw."

· Why: Naming sensations without storytelling is the beginning of embodied wisdom.

3. The "Stop. I Mean It" Rule (for the strivers)

· Action: Pick one boundary this week that you will not cross. No work email after 8pm. No skipping lunch. No saying "yes" to one more meeting. Write it down. Tell someone.

· Why: If you break your own rules of self-care, you are teaching yourself that you do not matter. Keeping one small boundary is an act of self-respect.

4. The "Archaeological Dig" Pause (before every "intervention")

· Action: Before you step in to fix, help, or change anything outside you, pause for 30 seconds. Place a hand on your chest. Ask: "What is my body feeling right now?" Then breathe.

· Why: You cannot pour from an empty vessel. Leading others begins with tending your own ruins.

5. The Gentle Invitation (for when you are ready to rest with others)

· Action: If you are exhausted—really exhausted—consider joining a space where rest is not an afterthought but the practice. Our Off-the-Grid Flowcations, Coaching Essentials (CoachE), HR4HR, and Circle of Mindfulness Meditation sessions are designed for exactly this: for those who care for others to learn how to care for themselves.

· Why: You do not have to heal alone. Community is the container where fragile things grow strong.

I am still recovering. My body is still tender. But I am no longer fighting it.

The fever taught me what thirty years of meditation could not fully penetrate: that suffering, met gently, is a teacher. That the body is not an enemy to be conquered, but a sanctuary to be entered.

May you find your own millimeter of stillness today.

-Susan Grace Rivera

Posted on: May 24, 2026