"Imagine a good friend gave you the keys to a Ferrari, yours to keep. You park it in the garage and rarely take it out. You never drive it over 50 mph. You never explore what it can do. You spend all your time worrying about the paintwork, how it looks, and what others might think if there were scratches. You are afraid to damage it, afraid to wear it down, afraid to really use it.
Years later, at the end of your life, your friend asks, “How was it?” And you say, “I never really drove it.” Then he tells you the truth. By not using it, you damaged it. The engine seized. The seals dried out. The systems failed. It did not break from use. It broke from neglect. That Ferrari was meant to be driven."
Now imagine that Ferrari was your body.
The Body Is a Gift, Not an Accident
Across cultures, faiths, and civilizations, one truth appears again and again in different language but with the same meaning. The body is a gift, and gifts come with responsibility.
In the Bible, the body is described as a temple, not something to worship, but something to honor and care for. We are reminded that we are not fully our own, and that honoring what we have been given includes how we treat it physically. Strength and stewardship are never condemned. Neglect is.
The Qur’an reinforces this responsibility through the language of moderation and accountability. It warns against throwing oneself into destruction through excess or neglect and repeatedly emphasizes balance. What you have been entrusted with must be protected, including your health.
In the Bhagavad Gita, discipline of the body is inseparable from discipline of the mind and spirit. Alignment cannot be achieved through extremes. Neither indulgence nor denial leads to clarity. Only consistent, balanced effort does.
Buddhist teachings echo the same understanding. In the Dhammapada, health is described as the greatest gift, not because the body is the goal, but because without health, the deeper work becomes impossible. The body is the vehicle. If the vehicle breaks down, the journey stops.
The Tao Te Ching frames it simply and beautifully. Care for the body, and you gain the capacity to care for the world. Neglect the body, and even the best intentions collapse under their own weight.
Even ancient traditions like Zoroastrianism, preserved in the Avesta, emphasize purity of body and action as part of moral responsibility. Good thoughts and good intentions are incomplete without good deeds, including how one treats the physical form.
In Jewish teachings recorded in the Talmud, preserving health is considered an obligation, not a luxury. Caring for the body is framed as gratitude, not vanity. Different cultures, different languages, the same message.
Despite our different views on who wrote these texts or what their original intentions may have been, I think we can all agree on one thing. Someone, somewhere along the way, felt it important enough to remind us that caring for ourselves matters. That tending to the body, the mind, and the spirit is not selfish, but a responsibility. A duty we carry not just for ourselves, but for one another.
Because at the end of the day, we rise together. As a collective, we are only as strong, only as steady, only as fast as our slowest runner. And so it becomes our shared responsibility to encourage one another to be healthier, to be stronger, to be better. To lift the overall energy of the room, the community, the world. When we care for ourselves, we don’t just raise our own vibration, we contribute to the frequency of the whole.
Respect for the Body Is a Spiritual Practice
Taking care of your body is not ego, vanity, or obsession with appearance. It is respect.
When you move your body, nourish it, challenge it appropriately, and allow it to recover, you are practicing respect. When you ignore it, neglect it, or talk yourself out of caring for it, you are not being humble. You are avoiding responsibility.
Pain distracts. Weakness limits. Neglect clouds perception. Health creates space. Not perfection. Not enlightenment. Space.
A Personal Realization (Not a Sermon)
I want to be clear about something. I am not here to preach religion to anyone.
I was raised Catholic in Ireland, and that upbringing gave me structure, values, and a sense of reverence. But my understanding of the body, responsibility, and self respect did not come from doctrine alone. It came from lived experience.
In 2018, and again in the jungle in early 2024, I went through what I can best describe as ceremonial, somatic, and transpersonal rites of passage. Experiences that were contextual, grounded, and deeply humbling.
What stayed with me was not spectacle or intensity. It was the realization that something so profound and beautiful was unfolding that I did not possess the vocabulary to fully explain it.
At its most basic, human level, the message was clear. Self love and self respect are the building blocks of a full human experience. Not ego. Not indulgence. Not self importance. Respect.
I came to understand that self love is the epicenter from which all other forms of love are learned. Love for others, for community, and for life itself. When that foundation is missing, everything else becomes distorted. When it is present, things begin to organize naturally.
I want to stress this clearly. Not everyone needs experiences like this. They are not a requirement, a shortcut, or a badge of insight. On my journey inward, these simply happened to be the tools the universe presented to me at that time.
The truth they revealed was not exotic or unreachable. Your body matters. How you treat it matters. Ignoring it comes at a cost.
You Don’t Need the Jungle
You do not need to live in the jungle. You do not need ceremony or dramatic awakenings. What you need is honesty.
That internal voice telling you you are out of shape, the nudge saying you have been neglecting yourself, the quiet thought telling you it is time to take responsibility again, that voice is not attacking you or shaming you. It is guiding you.
And you need faith. Faith that people want to help you, that guidance exists, and that starting where you are is enough.
The Lies That Keep the Ferrari in the Garage
“I am too old. I have gone too far. It is too late. I do not want to hurt myself.”
Those are the same excuses as the Ferrari collecting dust. The damage does not come from respectful use. It comes from disuse. Movement preserves. Strength protects. Consistency heals.
The Question We All Answer
Imagine standing before your Creator, however you understand that, and being asked one simple question.
What did you do with the body I gave you?
Did you love it. Did you respect it. Did you maintain it. Did you listen to it. Or did you leave it parked, untouched, until time and neglect did the damage for you.
Final Thought
Caring for your body is not separate from your spiritual journey. It is part of it.
Mother Nature designed us remarkably well. Our bodies are not broken by default. In a world obsessed with quick external fixes, pills, shortcuts, hacks, and trends, we often overlook a simple truth. Most of what the body needs is internal and inward.
Attention. Movement. Consistency. Respect.
It does not have to be perfect. It does not have to be extreme. It just has to begin. Sometimes it is simply time to rebuild.
Take your Ferrari out for a drive.
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Coach G
Comments
Awesome G!