What’s still there

(Written in January 2009)
I’ve been typing up from the retreat at Kripalu.  Jack Kornfield asked “Can we touch our broken places with tenderness?” and that helped me soften.  Looking at poor wounded Jenny and seeing how very difficult her life is.  I wrote then about the difficult stony frozen feeling that isn’t really fear or terror — it’s that nameless dread — some invisible doom is rolling toward me and I am helpless to stop it.  I saw very clearly that this is how a baby would feel: a helpless infant whose survival is dependent on a caretaker who can’t be trusted.  I’ve been angry at myself for not being able to DO anything to right the situation, but the baby is truly powerless, and I’ve been triggered into the baby state.  There’s no energy for fighting or fleeing because that mechanism hasn’t come on line yet.  Being angry at myself for not being able to do anything seems really cruel.  What I really need is for some larger, wiser, stronger, bigger, older being to scoop me up, hold me with gentle firmness, and reassure me that everything’s going to be all right.  I can’t do this for myself, partly because I’m in the helpless baby state — where things are very clearly not all right, and when my adult looks out around her she sees a crumbling civilization, and finds it impossible to say “Everything’s going to be all right.” Most of my friends are also scared and worried, and unable to give me that deep reassurance that I long for.  I think the only people who can help me are those who are so strongly rooted in a spiritual practice that they can speak from that place, can say “Everything’s going to be all right,” with conviction.  Sometimes I’m able to get to that place and reassure myself, but it’s not happening very often.

And yet.  There is some solid stern place inside me that insists that life is meaningful, even though I don’t know what the meaning is, that insists that the Universe is benevolent, even though I can’t feel it right now, and can’t understand how a benevolent universe can result in so much confusion and pain.

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Tough day

(Written in January 2009)
Yesterday was pretty tough, even in the evening I was having waves of that deadly heavy feeling that I have trouble naming.  Heavy duty cold despair: “What’s the point.” Fortunately it doesn’t last long.
One thing I remembered & thought about was the time I imagined all the Jennys who were involved in one of those tangles: the traumatized baby, the tough little drip who just won’t quit, etc.  It was comforting to me, and I wonder about trying it again now.  There’s one who’s feeling completely despairing, finding it much too hard to keep going, one that’s totally overwhelmed and can’t move at all, one that’s scared if I don’t do something I’ll be stuck here forever.  There’s one who wants to be loving, but her heart is frozen — she’s in too much pain fear and despair, and another one is angry at herself for not being able to just overcome the pain and loss and misery.  O gosh I can feel a softening in my heart when I think about her.

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Guidance

(Written in January 2009)

Dear Guides and Guardian Spirits, I’m having a pretty rough time.  My psychiatrist telling me I’m bipolar flipped me into a state of overwhelm.  I’m feeling sad, scared, ungrounded, cold and dry.  Non-flesh, non-human, disconnected.  Can you help me?

Dear Jenny, we love you very much.  Relax and let your weight sink down.  Karen and Lynelle have both told you that nothing has changed, the doctor’s diagnosis is just her interpretation of what’s going on with you.  You have been triggered into overwhelm by how you are thinking about yourself.  Of course it would be comforting to have a definite diagnosis and a clear protocol for treatment, and then you’ll be just fine.  But what you are up against is not so simple as that.  Even without the diagnosis of bipolar, your life is still a bit like a fun-house floor, because either anxiety or despair can be triggered by external events you have no control over.  It’s the lack of control that’s scaring you so badly.  But you’ve never had any control over external events: something someone says to you, or the ups & downs of the stock market.  What you do have control over is where you put your attention, how you interpret what is going on, and the choices you make.  You are doing as well as you possibly can with these things.  You are refusing to go down the path of catastrophic storytelling, you are putting your attention on body sensations in the present, you are continually making choices for compassion, sustainability, peace and justice.  You are truly doing the best you can, you are truly being of service to the world you love.  We love you very much and wish that you could receive the fullness of the love we are sending your way.

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“You create your own life”

(Written in November 2004)
A friend is having trouble with the idea that “you create your own life.” I think it’s a reflection of Western Culture’s obsession with control and refusal to accept vulnerability.  I used the image of a sailboat to express my sense of it: we don’t control the wind or the tide, we do control our handling of the boat.  I also told her something about chaos mathematics, and holding a vision as providing a “strange attractor”.  Sitting here now I’m thinking that the idea of “creating my own life” feels very narrow and claustrophobic.  I’d much rather see my life as a co-creation — something I do with the people who are closest to me, and all the other people and creatures on the planet, and Spirit for sure.  My life is like a river, taking its shape partly by the amount and direction of its flow, but also by the conditions of the territory it’s flowing through.  What I call the “center line of my life” is something that I find rather than create, or perhaps something I created before I incarnated this time, something that I can choose to align with or not, something that I’m always finding more out more about as I continue on the path.

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Discouraged

(Written in August 2008)
I’m finding it hard to accept that I need to keep taking 50mg imipramine just to be able to keep going.  It feels like such a defeat, such a proof that I’m a weakling.  I was so proud that all my hard work in Somatic Experiencing had brought me to a place where it was possible to have the experience of what it would be like to live a “real life.” But I can’t stay at that level.  I don’t have the strength, and I don’t have the support of a community.  So I blame myself for not having what it takes.  But do I blame someone struggling with poverty for not having “what it takes”, not being willing to work hard?  No, because I know that the mechanics of Western Industrial Culture have made poverty inevitable.  Just as the same mechanics have meant that large numbers of us, struggling with invisible childhood wounds, have been unable to live out our real potential for creating a healthy and sustainable society.  So, despite having been born with “all the advantages” I too am one of “the poor.”

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Ordinary Day

(Written in March 2010)
Woke at 6:00 and got up.  I don’t feel quite as tired as I usually do at first.  20° and a clear sky.  Puttered around in the morning, did some typing, some straightening up the house, brought in loads of wood, took out compost, cut dog’s toenails (good for me!)

In the afternoon I went over to Neskaya to meet with Kayla and Nick (Barbara’s grandson) to talk about what we needed for our music system.  Then dump run and walk dog at Fox Hill — I just got to the first tricky place and turned back.  It was late and a little chilly.  Then I went to town — to shop at the health food store and Co-op.

In the evening I started typing from this journal notebook, and reading a book, Dreamers of the Day, that Kayla had read and recommended.
O gosh it’s such a relief to feel OK.  And to NOT feel the old push push push.

And nothing to say…   In some ways I miss the drama of the struggle, but I wouldn’t want it back.  I’m glad I have the project of the blog.  My life also feels a little like the garden — let’s see what comes up when I stop forcing.

“Good for me!” is something I began to add when I managed to do something, no matter how ordinary, that’s hard to do when I’m either terrified or depressed.  It’s part of my effort to feel better about myself.  One unexpected result was I actually began to feel SATISFACTION when I did something.  The old way was to feel “nobody yelled at me, and there are still 25 things to do…”

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Thoughts on Embodied Cognition

This started with a piece I wrote recently in response to a post on “Embodied Cognition” that went to an e-list of women who took a training with Laura Shannon.  The training was in Women’s Traditional Ritual Dances, and we were taught how to be aware of the wisdom that is passed through these dances.
Actually I think ALL cognition is embodied.  There is a book, Focusing by Eugene Gendlin, that talks about knowing truth because you feel it in your body.  The best example is trying to remember something like: “Who gave me that book?  Was it Susie?  (No) Catherine?  (No) Tim!  Yes!” and how did you know it was Tim not Susie?  Because something happened in your body.  For me it’s like a relaxation from tension, sometimes there’s even a sense of “connect,” like a ball into a baseball glove.  For a long time I paid attention to it carefully — I’d be struggling with some issue in my journal and suddenly come to a conclusion or resolution, and I’d write in my journal Ah! The body shift!
When I started doing Somatic Experiencing (Peter Levine’s method of healing trauma) I immediately had to learn to pay much more attention to my body.  In my first session, the practitioner said “Are you comfortable?” I said yes and she said “how do you KNOW you are comfortable?  What in your body tells you that?” Paying attention to my body I notice that I’m relaxed and my breathing is easy.  Then she says “Would you like a footrest for your feet?” I’m sitting on a couch and my feet don’t completely reach the floor.  I’m not aware of needing anything but I figure why not try it.  She put a cushion under my feet and suddenly I felt more solid and grounded.  My mind didn’t know what I needed, but my body knew for sure when I got it.
I’ve been doing S.E. for about 8 years, with five different practitioners, and it has brought about a lot of healing, and also understanding of my symptoms.  I have become very appreciative of the wisdom of the body, and learned to pay close attention to what it’s telling me.
Teaching dance I have found that the dances are held in my body, not my head.  Sometimes I can’t remember how a dance starts, but if I put on the music, my body will start to move and o yes, it goes like this.  When I used to play a guitar, I found that something similar happened.  If I forgot the chords, I could start singing the song, and then find that my fingers started making the correct chords.
One experience I had long ago — I was in my thirties — puzzled me for years until I got to Somatic Experiencing.  I had been working with a gestalt therapist.  I think she must have regressed me somewhat, I remember that I was sitting on the floor with my eyes closed.  She moved a cushion over the rug toward me, saying “This is your mother.” My body scrambled to get away from “her” before my brain had time to think.  I was amazed — I knew I didn’t respect my mother, but I didn’t think I was afraid of her.  In Somatic Experiencing we learn that the body knows what it needs to do, and a lot of the work in the sessions is keeping the neo-cortex out of the way so it doesn’t override the body.

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Guidance

(Written in August 2008)
Dear Guides & Guardian Spirits, I’m having a really hard time.  Can you help me?
Dear Jenny, we love you very much.  Let yourself relax and sink into our loving.  It is hard for you to be aware of us because your early environment was so lacking in tenderness.  It’s OK to stop struggling and fighting.  It’s OK to stop giving away your resources to people and causes you value, it’s important and necessary at this time to take care of yourself.  Radically.  Extravagantly.  It’s true that there is not enough support for you in the culture.  This is an indicator of the sickness of the culture, not of your lack of value.  Your continued existence is very important to the welfare of the planet.  You embody certain values that are badly needed at this time: compassion, inclusivity, concern for the realm of nature as both a physical and spiritual resource.  Just as you are, you bring these values alive.  You do not need to do anything more.  It’s OK to say no to all the people and causes that ask you for money.  It’s far more important, at this time, to take care of yourself.  We love you, dear Jenny.  Relax and let yourself take it in.  Ultimately, all shall be well.  The planet that you love so much is surrounded and held and interpenetrated by a vast number of loving and powerful spiritual beings, Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.  You do not need to take action, or make anything happen.  You are like Etty refusing to hate in the face of Nazi persecution.  She did not refuse to feel fear, or sorrow, or joy, and she suffered many collapses.  Her work to witness it all, and to open her heart wide enough to include everything, everything, is what counts in the long run, is what makes a difference to the planet, even if no one knew about it but those who came in contact with her.  Allow Etty’s spirit to support yours as you continue the same work.

Etty Hillesum died in Auschwitz in October 1942.  Excerpts from her journals were first published as “An Interrupted Life”.  The complete letters and diaries were published recently.

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Asking for Help

(Written in  January 2009)
One thing that has come out of this bad time is I’m starting to ask for help.  After I had been to Kripalu for the meditation retreat, I saw Caryn, and we agreed that it hadn’t been what I needed.  I experienced a level of loneliness with her that I’ve never felt before.  She said “The wound was given in relationship, and it has to be healed in relationship”.  I’ve heard that before, but this time it really sunk in.  It’s been so hard just to get through the day – I was feeling so nauseous that it was hard to cook and eat a meal, and so tired that it was almost impossible to get out with the dog.  I’m now able to cope with the daily necessities.  But it’s just been too hard.  so I started calling people from my dance circle who live here, and asking if I could just come and spend time with them, or if they wanted to go for a walk or out on snowshoes.  People have been wonderful.  It was such a surprise to me that people would be glad to spend time with me.  That tells me the deep unconscious expectation I learned in my family of origin, that I was a nuisance and a burden — in fact I’m sure that was Mom’s response when I was a baby, she simply wasn’t prepared for the 24/7 neediness of a baby and she was all alone with me.

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Somatic Experiencing

(Written in May 2009)
Intense session with Caryn.  Set up the corner with the beanbag blocking in a smaller space.  Told her that I’d been working on the loss of healthy sexuality, that I’d read the pages to Karen and cried.  I started crying, the quiet hopeless kind.  Then I wanted to bang my head and pound my knees.  Caryn said I had to get the anger directed outward, imagine turning the arrows outward.  Part of what was hard was there was no one person to aim the anger at.  Caryn mentioned the black cloth, and then I could see a tangle of messages like a snarl of yarns.  I imagined a big shiny Samurai sword, swung it in slow motion over my head and down to chop the beanbag in two.  It felt very satisfying.  I could feel that my whole body was involved.  The movement reminded me of my dance in Journey Into Courage.  There was another piece, I can’t remember if it was before or after the sword.  I was sitting in the corner with my knees up and my lower arms parallel to my thighs.  I think I was exploring whether they wanted to pound my legs, when they began to move back and forth sideways.  It was a little disconcerting, having my body make that big a motion without my volition.  At one point, again I’m not sure of the sequence, I tried to get very small, to disappear.  This involved lots of tension in arms and torso pulling back, head down.  Then I was tired, wanting to put my head down, so I curled up on the beanbag with my back to the room, and Caryn snuggled up close so I could feel her.
I think it was a big session, though I couldn’t say exactly what happened.  I think it was good that I broke through the crying to anger.

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