Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Morning Dud?
Wow, I haven't posted since August. Does that mean I've had no significant morning thoughts? Well, no. I've just been lazy really. That and forgetful. OK, and overwhelmed at work by a kitchen remodel that had my Wednesdays jammed with work related activities instead of blogging. I'm back now. But, still decompressing so no brilliant thoughts. Ha!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Acupuncture Trip
Acupuncture has different results for me each time I am "stuck." Sometimes I am just pleasantly relaxed during it, sometimes I fall asleep, and other times I have a crazy out of body sensation. The latter is my favorite. It feels like all the energy of who I am rises slightly above and outside of me. It swirls around in a little heavier than mist river of color that I watch as if I'm not looking through my own eyes. The only way I have come up with to explain this sensation is to describe it as a "reorganization" of the energy in me.
I am a very logical person and I like to think there is a scientific explanation for that experience. I mean, acupuncture is meant to help move energy through your body properly. Well, a basic "what does acupuncture do" is usually answered by me this way: We are made up of energy, molecules of moving energy. Actually, any "solid" object is just an accumulation of attracted particles of energy that form a "whole." Acupuncture works to tap into channels of energy in your body, unblocking where they are "stuck" and helping make sure they move where they should and how they should. To me it's very logical and scientific. Even the "out of body experience" part is pretty logical to me. We are energy and we are not actually discrete like we appear. Everything around us is also moving energy. We interact with it. Our energy, during acupuncture, is interacting more, or we are more aware of it's interaction, with the energy around us.
That said, during these fabulous sessions where I feel like the energy in my body is doing a little river dance above me, sometimes I have images that come to me. That happened this last time and I can't get those images, or don't want to get those images, out of my head. That's what I've been thinking about the last few mornings when I wake up.
It hasn't really happened recently, but I used to have a single image that would come to me when I was in chivasana in yoga. My relaxation image was me beneath a large oak-like tree. There was a light rain all around me but not on me. The tree I was beneath was on a very small, warm island of grass surrounded by cool, dark-blue water that rippled outward. Everything around me was tinged a pale-blue, calm.
In my last acupuncture treatment, I could see the image of the tree before me, but I was no longer beneath the tree. I was in a wooden boat on the water and a mist kept blocking my view of the tree. When I tried to see through the mist to where I was going, it became thicker. I thought about my most recent philosophy of dealing with pain. When I try to deal with physical pain by tensing in order to somehow block it, it just doesn't go away. If I accept the pain, really embrace the pain and allow myself to fully experience the depth of it, it can dissolve away. I thought about this in relationship to the mist and I accepted the mist. I accepted that I didn't know where I was going or if I was going to get back to the tree. When I did this, the mist would clear.
Suddenly I was on the island, but not directly beneath the tree. The tree was now something like a maple crossed with a willow and all made of light. Amber, rust, rich red, and sunbright leaves of light floated around me. I was this light, but the long sweeping branches of the tree provided protection, enclosed me.
Then I saw myself. It was me as a girl, maybe six or so. I was tan, smiling, wearing jean shorts. My child self waved to me. I waved back and couldn't help but also smile. She had a presence about her that said, I'm always here.
I have been wondering what, when I work out all my grief in therapy or anxiety in massage, I will fill the emptiness back up with? I have wondered what I will replace the melancholy with and who I will be if I am not broody and dark sometimes? The child me, her smile and wave, her ease of presence, reassured me I am just making room for something that is already in me.
I am a very logical person and I like to think there is a scientific explanation for that experience. I mean, acupuncture is meant to help move energy through your body properly. Well, a basic "what does acupuncture do" is usually answered by me this way: We are made up of energy, molecules of moving energy. Actually, any "solid" object is just an accumulation of attracted particles of energy that form a "whole." Acupuncture works to tap into channels of energy in your body, unblocking where they are "stuck" and helping make sure they move where they should and how they should. To me it's very logical and scientific. Even the "out of body experience" part is pretty logical to me. We are energy and we are not actually discrete like we appear. Everything around us is also moving energy. We interact with it. Our energy, during acupuncture, is interacting more, or we are more aware of it's interaction, with the energy around us.
That said, during these fabulous sessions where I feel like the energy in my body is doing a little river dance above me, sometimes I have images that come to me. That happened this last time and I can't get those images, or don't want to get those images, out of my head. That's what I've been thinking about the last few mornings when I wake up.
It hasn't really happened recently, but I used to have a single image that would come to me when I was in chivasana in yoga. My relaxation image was me beneath a large oak-like tree. There was a light rain all around me but not on me. The tree I was beneath was on a very small, warm island of grass surrounded by cool, dark-blue water that rippled outward. Everything around me was tinged a pale-blue, calm.
In my last acupuncture treatment, I could see the image of the tree before me, but I was no longer beneath the tree. I was in a wooden boat on the water and a mist kept blocking my view of the tree. When I tried to see through the mist to where I was going, it became thicker. I thought about my most recent philosophy of dealing with pain. When I try to deal with physical pain by tensing in order to somehow block it, it just doesn't go away. If I accept the pain, really embrace the pain and allow myself to fully experience the depth of it, it can dissolve away. I thought about this in relationship to the mist and I accepted the mist. I accepted that I didn't know where I was going or if I was going to get back to the tree. When I did this, the mist would clear.
Suddenly I was on the island, but not directly beneath the tree. The tree was now something like a maple crossed with a willow and all made of light. Amber, rust, rich red, and sunbright leaves of light floated around me. I was this light, but the long sweeping branches of the tree provided protection, enclosed me.
Then I saw myself. It was me as a girl, maybe six or so. I was tan, smiling, wearing jean shorts. My child self waved to me. I waved back and couldn't help but also smile. She had a presence about her that said, I'm always here.
I have been wondering what, when I work out all my grief in therapy or anxiety in massage, I will fill the emptiness back up with? I have wondered what I will replace the melancholy with and who I will be if I am not broody and dark sometimes? The child me, her smile and wave, her ease of presence, reassured me I am just making room for something that is already in me.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Anxious Bones
That was one of the best massages ever yesterday. Cheryl is awesome. She is a healer. I felt like it was the perfect combination of muscle work and healing. It really felt like I was in the room of a healer and she was working magic. At one point I felt like she was talking to me without speaking. She was really listening to my body. She told me afterwards that she felt that at one point her third eye opened. I'm not really sure what the third eye is or if that's something that feels like my language, but we were definitely communicating about the same moment. I'm glad I went ahead and made another appointment already.
She was unthreading the tiny little weights from my bones. I was sore last night and this AM and I think it was from the release of that crap. I told her when I got there that I felt like the anxiety was knotted up in my bones. It and the grief have taken up residence there - made it their home. I hope I've caught them before they've eaten up all that I am. They are such a part of who I am that I'm not sure what will take their place or if I will just be empty. That's why it's hard to let them go.
She was unthreading the tiny little weights from my bones. I was sore last night and this AM and I think it was from the release of that crap. I told her when I got there that I felt like the anxiety was knotted up in my bones. It and the grief have taken up residence there - made it their home. I hope I've caught them before they've eaten up all that I am. They are such a part of who I am that I'm not sure what will take their place or if I will just be empty. That's why it's hard to let them go.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Dear Maurice,
It's time for you to leave me alone. You died. You left me alone then. I know you thought you have been protecting me by lingering over me. Your constant presence is like a weight I can't shake, like lead. I likely conjured you up when I found your obituary. I think I wanted to know you but you were dead and you scared me.
Don't get me wrong, I have wanted to know you. I have wished that someday I would run into you somewhere and we would recognize each other. There would be some story about a witness protection program or something similar. My life would change in an instant. I would suddenly be happy. We would talk for hours. You would tell me how proud you are of me. You would tell me my path in life - you would tell me what to do - my life purpose. We would laugh. You would fly me somewhere. You would hold me in your arms and sing something only I could hear. You would be young. You would be liberal.
You would say that I could be anything because I am your daughter. Just like that I would know what I want to be and would become it. Seeing you, meeting you, would solve all my problems.
Maybe it is these thoughts that have kept you lingering around me. Maybe you think of them too. Maybe you believe you might will yourself into my presence and do those things for me.
We need to accept this isn't going to happen. I want to call you dad, but I can't do it. I hope you understand. Larry is dad, you are Maurice.
Having you around has been painful too. Being introduced as Maurice's daughter was painful. Having my mom, my grandparents and my brothers think of you each time they looked at me, that made me feel invisible. It was painful. I've felt as if I have no personality of my own. No presence of my own. Wherever I went, you were right there with me. It made me something painful for everyone who knew you.
I think your energy sucks life from people around me. Mourning has followed me. It's a vacuum that sucks away joy and energy and I desperately try to fill that void.
I know you and mom think your presence protects me. She's convinced you are the reason I lived through that car accident. Maybe it's true, but at the time I wished I hadn't lived through it. Maybe the reason I didn't want to was because of you.
I don't say these things to hurt you or the people who loved you. I don't know how else to convince you to leave. You need to. I know this now. It's not good for me for you to linger. Yes, I would love to see you, to be more convinced of your presence. That hope keeps me in the past and the "what could have been" instead of the now and real.
I need to start living in the now. We were not meant to walk here together. I would have liked that. Really. Please take that with you. I would have liked to know your touch, to remember what it felt like to be in your arms, to smell you, to know your voice.
You didn't take care of yourself though. I've been angry about that too. You knew you shouldn't have smoked and should have slept more. You didn't and that left us alone.
Your regrets are like a million tiny fishing weights tied to me. My whole life I've worn them and thought them armor. I want to shed them now. This means you have to move on. Forgive yourself. Know that I'm strong. Know that my mom did her best
I think the only way for me to know you now is to know myself. I will always carry who you are with me. I have things you've given me such as lanky arms, my grandpa's ears and brown eyes, my grandma's cheeks and curly hair.
If I can have the weight of you gone though, I can breathe better. I can move better. I can look at myself and see you through me.
You can go now. You can go to whatever it is that you need now.
Love,
Maria Christine
Don't get me wrong, I have wanted to know you. I have wished that someday I would run into you somewhere and we would recognize each other. There would be some story about a witness protection program or something similar. My life would change in an instant. I would suddenly be happy. We would talk for hours. You would tell me how proud you are of me. You would tell me my path in life - you would tell me what to do - my life purpose. We would laugh. You would fly me somewhere. You would hold me in your arms and sing something only I could hear. You would be young. You would be liberal.
You would say that I could be anything because I am your daughter. Just like that I would know what I want to be and would become it. Seeing you, meeting you, would solve all my problems.
Maybe it is these thoughts that have kept you lingering around me. Maybe you think of them too. Maybe you believe you might will yourself into my presence and do those things for me.
We need to accept this isn't going to happen. I want to call you dad, but I can't do it. I hope you understand. Larry is dad, you are Maurice.
Having you around has been painful too. Being introduced as Maurice's daughter was painful. Having my mom, my grandparents and my brothers think of you each time they looked at me, that made me feel invisible. It was painful. I've felt as if I have no personality of my own. No presence of my own. Wherever I went, you were right there with me. It made me something painful for everyone who knew you.
I think your energy sucks life from people around me. Mourning has followed me. It's a vacuum that sucks away joy and energy and I desperately try to fill that void.
I know you and mom think your presence protects me. She's convinced you are the reason I lived through that car accident. Maybe it's true, but at the time I wished I hadn't lived through it. Maybe the reason I didn't want to was because of you.
I don't say these things to hurt you or the people who loved you. I don't know how else to convince you to leave. You need to. I know this now. It's not good for me for you to linger. Yes, I would love to see you, to be more convinced of your presence. That hope keeps me in the past and the "what could have been" instead of the now and real.
I need to start living in the now. We were not meant to walk here together. I would have liked that. Really. Please take that with you. I would have liked to know your touch, to remember what it felt like to be in your arms, to smell you, to know your voice.
You didn't take care of yourself though. I've been angry about that too. You knew you shouldn't have smoked and should have slept more. You didn't and that left us alone.
Your regrets are like a million tiny fishing weights tied to me. My whole life I've worn them and thought them armor. I want to shed them now. This means you have to move on. Forgive yourself. Know that I'm strong. Know that my mom did her best
I think the only way for me to know you now is to know myself. I will always carry who you are with me. I have things you've given me such as lanky arms, my grandpa's ears and brown eyes, my grandma's cheeks and curly hair.
If I can have the weight of you gone though, I can breathe better. I can move better. I can look at myself and see you through me.
You can go now. You can go to whatever it is that you need now.
Love,
Maria Christine
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Confusion
That breeze feels more like fall than summer. No sunny tree reflections on my curtains. The way they are billowing reminds me of a sail and the air filling them feels crisp. Thinking about therapy. Thinking about connections that seem so obvious and yet have eluded me for 30 some years until now. Thinking about connections pointed out to me that I don't actually get yet. That makes me anxious. If I don't understand something, it seems that much more important.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Anxiety
There is a bottle of valerian root by my bed if I start to get anxious. I have water too right? The stuff works, I'm so surprised by this. The melatonin I figured out on my own, and it also works, but the doctor suggested the valerian root. They both make me sleepy, but the valerian seems to be calming more than sleep inducing. I can take it at 3:00 AM and still get up at 5:50 AM. This morning I slept right through to about 5:30 though. That felt good.
I have the entire morning to myself. Maria time. Seems the perfect temperature in bed. The sheets are slightly cool, the air outside is crisp. I can breathe when it's crisp. Jovi is still sleeping. That is good. She even went back to sleep when I asked her to turn her alarm off. The dog is barking. I'll let him out so she can sleep more. The morning is all mine.
It's 7:30 AM and the sun is out. I've got to water the garden! A morning in the garden sounds perfect. No thinking about what the afternoon might hold. The new medication seems to be taking care of some of her manic behavior. The morning is mine.
I have the entire morning to myself. Maria time. Seems the perfect temperature in bed. The sheets are slightly cool, the air outside is crisp. I can breathe when it's crisp. Jovi is still sleeping. That is good. She even went back to sleep when I asked her to turn her alarm off. The dog is barking. I'll let him out so she can sleep more. The morning is all mine.
It's 7:30 AM and the sun is out. I've got to water the garden! A morning in the garden sounds perfect. No thinking about what the afternoon might hold. The new medication seems to be taking care of some of her manic behavior. The morning is mine.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
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