Betrayal and brimming bagfuls of possibility – part 1

Tags

awry, betrayal, biatch, blue eyes, brimming bagfuls of possibility, cacophony, death knell, droid, heat pack of fortitude, love-in, mocking, monsoon, possibility, pranayama, R2D2, remedial massage, Star Wars, superstitious, wry, wry neck

Sounds a little dramatic, doesn’t it? Don’t worry though, nothing’s as bad as you might imagine. And I’d be sorry about causing you any alarm, ‘cept I’m always a sucker for a catchy headline. Also, I’m a sucker for tall men with broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes and an accent. In case you were wondering.

So hold the panic because really I’m just talking about being betrayed by my otherwise healthy body with this… well apparently the technical term is “wry neck”.

Wry. My neck is wry.

Or perhaps awry?

One of those. It’s basically being a total biatch and causing the rest of my being (physical and otherwise) untold misery. It’s that special sort of pain that’s so pointy and stabby that even a 10ml dosage of it forces you to breathe in tiny pitiful gasps. And that ain’t no pranayama, folks!

Woke up this morning and while that un-delectable haze of being stoned on pain-killers/muscle relaxants (I’d actually forgotten what it’s like to get high, it’s been sooooo long!) had worn off, my neck had not relented overnight.

See? Betrayal right there, everybody!

Although still rather snoozy from a lack of restful-type sleep, I honourably attempted to hustle myself into a fit state for my day job. Only to discover that it actually wasn’t possible. I basically felt (‘scuse the language) royally fucked – although without any of the fun parts (and now that I mention it, if you’d like to make an advance birthday wish for me and on my behalf, I wouldn’t mind being royally fucked in the whoo-hoo-oh-yeah kinda way as well. *ahem*).

Betrayed by my body. Gah! And we’ve become such good friends lately. All this yoga-ing and teaching yoga etc has been such a love-in for my body and I. So this is…unsettling. Although it was clear to me this was a muscle thing and not a bones or joints thing. And I needed some help. Quick.

Did the ring around and eventually snagged myself a remedial massage appointment for 11am. Of course, Melbourne’s tropical downpours continued today (our second day of Summer, dammit) but my choices were to venture out anyway, or remain lying supine and most pathetically on the floor of my apartment for who knows how long.

I had to go.

Massage helped a whole lot, although it was no magic tonic for dissolving the freak-out attack my neck and upper back muscles appear to be engaged in. But I think I regained about 10-15% range of motion back. Which is like, hey, time for a party. Right? Okay, maybe not…

And then I might’ve gone into work after that because perhaps there was a meeting I really wanted to have at that particular time. And people there – my comrades in the day job – might’ve ever-so-slightly mocked me with the nickname R2D2 (referring to that droid’s inability to move it’s head separately from it’s neck, get it?).

But I did do those things (otherwise I might’ve been extremely bored hanging out at home, just me and my wry neck) and I survived the very monsoon-like conditions and am now resting (?at my writing desk?) with the Heat Pack of Fortitude draped over my shoulders.

The point in telling you all of this wasn’t just to whinge about my sad and sorry (but ultimately impermanent) condition. It’s more about the fact that despite all of the madness, temporary (legal) drug use and ridiculous impersonations of robots from Star Wars… in that cacophony my mind somehow managed to convey some useful stuff.

That would be the brimming bagfuls of possibility. There’s two brimming bagfuls, actually.

Of course, these ideas have been banging around various corners of my noggin for a while now. I keep wanting to talk about them and then I get all superstitious and tell myself that doing so might just be the death knell for those bagfuls. Which is of course, quite ridiculous.

But hey, fear knows how to play dirty.

Brimming bagful #1

Ever since my appointment with Kerry, I’m painfully aware that I’ve avoided doing anything about getting my writing out there a little more. Kerry suggested that it might be helpful if I had a plan. A plan, you say? Well… thinking about having a plan is about as much as I’ve done to-date.

It’s so very easy to find excuses, or even to just let the excuses find me. Too busy. Oh look, I have another yoga class to plan. Feeling pretty exhausted right now. Oh look, the bathroom needs cleaning. That cat of mine needs some grooming…

I don’t need to explain this to anyone who’s ever avoided doing their homework, am I right?

Perhaps this is why my conscious mind needed to be assaulted with intensive pain in order for other parts of my being to get a word in. Or perhaps it was just about timing, and skipping through enough blogs written by others so that tiny fractions of seedlings might hover together closely enough that a more obvious idea could emerge?

And it has. I’m yet to decide if I’ll write under my Svasti pseudonym or my real name or something else entirely. No matter. I’ve got some research to do and some articles to plan and then write, but I suspect I might be onto something. I’ll let you know as and when.

What’s enabled me to plan even this much however, is that I’ve taken the concept of playful exploration (I wrote about it in another post) off the yoga mat and into other areas of my life. Imagine… being playful instead of angsty about my writing? Imagine just trying to get published in a few different places, just giving it a shot to see what happens (and who cares if it actually happens or not)? Imagine putting myself out there in a much more public format than my very private little blog niche here?

Imagine that. Imagine putting some of the oomph and dedication I give my yoga practice into my life as a writer? Ha. Well, imagine that…

[to be continued…]

~Svasti

Blowing up the Death Star

Tags

Achilles heel, bogey men, Brutalised, Death Star, defiled, Depression, flower offerings, gravitational field, gut instincts, Incense, jasmine, light therapy treatment, Mantra, Meditation, nurturing, PTSD, Sanskrit, self-love, Skywalker, space junk, Star Wars, supta virasana, Trauma, use the force, yellow daisies

It was something about my face…of course, that’s where most of the physical damage was caused. And so, after leaving work on Thursday I did something that wasn’t particularly logical, all things considered.

I found myself at a beauty salon, wanting some kind of facial treatment. It was money I didn’t really have or intend to spend, but I didn’t even think about it like that.

Ended up getting a peel and they also suggested this light therapy thing. Didn’t know what it was, but it sounded good.

You look like you’re in need of a pick-me-up, the therapist slowly scanned my face and eyes.

Yep… [and I’m REALLY trying not to cry].

I did though, but not while she was in the room.

Somehow my instincts knew this was a good idea. Someone soothing my face with beautiful products and massaging my skin while delicate music was piped into the room. Low lighting and glorious aromas. An oasis in the middle of the city, a level up from one of the busiest intersections in town (not that you’d have known it).

She finished with the peel and prepped me for the light therapy treatment. Little goggles on my eyes. Something positioned over my head.

It’s really, bright. It takes a moment to get used to it. I’ll turn on one light first, then the other.

Soooo bright, yep, she wasn’t lying. Although my eyes were tightly closed nothing was black – instead everything glowed golden-red. And after a few moments I thought that this is probably what consciousness is like when we’re no longer limited to a human form. Everything as one, so very luminous. It wasn’t scary, just really relaxing.

Later I cried some more while I dressed – me with my smooth new skin that felt and looked wonderful. Sure I was a little shiny, but I was going straight home so what did I care.

I cleaned my practice room – vacuumed and dusted. I read these posts by Nadine and Kerry – which were incredibly timely (thanks gals!). I cried a whole bunch more as I snipped yellow daisies (I think?) and jasmine from the bushes outside my apartment.

My yoga practice was very simple – some breathing and then a supported supta virasana (although with the bolster further away from my lower back so I could tilt my pelvis forward more than the woman in this picture).

This pose always feels like hell when I first lie back, but once I relax it generates the most open and joyous feeling – the supported version is awesome if you’re feeling fragile!

Then I felt more open in both the hips and the heart. It was time for my practice which involves a series of chants and prayers in Sanskrit, and generating love, gratitude, compassion and wonder. Some incense and flower offerings, mantra repetitions and then… sitting. Just sitting in meditation for as long as I needed to.

My altar, adorned with flowers

There’s a bunch of structured or form-based meditations I’ve learned, but that’s not what I needed just then. So I just sat, following my breath and listening to my body, relaxing deeply. I think I sat there for around an hour.

From this place comes information. I got the face thing, then. Five years ago, it’d been defiled. Brutalised. And then I’d allowed it to hold my shame and fear. I’d also grown an invisible mask that covered my eyes as well as my entire face. I didn’t want people to see me. I didn’t want to see them. I wouldn’t let anyone get too close, just in case they were dangerous.

But now I’d begun reversing all of that with a symbolic gesture of self-love and nurturing (gotta love those gut instincts).

Then I noticed a whole bunch of energy rising up in waves from my stomach to my heart. Many layers. Hello, Fear. Hi, Despair. What’s up, Grief? How-dee-do, Shock? Each one reaching upwards, evaporating and integrating and no longer weighing a tonne in my belly.

I’ve never really told anyone this: my meditation practice suffered a great deal when all of this went down. I stopped for the longest time and felt terrible about it. But how could I meditate when those things could happen to me?

It took a long, long time to regain that ground.

The problem most of the time was relaxing (impossible to meditate if you’re tense!) and closing my eyes (which made sleeping quite tricky), because behind closed eyes was where all the scary stuff lurked.

Which is why the whole light therapy treatment thing was SUCH an extra amazing piece of synchronicity because that light – so warm and golden – blasted away any last possible dark hiding place.

See? No bogey men here!!

So I continued sitting and breathing until I felt like all the shackles I’d built up were undone. At least right at that moment anyway. I did some closing chants, extinguished the candles and slept deeply. Dreamlessly.

I felt… much better. Calm, and perhaps still fragile but MUCH better.

I’d never before felt the pull of this date or tied any meaning to it. September 29^th has not once been circled in my calendar and I’ve never held on to it as a marker of what happened. Perhaps because I was trying to forget, I’m not really sure.

BUT this time around I wasn’t allowed to let it pass by (thanks tiny but accurate voice of intuition!) and I think that MAYBE… this is truly the beginning of my freedom.

Maybe it’s time – maybe I’m ready to no longer think of myself in relation to what happened, y‘know?

I suspect that to be able to say I am truly healed; this thing that happened has to become unimportant to who I now am. It can’t be a reference point for everything that happens moving forward and I can’t continue to orbit around it like it’s the center of my being.

Sure, for a long time that’s exactly how it felt. Like I was just space junk held in the gravitational field of the Death Star (i.e. the trauma, the PTSD, the depression, the memories of What Happened).

And somehow, the realisation of this milestone date, and exactly how far I’ve come in that time, not to mention some timely and amazing facial treatments (including all of that LIGHT!) were the killer shot, right in the Death Star’s Achilles heel.

Just like young Skywalker, somehow I found a way to use the force and blast that sucker… totally disabling its ability to destroy anything anymore.

But… I could be wrong. Time will tell I guess. At the very least, this is the beginning of the end of it all… Just like the end of my PTSD flashbacks, I’ll wait and watch.

In the meantime, I can’t believe how much better I feel. Possibly this is akin to how my old Self felt once upon a time, not that I can remember Her too well…

But it’s been a REALLY long time since I felt this good.

~Svasti

(With apologies to those who don’t get my geeky Star Wars references!)  😉