Saturday, October 09, 2010

Death by Dog !@#$%^& the body is tight and yes, I can open it. Over the years I've gotten pretty good at releasing the body, especially if I remember. Of course, remembering gets easier when the pain is acute, like not being able to turn my head while driving. That's a wake-up!

Then there's this business of cuticle picking and becoming lost in my own mind, not hearing the conversation that's right before me. It's easier to turn off certain people. Not surprising, my husband often heads that list. I've heard those critiques before, so why plug into them again. Is that rude or just plain self-preservation? Questions to myself.

Is it really necessary to keep hanging out in the same boxing ring? What's to be gained, other than feeling lower than when I willingly agreed to face my opponent? Why do I always take that lower road? Where do these behavioral traits come from?

Yesterday I found myself ushered into the boxing ring. It was so automatic, but this time I woke up as I climbed over the ropes. "No, I'm not going to do engage in this. I do have a choice and I choose not to spar with my partner." Of course, partners don't like being left alone in the ring without their opponent. So, a different sort of battle presents itself outside the ring, but it's much easier to escape these if one's plans are in place.

I remember once reading something that set a new pattern into motion. It's funny how certain things just resonate and come with their own sticky glue. On my "mind wall" there is this reminder. "Your rear end is not glued to the seat, nor are your feet glued to the floor." Interesting concept. I remember the very first time I employed this. I was sitting down listening to my husband and decided I'd had quite enough. So, I simply stood up and walked normally out of the room. No words, no rushing, no anything. Kept thinking about the absence of the glue. I remember him asking me where I was going. A part of me said "upstairs." That was it. If there were other words I didn't hear them. It was like my body transported me to a different time and a different place. The next thing I knew I was upstairs in my office reading a magazine. Since this behavior was new for me, my husband was caught off guard, like a boxer who doesn't see the punch coming and wakes up on the floor.

Of course there are some stressors that need to be handled differently, as well as some that will always be present, but new rules can be applied. Stress kills, so it's best to pay attention and know that stress does not rule unless you choose to allow it to do so. I know that I rule. And, it doesn't matter WHO delivers the stress...husband, child, colleague, friend or stranger. They only deliver and it's always my choice as to what to accept. Can you imagine someone ringing your doorbell with a box of dog @#$%^? Would you take it and then say "thank you" ? We've all done this in the past, but now it's time to utilize some new imagery and plans to take care of yourself in new way.

Stress kills and I'll never accept the "reason for death being dog %^&*" to be written on my death certificate.

Friday, October 08, 2010

Body Texting

Body Texting is a metaphor for how the body sensations communicate...stress, tension, pain, rigidity...just to name a few automatic responses. But, in order to receive messages, the phone needs to be charged and on.

Hanging out in my "creative-healing space", thinking of nothing in particular. Just waiting for light bulbs to go off in my head as I continue to relax and release. Goodness, I need so much deep relaxation. It's amazing how quickly my body returns into a tense state. It's difficult to notice this when I'm in the "circus of the world". It's such a hypnotizing space with so many distractions. The "hurry-up twins" are always hyperactive and the amount of stress they deliver to my body is incredible. If I was a cracker, I would break in half with no difficulty. Yes...breakable is a good metaphor for how my body feels. Anxiety and depression simply represent a higher end of my tension spectrum.

It's difficult for me to let go. Compulsive by nature and by "in-house" training. Needing to control something...anything. Hanging on to those things as if they were life-preservers. All of this may seem funny to onlookers, but trust me, it's not funny to feel like you're drowning in life.

I fill my life with activity like people fill shopping carts, closets and any other containment including their bodies with candy, cake and chips. If I were a drinker, I'd consume bottles. If I was a smoker, it would two packs a day. But instead, I'm a "doer" and this can be just as deadly. My body texting goes wild, but....if I'm tuned in, then it's like having my cell phone turned off. Not a good thing and this is how I ended up in my breakable condition.

The truth is that like most people, I look pretty good from the outside, but it's the inside that's at issue here. I've been ignoring my body messages and therefore paying the price. A mental body scan reveals the truth. Tension announcing itself in my jaw, behind my eyes, believe it or not in my right earlobe, shoulders screaming out, middle abdomen not particularly happy and even my knees are sounding the bell. Now before I scanned, I felt nothing in particular. That's the crux of the matter. When one doesn't look for the texting, the body appears to be fine, but on second glance there is a barrage of communication, all of it producing and storing itself as stress chemical accumulation.

So when does the body release? Last night I woke up around three in the morning with both of my legs in incredible spasms. This time the spasms found their way up to the middle of my thighs. I'd be lying if I told you that I wasn't freaked out. This was new for me. I hobbled around for awhile and then had to correct my breathing back to a relaxed state. My heart was pumping furiously from the fear of the new kind of spasms. I sat wondering why these had appeared, my inner body texting answering my questions with quite a few exclamation points. Of course....I get it, but while I was accumulating the stress, I was living in complete unawareness, just expecting my body to "deal with it." Well, it was dealing with it, but not in the way that pleased me.

I'm sitting here now, opening each body part even though some are not communicating. This is not only a powerful prevention method, but at the very same time, my creative space opens revealing positive aspects of things that are truly unseen gifts.

Time to recharge my i-phone!

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

Entering the Creative Space

Opening a creative-healing space brings a gigantic flow of things wanting to fill this newly acquired void. Here's the catch...some of the things are the same as what filled the space before, many of which are unwanted. Others are new and open for review. Some are keepers, while others are not. It's like cleaning out your closet, then going shopping...often bringing back the same things that were dropped off at Goodwill.

For me, because my depressive state is so finely etched in my subconscious mind, the very same offenders simply see this as an opportunity to take up residence. In the past, this has been on auto-pilot, but not this time around. The depression has been going on too long and it's been far too disruptive, even frightening to me. The body texting has been intense and this can be very dangerous because stress-related diseases are often killer diseases.

What comes into the new creative-healing space is my choice. When we wake up to something, it seems to be scattered all over the place. The mess is seen in a new light and this time the light is very bright. My mess seems to have legs, walking back into my new space. Shutting the door is not the best option. Whenever we lock something up or lock it out, it becomes more powerful. This is what I've been doing over the past months. Just dancing around the issues without moving into the position of power and decisiveness.

I slept through most of this afternoon. This is common when releasing heavy body texting. My body is exhausted and I've given it permission to be deeply relaxed. When depressed or in a state of high tension, we are often unaware of how tired the body and mind can be.

Sitting in my favorite recliner, my breath becomes deeper without even thinking. My body sinking into the chair. The "hurry up twins" seem to know that they have no power over me when I'm in this chair. I smile at this because they are unrelentless, usually appearing before I get out of bed in the morning. Images arise of patients in psychiatric clinics who have been sent away to recover their sanity. This is how my subconscious mind reads the stress level where I find myself. This is helpful because the inner mind is a powerful resource for healing. Since it understands my needs on the deepest levels, then I know I can count on it to assist in what I need. This is a form of automatic programming, for the mind works backwards. The plan will be forthcoming.

Once relaxed and inside my creative space, I'm invited to walk around and assess the scene. No emotions are present, just me and my Higher Self. I often call this part of myself, my Therapeutic Self. Right now that is very appropriate! I've decided to position my recliner in this special space. As I sit there, the blue light surrounds me. I'm accepting that I need much more blue light than before. I feel like I've been through some sort of battle and while I want to fully recover, rushing it is not an option this time.

A blue light application and then continue to view the creative space. New ideas are asking to be admitted for review. I'm interested in seeing a few choices, but not too many. I'm sure this is a result of my need to recover slowly. I'm aware that it isn't necessary to do everything at once. As a major multi-tasker this would have been a challenge, but for some reason it isn't any longer. Perhaps the result of the battle. Anyway, it feels good to take this approach.

A gentle "suggestor" enters. It's so refreshing to have someone gentle and peaceful in my presence. Someone who doesn't want me to hurry and spin on a dime. The suggestion is to "open the windows" and let in some fresh air." Ohhh... how I love self-hypnosis! The indirect the windows....fresh air. I'd like that. I think of new people to bring into my creative circle, realizing that some have already found me. Gentle people with wonderful, creative ideas who have offered me an opportunity to join their endeavor. Like choosing a piece of candy, I help myself to "one." Outside of my creative space my compulsive self would have dumped the whole candy dish into my purse. Taking "one" feels so good. One new person and one new project.

The mind works backwards. The suggestion having been accepted, it moves into my creative space with the plan and project already completed. As I return to my recliner, it performs for me. I'm invited to enter the images, sensing the level of comfort and satisfaction. A little bit of tweaking on my part, but things rearrange themselves to meet my slight changes. I ask to enter the final outcome and open the door to what this leads to down the path. Just a peak.... after all, I'm still in recovery.

Monday, October 04, 2010

Releasing Depression

It just came to my mind that I've been "tinkering" for several weeks now. Just playing around with this case emotional things. This is a common behavior, mainly used to avoid pain. Just the thought of having these feelings can be frightening and overwhelming. And yes, the thought is usually worse than the actual experience, but this is a hard sell to the emotional childSelf who will do just about anything to stay in a safe place.

But, deep healing does not happen in this safe place and so I must step out of this place and then into the deeper space, or the depression that is holding me hostage. I know from experience that I will be able to move it from the inside position. For some reason I can't seem to budge it from the outside. It simply won't move. Tinkering isn't working. It needs a massive shove. It's rather like putting up with a smoldering toothache, trying to avoid that trip to the dentist, knowing well that the tooth needs to be pulled out. That's what the depression is like this time. It's been smoldering for many months now. I've tinkered and avoided. Now it's time to open the dreaded door, go deeper down and in.

It's not that I don't know what's down there. There's really nothing very new, but there are times or passages in my life when those dregs become more toxic. The door is cracking open as I write this. I know because I'm tearing and that is a good thing. The worse part of depression is the non-feeling or numbness. Disassociating from the pain. My mind knows the pain is huge and so it protects me through the depression. Holding the pain down....way a thumb pressing hard on a little cut. Trying to stop the bleeding. But emotional pain and blood clotting are not the same. And so, the thumb must be removed, so the pain can flow. Only then will there be relief and a place for healing.
Removing the thumb now....gently, nothing abrupt. There is no need to hurry. Just the action matters, giving permission for the opening to occur. Sensing my breathing changing....each breath longer and more steady, just the opposite of what one would imagine. When the thumb is pressed, the breath lives higher in the chest, obstructing and tightening, but now it opens gently, welcoming the release. Like a pimple pressing against the skin, now open and flowing it's pus.

The stairs are before me, black transmuting into white. Going down deliberately but once again in no big hurry. Enjoying the deepening and the body opening. There is a complete absence of fear, as if it were left outside in the fantasy of it, for all fear is fantasy. My fear of the depression is big, for it was my mother who first introduced it to me when I was an impressionable child. Accepting that my childSelf is always with me, but understanding that I am now the motherSelf, caring for the child in ways that my own mother could not. I look for that child in me, wanting to lead her in the deepening, so in the future she will be more mature, opening areas by herSelf with no angst. I locate her and take her by the hand, again forcing, just leading. Deeper down now...

Images of addictions from the past step to the side. They have no power on the white steps. Their only power is in the fear that lives outside of the deepening steps. Remembering to remember this, for addictions hold me hostage, especially when my child is weak and vulnerable. This has been so over the last few months.
Images in balloons being lifted up and out. Some I can see, but others go far too quickly for my eyes. I sense them slightly, but prefer to let them go. Focusing only slows them down and that is not why I'm here. Remembering the pimple and the flowing pus. There is no need to over-examine the pus for pus is simply pus.

I'm in a deep place now, completely detached from my mind and body, for they are only conveyers or containments for my spiritual Self. This is the place where re-connecting happens. Noticing the plug has been pulled completely. Placing the plug into my Source. The depression sitting like a sad, empty sac by it's side, having no power. I approach the sac, gently folding it up and placing it on the shelf with it's other remnants from the past, reminders of my growth through the years. Honoring what they have taught me, but knowing they are not in charge. Touching them with light. Realizing that I have the power of the light when connected to my Source. My own inner healer released to travel forward with me through my life journey. Reminding me to stay in touch frequently, for it is easy to get lost in life and forget one's origins. Yes....for "I am."

Slowly opening my eyes and re-acclimating to the room. Pen dangling from my fingers, an extension of who I am. A gift from my Source.

Depression Camps

Following the release of my depression, I fell into a deep that gifted me with some very colorful dreams. Next to flying dreams, colorful ones are my favorite. Dream-color tends to be more vivid that eyeball-color. Orange speaks orange out loud. Green invites me into gardens with plants conversing in foreign tongues, and as for red....well red is only second to blue. Blue absorbs and entering it, I can feel a gentle throbbing healing taking place.

Depression is a word to describe certain symptoms experienced by the body and mind. While all depressions are different, each depression changes unto itself as it moves through experiences. Each thought, image or happening produces it's own chemical marinade, each multiplying itself, so it's easy to understand how depression accelerates when it owns the car and the gas pedal.

Depression entered my life during early childhood, reinforced through parenting, and then through my desire for it....allowing me to play the power role of victim as I looked for love and acceptance. In those years I was not aware of what I was doing, but even now that it is recognizable, it calls out to me. We tend to flow towards the familiar. Most of the time I keep the details to myself as I continue to reside in this secret, lonely world.

Automatic writing or inner journaling gives me an opening for release. Sometimes the release comes quickly. This time it didn't happen that way. Instead, I nibbled around the outside of it, like eating the colored candy off an M&M before delving into the chocolate. This time the pain was both outer and inner, my body screaming with the tension, at night refusing to sink into the mattress, almost afraid to release it for fear of falling off the Universe. At first review, the mind revealed nothing out of the ordinary list of stressors, but a closer look turned up some mind games that probably pushed me over the edge. Selling our home in a down market, always working, never giving myself release time, aging, anxiety producing physical manifestations and a bundle of fears lined up to display themselves holding signs that told me there were more.

Sometimes releasing such a gambit is even more difficult that diminishing something bigger. There are so many camps to visit, change and then maintain.

I have some questions for my "Journal Master." I mentioned earlier that once the debris is removed, then there is space for creativity, in this instance creative questioning and investigation. I'm looking for growth, for once the nut is cracked, depression holds powerful and valuable gifts. Yes, the cracking was frightening and painful, but not as much as the thoughts that surrounded the idea of it. Once I stopped trying to control the bleeding, everything went smoothly, so...

"Will I ever learn to care for my tendency towards depression?"

My pen responds, "Look at your question and then you tell me the answer."

Oh, it's clear to me now. I've claimed ownership of the tendency towards depression by calling it "mine." Owning something reinforces it unto itself. During the past, actually years, I've certainly claimed this ownership, donating lots of time and attention to it, actually befriending it. No...becoming it.

"Now I've created some space through release, but wondering what to put into that space, especially since all the things that brought me down still exist."

I know the answer before it hits the paper, for this is the way of "automatic journaling." My mind, open and receptive, already knows what I need to know. I've just been blocking with all the tightening.

This is life and life needs care. The body is always text messaging, so tune in. Right now my jaw is aching it's message to me. My compulsions are right outside the door, waiting for me to stop writing so they can take over. The "hurry-up twins" are pushing their way to the front of the queue, trying to bother me even during this special time for myself. I've found them at the gym and even in my meditation...pushing me around. A new breath enters my body. It's very deep and cleansing....the color blue. A healing breath holding a reminder image. My body absorbs both. I'm not alone in this and that is good to know.