Coming back to me

"Come back, come back, come back to me," I silently plead as I cry on all fours, with elbows supporting me so my hands can cover my head.

I am at a workshop called Heart of Grief into Breath. There are others on the floor, sounding, moving, breathing. I am the only one sobbing. And I am grateful for this release.

It started with me flat on my back, hands on my belly, asking not only my hands to feel my gut, but asking my gut to open up to receiving/perceiving/feeling me. Fourteen years ago I lost 2/3 of my intestine. Yes. Two thirds. Although I miraculously digest and eliminate normally, there was a time when nobody was sure if I would. And although what's left of my intestine is doing an amazing job, I've always thought more about what's missing than what's there. So as I imagine what's beneath my hands, beneath the skin, I hear my remaining intestines remind me that they are still here. I recognize that in this visualization and silent dialogue, I'm essentially having a SomatoEmotional Release session with myself. And it's working. As I listen to what my gut says, I acknowledge that sometimes I am too busy thinking about what I've lost to appreciate what I still have.

With this acknowledgment I feel a shift. The imagery is clearer, and I feel my hands being felt, not just my hands doing the feeling. This is progress. So then I move on to my heart, but someone next to me is making a sound that puts me into fight or flight mode. So I flee. I get up and leave the room for a few minutes.

When I return, I get on all fours, but low to the ground, so my forearms and elbows are supporting me. I let my heart and belly hang. Like a sphynx. I place my hand on my head, on my "exit wound"-- where I imagine myself exiting whenever I leave my body. It's a sometimes tender spot on the upper right side of my head. And as soon as I touch it, I begin to cry. And then I begin calling myself back into myself. "Come back, come back, come back to me."

But it's not until I speak out, having a conversation with myself out loud in a partnered exercise a little bit later, that I feel that distant part of myself come back to me. And what that feels like is a sense of alertness and feeling more fully "here." For the past 24 hours or more, I'd mostly felt heavy and tired. Now I felt light, alert, and more fully present than before.

And as I see those words, "come back to me," I'm reminded of how breathing in helps us come back to ourselves. Earlier yesterday we'd been discussing some people's tendency to lose themselves when in relationship. To sacrifice authenticity for communion. One of the workshop leaders suggested using breath to help ourselves come back to ourselves. Inhale into self, exhale and connect with the other. Inhale, coming back to self. Exhale, extending self to other. Inhale, I see myself. Exhale, I see you too. Inhale, checking back in with self. And so on...

© 2010 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.