Meeting My Inner Physician

Just stumbled upon this, something I wrote a few years ago, about a SomatoEmotional Release session in which my "inner physician" revealed herself to me in some surprising ways, personified rather than just a voice from within:

  

SomatoEmotional Release is something that may or may not occur spontaneously during a CranioSacral Therapy session. Sometimes the body stores emotions and memories, holding onto pain, trauma, or harmful beliefs. This therapeutic approach combines a light and gentle bodywork along with some energywork and dialoguing. For example, if there’s an energy blockage in the knee, the therapist might speak directly to the knee and ask for a reply. The client is to say whatever words surface, without discounting it as merely imagination, but to really allow it to be a message coming directly from the knee. This could also be thought of as receiving a message from the higher Self or what’s referred to as the “inner physician.” And sometimes the higher Self or inner physician is addressed directly to begin with.

So in this session, I’m lying on the massage table, on my back, fully clothed, as per usual. The therapist lightly placed his hands on various parts of my body to check the rhythm of my fluids. Then he assessed my “vectors” which is like a way of assessing energetic alignment in my legs, hips, and arms. He did this whole assessment pretty quickly and then immediately got to work.

I don’t even remember where he placed his hands at first, but the first thing I felt was the strong sensation of a wall in my chest. A brick wall. Eventually it turned more into a sort of tile flooring. Suddenly flashes of myself as a baby and toddler, sitting in the old kitchen, and then in my grandparents’ kitchen, came flashing through my mind. I started crying. My mind recognized these images as being from photographs or videos and couldn’t figure out the why of these images and the crying.

When the therapist checked in with my inner physician, first he had me go to a “safe place,” to imagine going to this place: the grassy lawn on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, with a willow tree and a bench. I’d been there before, but only in my mind, for work like this.

He encouraged me to invite my inner physician to meet me there. I saw an image of an old woman. I couldn’t handle her resemblance to me, and so she immediately morphed into an even older, cartoonish, witch-like figure. Possibly even one I’ve actually seen in a cartoon.

     And I felt fear.

I was scared.

I was scared of this all-knowing, magical woman.

I was scared of the power within myself.

My conscious mind recognized that this woman was really me, but my fear had turned her into a scary witch. Hard to trust.

     But I did trust.

I settled down into a trusting state.

The therapist started speaking to her directly, after first asking permission from me and from her. He asked her her name. The name that came to me instantly caused me to laugh, and my inner physician spoke through me:

     “My name makes Rebecca laugh.”

     “What is it?” he asked.

     “Helga.”

I was laughing more. Mostly laughing at my mind for creating this witch and this witch-like name, but trusting that it was serving a purpose.

Helga would look at me with love and tenderness, tears in her eyes and a smile, knowing all I’ve been through and all that I am going through.

I’m trying now to remember the first thing that released that allowed Helga to transform. I don’t remember, but at some point she started getting younger and younger and looking more and more like me again. By the end of the session, Helga had transformed into a sultry forty-something version of me, wearing a slinky black dress, smoking a cigarette.

That was my inner physician?

Apparently so.

It still cracks me up, that final image. An inner physician who smokes? I could psychoanalyze and speculate, but every time I've ever started to over the past 4 years, instead I just laugh, and the laughter short circuits that part of my brain that wants to explain. So let's just leave it at that.

Today at Dance

Today at dance I experienced the kind of playful, sweet, fun, connection and intimacy on the dance floor I always long for. In the past I'd be wary, only dance with a select few. But today, I say, not anymore; that pattern is through! Today, I let go. I let go even more. I opened. I played. And one sweet partner after another kept coming my way. From rolling around on the ground to eye gazing and the longest embrace, today at dance I embodied Love, joy, and grace.

I used to fear getting too close. But is there such a thing as too close? Not if you know yourself well and are in touch with your feelings. Not if you don't fear. Not if you have no agenda other than enjoyment and presence. Not if you're a hollow reed being guided by pure Love energy flowing through.

I used to hesitate, armor, withhold, isolate. It's not the closeness I feared, but rather what might come next. Will I get hurt? Physically or otherwise? Will there be some expectation or unwanted advance? On my part or his? When all I really wanted to do was dance. Dance and connect, feel and be felt, see and be seen, touch and be touched.

That used to be me on the dance floor, and sometimes even off, guarded and questioning. But recently I've been hearing these words, "I am a big body of Love," repeatedly in my head thanks to Sheng Zhen; these words are now being used as sort of a mantra to enter into this state of Unconditional Love. And they're powerful words; I'm feeling the Sheng Zhen spirit even more strongly than ever before.

And so I'm ready for something greater, something bigger; no more shrinking away; it's time to expand and practice what I preach. I say it in class all of the time, "open your Heart, let go, enjoy the movements, enjoy your life." It's all so simple. Just let go and open. Take each moment moment by moment. Stop anticipating. Just see what arises. If something's unwanted, respond clearly, with kindness. And with Love. Remaining open. Knowing there's no need to close, but simply to express the yes's as well as the no's.

Crucify the Prudes!

It was a typo, I swear. Auto-correct actually. But how does my smart phone know me well enough to come up with such a Freudian slip of an auto-correct?
 
I was trying to write "it was a low productivity day," but instead it came out "it was a low prude crucify day." At first I thought it was just a funny auto-correct, but then it hit me just how perfect it was since my reference to "low productivity" referred specifically to not working on my book.

While I'm not an advocate of crucifying anyone, I do view prudishness as associated with the lower levels of consciousness, something that stems from fear and mis-information and serves no purpose other than feeding the ego with judgments and self-righteousness and therefore harming the True Self and society at large. Being prudent is one thing; being a prude is another. And although the origin of the word "prude" was not always associated with being conservative specifically in regards to sex, we all know that now it is. I'm not going to get any deeper into semantics here though; surely there are already books out there about this.

Now, you might be wondering what my book is about. It's not about crucifying prudes. But it is about desire, curiosity, sexual healing, intimacy, and the female body. So although my book isn't about crucifying prudes, it is a book that most likely will make prudes uncomfortable. In fact, even if you're not a prude or don't consider yourself one, it just might make you uncomfortable too. And that's part of the whole purpose of writing what I'm writing. Let's see what makes us uncomfortable, what's hard to read or speak out loud or picture or do. And rather than run from it, let's get familiar with it, intimately familiar. Get over the taboo or discomfort so that we can live fully and truly without the repression of ignorance and shame, especially when it comes to sexuality and sex. Sex is, after all, the origin of us all. We wouldn't be here without it.

Because of some of my familial and community ties, I've been keeping pretty quiet about what my book's about and where I stand on such an important aspect of life. But how hypocritical is that? Time to come out of the closet on this.

AND? This blog post is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of me expressing myself. Feel free to jump ship or shut your eyes, but I encourage you instead to stay with eyes wide open and in anticipation of what's coming next.
I'd also say I hope that even just this didn't make you uncomfortable, but if it did, in the great words of Madonna, "Oops! I didn't know I couldn't talk about SEX....And I'm not sorry."

Down with all taboo.

 [UPDATE 11/10/16: This blog entry is from before I even though of The Multi-Orgasmic Diet! ;) And now, The MOD is out in the world. You can get it here.  ]

 
Human Nature - Madonna from sueños de seda on Vimeo.

Much Ado About What?!

I'm watching the most recent version of "Much Ado About Nothing," or at least I'm trying to watch it. For a movie with what seems to be an excessive amount of both dialogue and monologue, most of the time I have no idea what is going on or what they're saying.

I'm trying to follow it, but there's a disconnect. Sure, I was distracted by some fun Facebook messaging for the first 15 minutes, but now I've been focused for the past 20 minutes or more, and it's almost painful to hear so many words, a constant stream of words, but not understand! It's worse than watching a foreign film without subtitles or being in a foreign country where you don't know the language (I actually like that!). This experience though is really unpleasant, because I do understand the words individually; they're familiar, but I'm simply not comprehending the way they're strung together. It's so disturbing. Plus, the way the characters deliver the lines are totally unpalatable to me.

I used to read plenty of Shakespeare and have seen quite a few plays and movies over the years without any trouble following the story or understanding what they were saying. But there's just something about "Much Ado About Nothing."  I cannot wrap my head around it. I don't get it. And I never have-- I have this vague memory of the previous movie version with Keanu Reeves, and a similar experience of feeling bored and not really getting it. 

As I write this now, with the movie still playing, I'm actually picking up a bit more of what's going on, just a little. But mostly it just seems obnoxious. These people never shut up. I'm pretty sure all these characters have diarrhea of the mouth in a way that other Shakespeare characters do not. Or are they all like this, and I just never noticed? Perhaps....

They have so much to say to each other and out loud to themselves. And I simply don't care. I have no interest in the characters and these lines of dialogue and monologue are sounding more and more like nails on a chalkboard. I think it's time to turn it off.

Ah, yes. Off. Silence. Mmmm, that's nice.

Geez, I did not expect to be writing something like this tonight. Back in the day, I really wanted to be a movie critic. I had a knack for it. But then I developed a distaste for criticizing and complaining.  This blog entry feels a little bit like both of those things to me, but it was also fun to write. ;)

And now?  I think I'll make a tinfoil hat and watch Karmageddon, or just go to sleep.

Yeah, sleep. Bhagavan Das before bedtime is probably not such a good idea.... And perhaps more on that another time.

Bonne nuit!

How I Spent 3 Hours at a Mattress Store

I thought I'd just pop in for 15 to 30 minutes max, especially since I had a phone call at 11 and it was close to 10:30. I'd heard an ad on the radio last night about some big sale happening at Mattress Firm here in Austin. And I need a new bed. Although I'd been leaning towards shopping for an organic bed, maybe even a futon, or shipping my sleep number bed here from Seattle, when I heard this ad last night, I felt called to check it out.

So I did. I walked in to this store and was greeted by... we'll call him John to protect his true identity. ;) I was greeted by John. He was all alone in this big store. I said I was curious about the sale, and specifically about Tempurpedic mattresses, and even more specifically about the adjustable ones that are similar to sleep number beds since I've gotten hooked on the ability to adjust how firm or soft my bed is after more more than a decade of sleeping on Select Comfort beds; it's hard not to have that option after so many years!

And when I sampled the beds this morning, at first I had my doubts. But the more time I spent lying around on these beds, and talking to John (who sincerely told me about his previous sleep problems and how much his Tempurpedic bed helped), the more I felt like this just might be the best thing for me. It was strange what happened though. I felt like crying. Very slightly. Very, very slightly. But it was there. At first I think it was body crying out for this type of comfort, this ability for a relief of pressure, the potential for better sleep, and better alignment while sleeping.

But then John started offering to throw in a "free" this and "free" that if I made a purchase today. And I hate that. I hate when sales people do that. Even when it's a nice salesman and one who isn't pushy. It just feels like pressure. And so I snapped out of feeling into what my body wanted and instead said "oh, well, I'm sure I won't be making the decision today."

But I couldn't get up. I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to leave. John said I could stay all day, keep him company, take a nap. I'd already missed my call, which was ok, since it was being recorded (an online course). So I stayed. And after saying I wouldn't be making any purchases, I relaxed again and settled back into the bed.

It wasn't long before I said, "ok, I'll do it. I'll buy this bed. Today."

John went to write up the paperwork, encouraging me to stay on the bed. So I did, and I felt like crying again. Just a little. And this time it was because I felt like buying this bed was somehow a sign of making a bigger commitment to staying in Austin, since it would not be something I could just pack up in my car if I wanted to leave. And since it was going to cost a few thousand dollars, it's not like I'd want to just get rid of it if I don't stay in Austin much longer. Oh, and if I fall in love with this bed, if it really is like heaven and improves my sleep, maybe even resolves some chronic tension/discomfort, then I certainly would want to move it with me if I decide to move.

Why would this make me feel like crying?

Fear of commitment? Or a feeling of having bigger moving expenses? A little bit of both.

The truth is, buying this bed doesn't mean I have to stay in Austin. Of course not!  But that's what it stirred up for me. And so what if I have to spend some extra money to move, whether within Austin or out of state?  I absolutely can afford the bed and any future moving expenses. And a good bed is one of the most important material possessions, in my opinion, so it's worth it. I'm worth it. My comfort and sleep is worth it.

John came back over and said he was ready to complete the transaction, so I got out of bed and walked over to his desk. And then one thing after another slowed down the the completion of this transaction. Technical difficulties. John being somewhat new to this job, and not being familiar with this store location. Technical difficulties. Time warp. That's really what it felt like. A time warp. How could it be that I was there for nearly 3 hours?

Testing out beds and talking lasted maybe an hour, or not even that long. Kind of strange now that I think back on it. But at the time, I felt totally chill. John was embarrassed about how long it was taking. I was just happy I wasn't in a bad mood or impatient, as sometimes I am and would have walked out or taken it as a sign that this wasn't right. But not today. Today I was patient and mellow. But then I got hungry.

John had asked if I recommended a place to eat, since he wasn't familiar with that neighborhood. So I offered to get us both some lunch, since he couldn't really leave for lunch, being the only one there, and since it was taking so long to process my purchase and financing plan. And he offered to pay for my lunch in return for my patience and my offer to get some food, and for making his day by being such an amazing customer! ;)

I went next door to a Thai place to order some food, got  hit on by a man who had just been stood up by a blind date, and then returned to Mattress Firm to complete the purchase and eat lunch with John. It was so, as he put it "unprofessional," but it was cool. And fun. And totally human and natural in my opinion to make the most of this situation and get some food since we were both hungry. While eating, I told him about my writing, and he had some nice encouraging things to say. And after eating, I thought about taking a nap in the store, spending the rest of the afternoon there with him, but decided to go home instead. I gave him a hug goodbye; I felt like we were old friends by the time I left! Actually, it was easy to be around him from the start; those are the best sales people, and the best kinds of friends.

So, that's how I spent 3 hours in a mattress store. And thank you, John, for helping me decide on a bed and for inspiring this blog entry after nearly 3 months of no posts.

How "Book in a Month" Helped Me

At the end of June I bought Victoria Lynn Schmidt's Book in a Month: The Fool-Proof System for Writing a Novel in 30 Days. Why? Because after getting some feedback on the first 36 pages of one of my books, the book about my car accident, I realized that I don't know a whole lot about story structure when it comes to writing a whole book. The feedback I received was good, what I shared was well written, but it raised questions regarding structure,  where the story was headed, such as to go chronologically or not and if it's ok to have the big climax at the beginning.

It occurred to me that perhaps it was time to do something I'd been resistant to doing: getting help. Reading a book about writing. In the past, I couldn't bear the thought of such a thing! Why on earth would I spend time reading about writing when I could be using that time writing? And yet would I use that time to write? Usually not. And even if I did, perhaps not as effectively so if first I'd taken some time to read a bit about writing. I just wanted to be a natural, to not need to read about it. And in some ways I am a natural. But when it comes to writing an entire book? Well, it was time for help. Plus, although I have an aversion to following "traditional structure," I do know it can be useful to know what that structure is before I break away from it! There is freedom within form. I realized this about dance a few years ago. Time to apply it to writing as well.

So on July 1st I committed to using this book, Book in a Month, even though it's for writing novels. I am writing memoir, but pretty sure I want it to read like fiction. So I figured I could work with it. And on days 1 and 2, I was an over-achiever with it and did each day's exercise for 3 different books-in-progress. I thought maybe I'd write 3 books in a month! Since I already had hundreds of pages, it's not like I was starting from scratch. So why not work on more than one at a time, right?

Wrong. Once I sat down on Day 3 to work on a comprehensive outline, I realized that only one of my books would be getting attention this month, and it wasn't going to be the car accident one, partially because there's not really an ending yet since I knew I'd have at least a few more EMDR sessions if not more. And the story that was easiest to outline, I already had 274 pages to work with, and a clear beginning, middle, and end for that story.

So I proceeded with this story about the summer of 2009-- tempting to reveal the topic here and now, but not quite ready-- and what I found was that the daily assignments were so helpful! They really got me thinking about things I'd never considered, and most of it was applicable to writing memoir.

I did each day's homework all in a notebook, by hand, and then I'd sit at my laptop and work on my revision process. Book in a Month really helped me learn a lot about character development and story structure. (I also ended up buying Story Structure Architect, which I found to be useful and interesting as well.) But most importantly, it helped me commit. Every day for one month, I worked on my book. In the fourth week, there may have been one day where I didn't do anything (or something so minimal that I didn't want to count it) and 2 days where I barely did anything. But something is always better than nothing. Oh, and in the back of the book are some stickers. One says "I'm a writer." I put that on the bottom of my monitor, and I'm pretty sure that seeing that day after day, all throughout the day, has helped me truly become a writer, committed and dedicated to the writing and revision process and confident that I will be published some day. It also helped remind me to get back to work when distracted by things like Facebook!

What a gift.

And Victoria Lynn Schmidt's advice, assignments, worksheets, and questions, her voice that comes through, were all great. It was easy and fun. It was enjoyable. And every day I felt so good even if all I did was the daily exercise or edit a page or two. The commitment to daily made all the difference, and the professional advice taught me a lot, both about writing and about myself. I highly recommend her book to writers or aspiring writers, even if not writing a novel. It would also be helpful for screen play writing, which is where I might be headed after I get at least one of these memoirs finished and published!

Oh! I almost forgot to mention how it all turned out in the end for me. Although I did not reach my goal of having a manuscript ready for professional feedback by the end of the month, I'd say I'm at least 80% there, closer than ever before. It occurred to me to spend all of today writing to see if I could get through a big chunk of what's left to do. But then I remembered an important part of this month-long process: planning the reward and then celebrating completion of the month. So today, I haven't opened up that manuscript document. And my reward? I took myself to an afternoon movie. I also feel like I officially became a writer. Not published yet, but committed to the daily work to the writing and the rewriting. Getting closer and closer to one of my longest held dreams coming true. That's a reward in and of itself.

What's next? Well, I will continue. I have 279 pages that are mostly done, at least done enough for feedback, possibly even ready for hiring a professional to give feedback. I bought a book about writing and publishing memoir. Started reading it yesterday. I'm also thinking about checking out some website or a book that specifically address scenes. I'm not setting another solid deadline, but I am guessing that some time in September I will be shopping around for some professional help. Already have a couple of connections and possibilities. And I am always open to more.


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

What I Realized About "What I Really Meant to Say on Facebook"

I realized something the other night, the night of the Super Moon actually. I was thinking about the blog entry I'd recently posted about being sick of assholes and also about how much it sometimes bugs me when people are unresponsive. Please note, these two things don't necessarily go together. I think some people who read my blog thought I might be saying that they do. But they don't. My brother, for example, sometimes takes a week to get back to me, but he is one of the last people on earth I would ever think of as an asshole. I don't even think it's possible for him! I just kind of lumped it all together the other day, so forgive me if that wasn't clear. But back to my realization:

I was thinking about assholes and unresponsiveness. I was thinking about people's bullshit beliefs and excuses, including my own. I was thinking about a lack of being acknowledged. I was thinking about a lack of my words being acknowledged. I was thinking about inconsideration. Ugh, I know this is really about me! And my ego. So why does this stuff bother me so much!?

And suddenly it hit me. Kyle. It all goes back to him. Not just back to me (although ultimately, yes, it does, but let's ignore that for now). It all goes back to that night in the car when he wouldn't listen to me yelling at him to slow down or stop the car. It all goes back to my sense of safety, to my life being threatened and messed with. His lack of hearing me, of acknowledging me, of considering me, of listening to me, of responding to me led directly to that fateful accident that resulted in so much damage. I don't care that there was something wrong with the car too, that the car was, as he put it "unresponsive;" the fact is that he was unresponsive. Plain and simple.

Now, I do recognize that it's not all about that night; it's not really all about Kyle. Surely I've got some childhood issues there around attention (or lack thereof) and/or social rejection. BUT, this thing about Kyle and the car accident felt HUGE! And with it came a sense of lightness, relief, and a curiosity if now I won't get so triggered, if now this unresponsiveness thing won't be a pet peeve. Because it's not like I'm in danger if someone ignores a text message or doesn't reply to an email, right? Right. It's not going to lead to my body being assaulted and violated, right? Right. It's over. I'm safe now.

It's become quite fascinating to me how that night in the car, the experience of the ride itself, of my screams and pleas being ignored, along with the impact itself, the injuries, and all the stuff that was done to me in the hospital has permeated all of these various aspects of my life. I didn't get it before; I didn't understand that this all could be affecting my relationships with people, including with myself. To some extent, I got it. For sure. I even thought I'd worked through most of it. Thought I could just let it go and that I had let most of it go. I thought it was as simple as a choice, an attitude, deprogramming and reprogramming on my own without the help of a professional, but no. Not so plain and simple.

I also didn't want to ask for help. I wanted to believe I didn't need any. But with all of my own self-study and self-inquiry and self-help and bodywork and embodiment practices and this and that and the other thing, I certainly understood and learned and healed a lot, but there were these deeper levels remaining. I was in denial for so many years about the depth and extent of damage; I didn't want to identify as damaged. But I was. Absolutely. Undeniably. I was damaged.  And then I healed, and am still healing.

Shortly after moving to Austin, I realized this pattern of denial and vowed to face the truth even more than ever before. I was sick of the ways in which I'd been an asshole to myself, and I was tired of my own bullshit.

The timing was divine, realizing it was time to go deeper, to uncover some hidden truths, to grieve deeply, to ask for help, and then meeting someone whose opinion I respected and trusted and who suggested EMDR. It's never too late to process unprocessed trauma. And the insights, as well as physiological changes taking place, it's a trip. One I am happy to be on.

And that leads me back to Kyle. I kind of hope he doesn't see this; I cringe at the thought of it actually. But I do tend to think of him as an asshole in general, even though we talked it out years ago and I know he didn't intentionally hurt me, and something like forgiveness was expressed. I can't help it; I still think of him as an asshole; perhaps the EMDR will change that, but perhaps the EMDR is actually what helps me admit to it and be ok with it, to not feel the need to not think of him that way, and to not feel the need to apologize to him or anyone else for what I've written and am still planning to write.

The other side of this coin though is that I also often feel so incredibly grateful to Kyle. Like I'm sitting here glowing, smiling, as I type that, as I think of him. Sometimes I want to call him up and thank him for not listening to me. Sometimes I just wanna hug the guy and laugh over how crazy life is. But sometimes I still wanna give him a little shove and verbally beat him to a pulp. It's a strange gratitude/hate type of thing, something I'm still wrapping my head around. And so perhaps it's premature to express it here. It certainly is an incomplete expression. But one day, in the near future, it will be more completely expressed in one of those books-in-progress of mine.

And that's all I have to say about all of that for now.

© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Under the Willow Tree

Most of the following was written last September:

I'm going to miss it here, under the willow tree in my parents' back yard. The sound of the breeze in the leaves. The sound of the waves lapping up against the shore. The bald eagles that sometimes perch nearby. The view of Mt. Rainier, when the clouds aren't hiding it. The sunset.

But let's face it. How many days out of the year is it even this nice here? As nice as it is today? How many days out of the year can I nap outside? Write outside? Spend the majority of the day outside? And not be cold.

With smart wool and blankets, more than you'd think. But that's just the seduction of summer in Seattle trying to lure me back in, before I've even left.

Seven more nights. Or something like that. And then I hit the road. Drive to Austin. Finish out 2012 there, focusing on writing and Sheng Zhen Gong. Maybe stay longer.

The timing's just right. This has been the year for all kinds of dreams coming true. And some of those dreams were conjured up and clarified under this willow tree, or at least nearby it.

Memories of Twiggy come back to me now. She was the Boston Terrier I picked out. Her name was Precious when she first joined the family. But soon we realized we had to change her name. And we changed it to Twiggy because she loved chewing on fallen twigs from the willow tree. Perhaps it's time to release her ashes. They've been in my closet for 10 years. Or more? Yep. Now's the time....

I never did release those ashes. Perhaps I will soon. Funny finding this blog draft now as I'm just a couple of weeks away from visiting this willow tree. And it was memories of lying in the grass beneath it that recently led me to cancel my road trip plans and buy a plane ticket instead. 8 hours rountrip rather than 80 hours means much more time for sprawling out in my parents' back yard. Had a dream last night too about being back there, and about extending my stay into late September. And since my dreams have been known to come true before, I'm curious now about this one. Time will tell; it always does. 

There are so many more little snapshots of memories that come back to me as I sit here now thinking about being "under the willow tree." But I think I'll wait and see what, if any, inspiration comes to write more, while actually under the willow tree next month. 

It's also interesting to see here that I'd thought I'd spend much more time outside by moving to Austin. Not so sure that's been the case, especially this summer. But perhaps more on that another time....



© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

From Grumpy to Giddy and Happy as a Clam ~ a "Sheng Zhen in Daily Life" Story

the following was written back in May! saved it to edit and, well, time passed....
 
Yesterday morning I woke up grumpy and groggy in my friend's guest room. I hadn't slept well, at least partially because I was feeling disturbed by a couple of interactions between us the previous night. Mostly our time together was great! And I was grateful to have a place to stay instead of driving home so late at night. But a combination of sadness and anger and lack of good sleep was weighing me down in the morning. I didn't really want to have to talk about it, and there was really no good time to talk about it, as by the time I was awake enough to, my friend was rushing off to work.

I, on the other hand, had decided not to rush off to anywhere. I spent some time reading and writing in my journal. Washing dishes, as a meditation of sorts. And while washing the dishes, although I was feeling displeased in many ways, I was also thinking about what was good, what did please me. So I decided to leave a thank you note. A thank you spelled out with those little glass balls that you can put in the bottom of a vase. It was pretty. And then I listed out on a post-it note what I was thankful for, such as the laughter and the food and the bed.

But then I took a step back and felt like although all this was an authentic expression of gratitude, I was creating a false impression since I was also feeling pissed. So I took out another post-it note and expressed this other side of what I was feeling. But what I wrote didn't sit right with me, especially as something to write on a post-it note of all things. So I re-wrote it. And re-wrote it again. And then I went out to my car to go to a Sheng Zhen class.

On my way out, something happened that made me laugh, and when I got in my car, I was thinking about the note I'd just written and how silly the whole thing was-- not just what I'd done but even how upset I'd been. Who cares? And I was thinking about Sheng Zhen, about compassion, Unconditional Love, no worries. I suddenly felt a lightness, this sadness and anger dissipating. So I went back into the house and re-wrote the note again, still feeling compelled to at least acknowledge that I felt a bit pissed off and sad, but without the heaviness or references to why. And then I left.

On my way to class, my mood just kept improving. I stopped off at Central Market and saw a fellow Sheng Zhen practitioner walking down the road. I got out of my car and ran after her to surprise her with a hug. It felt so good, for both of us. And then I went to AOMA. I arrived between classes and went into Master Li's office. He asked me where I was in the morning, since usually I'm there earlier. I told him that I hadn't slept well, and not wanting to get into the details, I just said that I had some problem with a friend too and needed to spend some time reading and journaling and writing my friend a note.

"I was actually having a Sheng Zhen in daily life experience," I said, and when I told him what had happened with writing a note that was really emotionally charged, and then my re-writes, and then the final re-write thanks to Sheng Zhen, he totally lit up.

We continued discussing it, and I won't recount the conversation, but I just started laughing and laughing and couldn't stop. I don't think he'd ever seen me in this state. And he was so excited about this Sheng Zhen in daily life story, saying I should share it in a television interview. And then I said "Now I feel like there's not even any need for the note I left! Maybe I should go back and remove it!" I was sort of joking about going back. But Master Li said, "Yes, go back! It's ok to miss class. Just go."

I sat with the idea for a moment, wondering if that would just be crazy. And if it would be authentic or if I was just high from all the laughter and smiling and being too influenced by Master Li's suggestion. A clear answer didn't arise, so I decided not to question it and to just go. Plus, I was no longer upset at all and knew my friend had a long day and coming home to my note might feel stressful despite the beautiful thank you's accompanying it.

But to my surprise, when I went back to remove the note, my friend had returned home for a lunch break and had already seen it! I still sensed some tension in the air, but not on my part; I was giddy as could be. So I explained why I'd returned, what I'd realized, and then went back to class, laughing all along the way. Happy as a clam. What does that even mean-- happy as a clam?

Just Googled it: "The full phrase is "happy as a clam at high tide." Clams can only be dug up at low tides, so at high tide a clam is safer and secure, so therefore, happy." Interesting.... I'd say that tapping into that happiness at the core leads to feeling safer and more secure, rather than the other way around. But I still like the sound of "happy as a clam," cuz that's what I am. ;)


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

What I Really Meant to Say on Facebook

Here's what I really wanted to say in my update:

I'm sick of assholes, and I have no interest in superficial bullshit. I just don't have the time or the tolerance for it. And are people really so overwhelmed and busy these days that they can't take less than 20 seconds to reply to a text or email with a "thnx" or a "yes" or a "no" or a "maybe," or do they just not care? I just don't even understand this phenomenon of a general lack of consideration, lack of responsiveness and lack of communication skills. I've had it. I am fed up.

But since I can't stand it when people bitch and moan in FB status updates-- in fact, when I see someone complaining, I almost always go straight to settings and hide that person from my newsfeed. Do I care about you hating your cold that you've had for 7 days? No. Try asking for some healing vibes or something instead. Do you think saying "I hate this, I hate that" is gonna do any good? No. 

And now I feel like a hypocrite, cuz so far writing this negative bitch and moan blog entry feels pretty damn good. It's true. It does feel good to complain and spew anger and frustration every once in a while. But earlier, I just didn't want to go there. I just couldn't stand the thought of being someone who writes "I'm sick of assholes" as her status update, even though it is absolutely TRUE.

But it's not even what I'd originally planned on. In fact, I was sort of going to praise the assholes of my past. You see, I had sat down at my desk to work on my book, but allowed myself to get sucked into the vortext of Facebook instead. I was just going to take a few minutes to post this picture:

 And I was just gonna comment on that although I like that quote, I don't really believe in should's and if it weren't for all the poor behavior of others (and myself at times), I wouldn't have such juicy stories to write. But then that led me to thinking about assholes and all the tough and painful lessons I've attracted over the years, which eventually led me to thinking about what it is I'd prefer to attract instead.


So? Instead I posted this status update about what I want in my life rather than what I don't want in my life. Although part of being a Truth-seeker and a Truth-teller is facing the shadow and being honest about negativity, I do believe in putting more emphasis on the light and the positivity, both in a public forum and in one's own mind. Words have power. So here's how I turned it around: 

I welcome those who treat themselves and others with kindness, Love, and respect. I welcome those who show up, who do what they say they're going to do, who know how to prioritize, and who know when to say "no" as well as when to say "yes." I welcome those who communicate well with directness and clarity and kindness all at the same time. I welcome those who can handle hearing the Truth as well as speaking it. I welcome those who know and practice the power of forgiveness. I welcome those who face fears and challenges with courage, humility, and grace. I welcome those who strive for authenticity and transparency. I welcome those who have an abundance mentality and are solution-oriented. I welcome those who can be both honest and gentle with themselves and others when not living up to these ideals. I welcome those who, by example as well as through Love and acceptance, help me continue to be one of these people I welcome.

 And although that's all nice and true, and I do believe it will work some necessary magic, right now, after reading that here, the truth is that it actually feels better to just laugh it all off and say, "I'm sick of assholes! And I'm tired of bullshit." 

That's all folks! Peace out.


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Floating in the Pool

Floating in the pool, I think back to last summer in the Bahamas. I shut my eyes and send a message to Coral and Cayla, my dolphin friends. It's not a message of words, just of connection. And then I see them here with me, nudging me with their healing nudges, looking at me with their loving eyes, speaking to me in various ways. I smile.

I open my eyes as I float into the shade, looking up at the tree branches, soaking in the greenery. I need more of this. I've been spending so much time inside these days, both to escape the Texas heat and to focus on my writing. And my healing. And to sleep.

I've been sleeping more than usual during the past few weeks. And staying up later, sleeping in later, napping. Whatever I need, whenever I need it. Totally in my own rhythm. What a luxury. One I can afford due to tragedy, as well as to blessings and generosity. Destiny.

In addition to all that's been coming up through EMDR, processing all that unprocessed trauma from so long ago, the Summer Solstice shined its light on some things that I'd been denying. And I was told that week that I'd pretty much need to be pushed over the edge to grieve what needed to be grieved, and then voila! Pushed I was.

So in addition to doing a ton of writing over the past few weeks, I've also been doing a ton of grieving. Allowing myself to feel some really old stuff coming up so that I can release it. And this requires the time and space to just simply be. To make minimal commitments to others. To just commit to me. To not hold anything in. To let the tears flow. To let the laughter flow. To let the words flow. To write. To work. To play. And then to sleep, and sleep some more. Integrating. Clarifying. Healing.

Word out in the akasha, the cosmos, the aether, is that I was in that car accident for a few reasons. One of those reasons was to be defined, at least temporarily, as "someone who needs to heal." As a teenager, after the accident, that was the last thing I wanted to define myself as. It was the last thing I wanted to admit to. I was in denial. I wanted to focus on the positive. I wanted to be "normal," not someone who needed to heal. Somehow I feared that by seeking certain types of help or healing, it would actually create more problems, as if identifying as "someone who needs to heal" would be the equivalent to saying "there's something wrong with me." And the truth is, there's nothing wrong with me, but there is more healing to do. Or maybe there is "something wrong," but there's nothing wrong with that, and it will get better. And so I'm doing what needs to be done. Letting it out instead of holding it in. Admitting instead of denying. And it actually feels really good. I've never been so happy during what some might call a "depressive" phase.

And I wouldn't say I'm depressed. I'd say I'm finally listening. I'd say I'm finally not getting in my own way. I'd say I'm right on track. For nearly 3 weeks now I've cried at least a little, if not a lot, nearly every day. And it is such a gift! It's a precious, tender, beautiful time for me. Emotional cleansing like never before. Letting go where I am holding. Unfolding where I am folded. Transformation in the works. Looking forward to what's emerging.



© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Mopping the Floor

I had a dream I mopped the floor. If only that were enough.

I don't mop. At least not the old fashioned way.

And that's the one definitive "I don't ____" statement I've heard myself make over the years, at least the only one I can think of. And yet it needs to be done.

And as I write "it needs to be done," I realize it only needs to be done because I think it should be done. It also occurs to me that I could hire somebody to do it. But that almost feels like too much work. And a waste of money since it'll only take me 5 to 10 minutes. Perhaps I'll just mop the floor.

I'm house-sitting and promised the place would be cleaner than how they left it. Apparently they don't mop either, or maybe just didn't have time this time. So I thought this would be something nice to do, to surprise them with super clean floors.

So although I don't mop, I went out and bought one. Not the kind that requires a bucket. I absolutely do not do that.

Maybe I just never learned the proper technique, but it always seemed to me I was making the floor dirtier, just pushing around dirty water. So I bought a steam mop instead. It's been lying on the floor by the front door, still in its package, for about 10 days now. I look at it and wonder what my resistance is. Just take it out of the package and mop the fucking floor. I've even used a steam mop before; I know it's easy. But I don't want to do it. Maybe now that I've admitted to that, I will. Maybe tomorrow I'll write about how I either ruined the hardwood floors with this mop, or laughed at myself for putting it off for so long.

I don't really know why I'm writing about this.

Perhaps just to get myself blogging again. Or perhaps because there's something deeper at play here. Something about taking on a task I don't really want to take on? Something about taking on a task I do really want to take on? Something about sometimes just wishing that my dreams or thoughts would manifest just like that, without the necessary effort or discomfort? For example, I've written numerous books in my head, while driving, lying in bed, going for walks. But those books don't really get written unless I sit down and write.  So although this thought this morning about dreaming I mopped and wishing it were enough may not seem important, or worthy of writing about, and may not have any place in a book, taking this time to sit down and write it out is part of my practice of being the writer that I am.  To not evaluate a topic's worth. To not just think about writing. To not just want to be a writer. But to be one. Even if it means posting a seemingly meaningless blog entry about mopping the floor.


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

From Couch to 5k.... to Insanity!

Well, I did it. I went from being a non-runner to being a runner to realizing I'm not a runner to deciding to run once more to happily leaving running behind.

On May 30th, I ran for 30 minutes straight for the first time in-- maybe ever?  I completed the C25k (couch to 5k) app, an interval training program in which for 8 weeks, 3 days a week, I'd listen to this little voice in my phone telling me to "begin running" or "start walking." Each run was 30 to 40 minutes depending on the intervals and always starting and ending with a 5 minute walk. The goal is to be able to run 30 minutes (or 5k) nonstop within 9 weeks.

On Day 1 I wrote in my journal: It was much easier than anticipated. Running for just 60 seconds at a time is easy. I listened to fun music, ignored incoming calls. Felt a bit of a runner's high even with such short intervals. It was around sunset, and I'd only slept about 4 hours the previous night, but running gave me a 2nd wind; I went out to dance after a brief stop at home for a quick shower!

On Day 2 I wrote in my journal: It flew by. I was surprised to be told it was cool down time. I wanted more. Had a thought about running as a spiritual practice. Also thought taking up physical act of running might help me stop metaphorically running away from other things, such as physical or emotional pain through bodywork or other therapies; time to stay present, face some things, and go deeper. Felt so good after, I went to dance.

As the weeks progressed, the intervals increased, and I had more and more insights with each and every run. I thought I'd journal about it each time, but did not. Some of the most interesting runs came after I started EMDR therapy to address the unprocessed trauma of the nearly fatal accident I was in back in 1996. During these few runs, I was feeling my legs and lower body more as well as some motion-sickness. One of the things that happened once I was more in my body during my runs was that my form changed.

Previously I'd sort of been running on my toes. I was wearing Vibram five-finger shoes and thought it just might be because of that. But one day, I think it was the 2nd run with my "heavier legs," more of my foot made contact with the ground. No more tip toeing around, so to speak. I was more fully there. More connected. Previously I'd actually tried to run this way, but it didn't feel right. Whereas now, if I tried to run just from the toes/ball of my feet, that didn't feel right. Not that either way is right or wrong per se; it just depends. And there's much uncertainty in the running community about this; if you're interested, here's just one article on the topic.

What else? Oh! Probably plenty more, but what stands out the most in my memory now is my first attempt at my final run.

I was hoping to complete this program before going away for 10 days for Sheng Zhen Gong teacher training. And my final run, my first shot at running for 30 minutes without stopping, was going to be in the morning before taking off for training. But thanks to some heavy rains the previous days, I got thrown off a day. Nevertheless, I woke up that Monday morning and decided to just go for it.

Did I really need a day off between runs? I was so close to being done. I just wanted to finish this program and then I could decide when to run and for how long. I was pretty sure that running 30 minutes straight was not something I'd choose to do. But running for 10-20 minute intervals might remain in my fitness regimen.

So on Monday, May 27, I rolled out of bed, put on my shoes, told my housemate I was gonna go for it, and I went for it.

And after 23 minutes, I stopped running and started laughing. Not only had I not taken a day off between runs, but I was starting my run at least an hour later in the morning, and it was too hot for me. I'd say that after the first 8 minutes of that run, my thoughts all revolved around pushing myself, telling myself I could do this, and then thinking I might throw up or pass out, and then telling myself that's ridiculous and of course I'm ok and can do this, and then why am I even doing this?!

Of course there's an aspect of wanting to be in the best physical shape possible and loving the feeling of strengthening and using/moving my body. But I could do that through other methods. There was something about running and completing this program, whether I liked it or not, that was at play here. It was all about discipline, going beyond my comfort zone, proving something to myself. And completion; that was important to me.

During this run, each time I thought about stopping, I told myself to just keep going. Normally, in previous runs, that had felt like a healthy thing. But on this morning, it did not. It felt like ego. And not the part of my ego that can be used as a tool for my betterment.

So I stopped running and started laughing, looking back at the past 8 weeks as one long ego trip. Of course plenty of it was actually really good for me. And at times I truly did enjoy running. But it's really not the right activity for me. Cardio dancing is more my style. And it's something I'll return to soon. But first? One more fitness experiment and challenge: Insanity. Just finished week 1. For real. And I love it. Not just an ego trip. I really like it. And I'm pretty sure that C25k helped me get ready for it. But more on Insanity another time....

In the end, I actually did finish C25k. I did get in that final run of 30 minutes nonstop. Thanks to my brother's encouragement and reminder that if I'd taken a day off between runs and gone out earlier in the morning, I probably would not have stopped; I would have ran that whole 30 minutes. Plus I haven't totally relinquished the part of myself that likes to prove things to myself. So I did it. I left the 10 day training to do it. I drove home for the night so that I could run in the morning. Didn't want any excuses, like not getting enough sleep because of a roommate or not being able to run because of the terrain. So on May 30th, I woke up in my own bed, and this time I went out an hour earlier than usual, to beat the heat and get it done. And it felt so good. Piece of cake actually. My brother was right. Although there was some truth in my ego trip insights, that wouldn't have been enough to make me quit with just 7 minutes left to go. I just needed some recovery time and cooler weather. Hooray! I did it. I'm done.

And now? Off to start Week 2 of Insanity. :)


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Okay

Just stumbled upon this journal entry from April:

He asked me if I was okay, and to my surprise, I said, “No." 
 Time sort of stood still once this foreign word came out of my mouth.  

--> Don’t get me wrong; I say “no” quite often. But I can’t even remember the last time I said it in response to the question “are you okay?”

“Ok” isn’t even saying much, so even if I’m upset, if something’s wrong, I am always “okay.” Of course I'm "okay!" But… sometimes there’s a "but."

So today, instead of saying, “yes, but,” I simply said, “No."

I felt confused afterwards as to whether this was a more honest response or more dishonest, since I do know that I'm OK.

Looking over this now, plus looking at a bit more of the entry that's not typed above, I add to what's above below:

I wondered at the time if there was something going on here around the issue of denial, like that by saying "no," I was practicing not being in denial. I also wondered if it was more about semantics and my beliefs around the power of words than about denial. I think now it's a bit of both. 

I guess my tendency was to feel that if I say I'm "not ok," it's like I'm saying something's really not ok, like on a deeper level. Or that it's feeding into some negative programming. And why on Earth would I want to do that? Because that's what people typically do? No. But also Yes. 



Is it possible to overdo thinking before speaking? Is it possible for conscious language to get in the way of being a fully alive, authentic, communicative being?? Abso-freakin-lutely! So what if I know I'm always okay at the core of my being? Sometimes I'm not okay! I'm human. And once that's admitted, once that's spoken, whether just to myself or to others, I usually start to feel authentically okay again. Funny how that works. Like a confessional. Not that I've ever been in one. But I've always been intrigued by that part of Catholicism. And that's a whole other topic, one I won't get into now.

El Fin!




© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
 

 

Flying Cockroaches!

Last night I was welcomed home by a huge cockroach on the ceiling of my bedroom. And by "huge" I mean the body was at least 2 inches plus antennae that were a few inches long. My housemate came up with a spray bottle of bleach and a fly swatter to help me capture it under a bowl, but it outsmarted us, hiding sort of inside the bottom of the bookcase I'd pulled away from the wall to help us get to it.

So I decided to push the bookcase back up against the wall and just pretend it was trapped in there now. The only other option required too much effort (emptying out the bookcase), and I was tired. Plus, I thought cockroaches didn't bother me. No big deal to have one in my room, right? Even with my bed being on the floor. Besides, it had been a long day with very little sleep, so I figured I'd crash so hard that I wouldn't even notice if it ended up in bed with me!

But I was wrong. I didn't have the nerve to turn on the light when it happened, but I'm pretty sure there was a cockroach on my arm at least once, maybe twice, in the middle of the night. And then around 4:30 in the morning, I turned on my light. And there it was, up on the ceiling, not too far from my bed. I won't get into the details of the chase that ensued before finally capturing it, except for one thing: this cockroach flew across my room.

I'd never seen anything like this! I didn't even know that cockroaches could fly. Not really. My housemate had mentioned that they could fly, but I didn't believe it! Until it happened, and in a big way, all the way across my room. I stood there for a moment, eyes wide, in disbelief, and then laughter took over. And clarity; it was time to go downstairs to get a bigger bowl and the bleach (spraying a cockroach with bleach just slows it down enough to trap it under a bowl). I couldn't have a flying cockroach in my room, at least not if I wanted to go back to sleep.

And today I'm still laughing over the whole thing; I've actually been laughing a lot since yesterday morning, but perhaps that'll be another entry, a "Sheng Zhen in Daily Life" story.... Back to flying cockroaches: When I told my housemate about what had happened, she told me a funny story.

Her daughter and nephew woke up one night screaming and yelling. She and her ex-husband went into the room and asked what was going on. They said there was a flying cockroach. But it was nowhere to be seen, so her ex told  them to calm down, saying it wouldn't hurt them and to just go back to sleep. And then out of the blue, the cockroach flew around the room in a big circle and then landed right on his forehead! And of course he started freaking out. I like that story.

And that's all I have to say about cockroaches for now. Other than that seeing one fly actually is pretty cool.


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Welcoming Back My Legs

Legs. They're heavy. When you actually can feel them as part of your body. I'm not sure if this is an issue for many people, since many people do reside primarily in their heads, cut off from their bodies, or if it's only an issue for those of us who have temporarily or permanently lost a sense of connection due to shock or damage from injury or surgery.

This is Day 2 of my legs feeling heavy. I've felt this before, but it comes and goes. I wonder if this time my legs are here to stay. They do feel heavier than ever before. Too heavy to go for a run. Too heavy to dance. But they also want to be used. They want to walk. They tell me they'll run and dance again soon, possibly even tomorrow. They tell me there's no rush. They're reconnecting. Give them, give me, a rest.

So I sit here resting, recovering from yesterday's EMDR session. It was my first. Powerful and intense are the first two words that come to mind. And although part of me wants so badly to share right now, I don't think I'm ready to share publicly about what happened in that session. At least not all of it. But I have started writing about all of it privately, and was even motivated to get back to using dictation; it's such a great way to get the thoughts out of my head, especially while driving.

So what can I share here and now? Without getting into why I decided to start EMDR or what it entails (click on link above for some info on EMDR), I'll just say that one of the scenes that came up was me sitting in the car, waiting for help, when I couldn't feel or move my legs, terrified that I was paralyzed and screaming my head off while also holding myself up so that I wouldn't remain doubled over my lap belt. As I sat with this image, I felt surprisingly calm; interesting that this was one of the most calm parts of the session considering that during the accident this is when I was most hysterical, possibly even more so than when I'd been screaming at the driver to slow down or stop the car and contemplating jumping out when he wouldn't listen. (I know, this almost isn't fair for people who don't know the whole story, but it's all I can offer right now). Back to the session...

Emotionally calm with this image, but physically, a lot was happening. I felt my lower back waking up, at the level of fracture/fusion. I experienced some electrical currents, some twitches. It was as if the nerves were healing and my legs were being called back to my body.  It was a chance to tell myself that I can feel and move my legs. And it was a chance to believe it on a cellular level.

I'd worked with this in SomatoEmotional Release sessions, Continuum, and probably another modality or two. Even just through grounding by running energy and breathing. Affirmations. Verbal deprogramming and reprogramming. Etcetera. But this feels different. And, for now, I'll leave it at that.

I think it's time to wrap this up, even though it's tempting to go on about my legs or legs in general, or how I'm having a similar experience with feeling what it's like to have a lower abdomen. I realized in session that I haven't really felt it since the lap belt injury. And that is way more of a trip than this leg thing! Both the feeling I'm experiencing and the realization about the lack of past feeling. But that is a whole other entry, a whole other chapter really.

To be continued.....


And for those of you who are curious, here are some links to other relevant entries I've posted over the years: 

http://rebeccacliogould.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-night-i-almost-died.html
http://rebeccacliogould.blogspot.com/2009/10/do-you-see-what-i-see.html
http://rebeccacliogould.blogspot.com/2010/02/coming-back-to-me.html

http://returntothetao.blogspot.com/2010/02/exit-wound.html



© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Howling at the Moon

 Tonight I howled at the moon, while driving in my car. And at some point that howl turned into monkey sounds which then turned into laughter before I howled again. And then silence came, and within the silence a question, When was the last time you howled at the moon?, to which I replied in song.


A song like a howl but sung instead of howled, melodic and calm, sung like a song, like some long-forgotten language, each sound rich and deep with meaning: Owww-ooooooooooh, ow-ow-ow-ooooooooooh, oww-oooooh, ow-ow-ow-oooooooooh..... Repeated many times until I arrived home, sometimes fast but mostly slow.

I sit here now at my desk, staring at this screen, thinking about the contrast between the playful, wild howling and the soulful, soothing singing. And yet there's nothing more to say, at least not in this moment. I could go on about the animal within or repression and liberation or expression or a dozen other things. But I'd rather just howl and sing and bask a bit longer in the preverbal bliss it brings.


© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

What Do I Do When I Can't Sleep?

Usually I toss and turn or just lie there practicing surrendering and opening up my body to relaxation and release. If there's physical discomfort wreaking havoc, I practice "disappearing pain." And sometimes I just put on a guided meditation. But this morning, when I woke up at 4:30, wide awake after only 4 hours of sleep, I got out of bed. Apparently this is what one is supposed to do if after 15 minutes one does not go back to sleep. That's what my doctor recently told me. And so I decided to test it out, even though there's a flaw in this experiment; avoiding computer screens is also recommended.

But I wanted to write! And not by hand. I wanted to crank out a new chapter for one of my books. I had it all so perfectly crafted in my head. So I turned on my laptop, opened up the document. And nothing came out. 

So I moved on to finding a DVD ripper online so that I could finish up a couple of Sheng Zhen video projects. It takes over an hour for one DVD. I don't want to go back to sleep until it's done. So I clean my room, then see if my website needs updating, then schedule a Meetup, and then the first DVD is ripped. I check it out to see if it worked, and it did, so I load another one, get back in bed planning to practice 9 Turns, a Sheng Zhen form of non-moving lying down qigong, and then possibly sleep. But first? A foot massage. And before I know it I'm out of bed again dancing with my shadow. Literally. I'm dancing around my room, and the lamp is creating a big shadow on the wall, my shadow, and we dance. And I laugh in recognition of the perfection of what I'm doing: dancing with my shadow. A big one.

Why? Because I decided pretty recently that it was time to stop denying the shadow side in general and also time to specifically revisit and admit to the horrific traumas I endured as a teenager. My coping mechanism, especially  the first year or two after the car accident, was denial. I was ok. I'd survived. It was ok. I was alive. But I wasn't ok, and it wasn't ok. And that truth, those truths, must be expressed. And there's a part of me that reads what I just wrote and says that's bullshit, that it was ok and I was ok. And that conflict is part of why this needs to be explored.

There's so much more to say about this, so much more to share. And yet, as often is the case, I didn't really expect to go there in this post. I even contemplate not posting this, since it's quite incomplete. I consider re-writing it completely, or having a post just about the concept of "Being OK" or just about "Shadow Dancing" or about all the old stuff that's getting stirred up for me now and why (such as re-reading "Waking the Tiger" and various bodywork experiences over the past month and preparing to start EMDR). And why now after all these years?

But considering the several "drafts" I've started and not posted over the past 4 months, I think I've just gotta hit that "publish" button and accept the perfect imperfection of this post and where I'm at. I've had writer's block for too long. This is a start in the right direction.

To be continued....



© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

My First Bikini

A few days ago I bought my very first bikini. Now, if you know that for the past few years i sometimes daydream about a clothing optional world, or at least spending more time at nudist camps (see "Did I forget to wear pants again"-- can't link to it when posting from iPhone...) then this may come as a surprise. But the bigger surprise is what I discovered this morning: the magic of the bikini.

Yesterday morning I went out to the beach just before sunrise, in my new swim wear for the very first time-- oh, first I better describe it even though I'll probably post a picture too.

I found it in a small shop down the road from Present Moment. I'd been told not to bother looking in town, that the selection was overpriced. Apparently whoever said that had not been to this shop. I paid 180 pesos, which is $14, for this bikini that's mostly bright red with a light blue border and the union jack (u.k. Flag) on the left breast! And across my sacrum runs the word ENGLAND in big white letters. Ha! I loved it! I prayed it would fit, and it did. It reminded me of advice a friend once gave me about international travel: put a Canadian flag patch on your bag; pretend you're not from the u.s. I never followed that advice, and this says "England," not Canada, but still it reminded me of that and made me smile.

So, back to the beach.... and the magic....

After a little jog that kept getting interrupted by taking pictures of sunrise and pelicans, and readjusting my top so that I wouldn't keep popping out of it, I braved the ocean. And I use the word "braved" not only because I'm not super comfortable in the ocean and have a mixture of rational and irrational fears, but because I felt brave. More courageous. More comfortable. More at ease. With more skin in contact with the water, I just felt more at home. It was like heaven. It was like returning home.

I found myself wondering if wearing one pieces or tankinis had been cutting me off from having more natural instincts in, and affinity for, the ocean. That extra, and synthetic, fabric over my belly blocking the Qi? Perhaps. And/or maybe I was influenced by something Osho said.

Over the past week I've listened to over a dozen hours of his recordings on "Tantra: The Supreme Understanding." They came pre-loaded on my Supreme Science Qigong instructor iPod, and I hadn't listened to them in entirety yet. But now I have, while swinging in a hammock each night. And one thing Osho said was that the body is mostly seawater, and when we're in the womb we are sea creatures.

That really resonated with me. And I couldn't wait to get back in the water after hearing that. So perhaps it was a combination of more bare skin and this reminder that I started out as a creature of the sea and still contain an ocean within me.

And as I remembered back to my time with the dolphins and the bioaquatic therapy in August, my body loosened up and relaxed even more. And as i watched the pelicans float right over some waves, totally undisturbed, i learned from them. And instead of being a bit startled or jolted by the waves or retreating towards the shore as per usual, I started swimming towards the waves, wanting more. Good thing too since today I have a surfing lesson! Something I thought I'd never do. In fact, a few days before scheduling it I very clearly stated to myself that being out in the ocean attached to a board with waves crashing down around me was, was, beyond words, but something dreadful! A bunch of the guests at Present Moment were raving about their surfing lessons. But it was something I certainly didn't need to experience. Something I'd never do.

And then, as has been known to happen sometimes when I make such strong statements of preference regarding something I don't like or don't want, something shifts. Not always, but sometimes. Like this time. And like with "being a runner." I soften. I open to the possibility. I try it on. I face my fears. I stop resisting. I say yes.

 

© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.