What a curious thing happened to me today. I had a session of transformational breath work, facilitated by Keith Harmon Snow (and if you are interested you should contact him and try this).
I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect and felt nervous. An altered state of consciousness? Is that what I sought? Was it really going to have a healing effect? What if I ended up feeling out of control and falling apart? I was a bit terrified, really, of what might rise up out of my psyche.
I needn’t have worried, although the experience was indeed powerful and caused me to let go of my tenuous grip on emotional control. What happened to me, lying there on a mat, my eyes closed, listening to music, breathing deeply and fast?
I felt a strange buzzing sensation in my body, almost an electrified feeling. I was cold, and hot, and cold. And then the visions started, with a far-off visitor taking up residence in my head and leading me (internally) to a long conversation; an argument; a grappling, hitting, wrestling fight; love-making on the edge of a cliff; enormous waves of grief; visions of death; a picket-pin impaled through my heart; and finally a place of relative peace.
I cried. “Cried” isn’t even the word. I sobbed, hard. What could convey the depth of that howling grief? It tore out of me like a wounded animal.
What can I hold onto from my impressionistic memory of earlier today? It feels like trying to remember a dream. The cliff edge- it comes up again and again lately. Clearly I am supposed to be on that edge. There is something I’m meant to see from that vantage point. The argument that took place was largely about whether the visitor in my head was invited or not and about many previous instances of feeling invited or rejected and trying to make sense of that. There was a strong need for a fight, a physical expression of frustration. The grief that overwhelmed me was centered at first on the projected death of a few people and then extended suddenly to the entire world; I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it, but realized I was chosen to bear it and was required to bear it. Even while still in that altered state I can remember thinking, “I will have to write this all down.” I began writing in my head. I could hear myself reading aloud my own words to myself. It was part of the vision, the transcription process.
My body is exhausted tonight. I think I may actually sleep. I haven’t conveyed what I wanted to convey in writing this. It will have to be a beginning.