The wound

I’ve been quiet for a while here, without writing anything. It’s been time to go inside awhile, and lick my wounds. Seems like no matter how far I go, from time to time this organic system called myself requires me to return to the most vulnerable places I have, and hang out there for a while. To go through the fear, feel the pain, and spend some time sitting in the dark. To allow any big ideas about myself that might have accumulated to fall away and return to humility. To do a little healing and self-care, Then as I return to the world of sunlight and pleasure, I always find that – lo and behold! – I have some precious gems in my pocket, a parting gift from the underworld. More energy, or a deeper compassion, a steadier hand, a stronger voice, or some insight that serves my path and others.
Sometimes the fall into the underworld happens on the dancefloor. That’s one of the best places to go for a good old plunge into the dark, and definitely my favourite. That rabbit hole opens up right in front of you and you know in an instant that there’s something painful down there, but courage runs strong and the blood is hot with the trance of the dance, and you know you’re doing down. You open your mouth and body wide to let it all in, let it all out, and you jump. The feelings come wildly, there’s no censoring available any more even if you wanted to as you surrender to the fall, and the descent with your demons becomes strangely ecstatic. Pain is not painful when there’s no resistance, and as the screams come and the body writhes there’s a very small place inside you that’s completely still, and you just know this is a profoundly healthy moment so you don’t miss a beat. Feet pounding, sweat flying, whole body releasing, this is healing at its most immediate and empowered, this is art utterly inspired and real, this is you.
PersephoneSomewhere down in my bones I knew all along how to do this, but numbed through years of survival in the emotional desert of middle England, I forgot that I knew. One beat of Gabrielle’s drum, passed through recording studio, from tape to tape, finally into my ears in a midnight room in Norfolk in ’88, I heard the call, and started to remember.
None of us ever really forgot what our distant ancestors knew, that the body has its own way of dealing with the wounds of the psyche. We just need to remember that we know. And then when the call comes to go down, we dare, holding onto one bar of light as we journey into the not-altogether-safe realm of our depths, one bar of light called Creativity.
But when the fall happens big time, and it’s not over when the music stops, or it happened in the night anyway, not when you were on a workshop, then you are going to need a little more self-reliance. Listen carefully to yourself for what you need to do. Dance. Sing. Write. Draw. Walk in the woods. Swim in the ocean. Visit your parents and give or ask for forgiveness. Plant some roses. Take a whole day to rest in bed. All of it with the intent to turn your suffering into art and art into healing. Sometimes you may realise you need help. Then ask for it. And if you don’t know where to find it, ask the ocean, the woods, your body, a friend, to help you find some help. You’re not the only one. We all do this. No-one is immune from their own wounding. And ultimately, that vulnerability is the source of your deepest power.
Thank you Gabrielle.

mountain-lion

I’ve been quiet for a while here, without writing anything. It’s been time to go inside awhile, and lick my wounds. Seems like no matter how far I go, from time to time this organic system called myself requires me to return to the most vulnerable places I have, and hang out there for a while. To go through the fear, feel the pain, and spend some time sitting in the dark. To allow any big ideas about myself that might have accumulated to fall away and return to humility. To do a little healing and self-care, Then as I return to the world of sunlight and pleasure, I always find that – lo and behold! – I have some precious gems in my pocket, a parting gift from the underworld. More energy, or a deeper compassion, a steadier hand, a stronger voice, or some insight that serves my path and others.
Sometimes the fall into the underworld happens on the dancefloor. That’s one of the best places to go for a good old plunge into the dark, and definitely my favourite. That rabbit hole opens up right in front of you and you know in an instant that there’s something painful down there, but courage runs strong and the blood is hot with the trance of the dance, and you know you’re doing down. You open your mouth and body wide to let it all in, let it all out, and you jump. The feelings come wildly, there’s no censoring available any more even if you wanted to as you surrender to the fall, and the descent with your demons becomes strangely ecstatic. Pain is not painful when there’s no resistance, and as the screams come and the body writhes there’s a very small place inside you that’s completely still, and you just know this is a profoundly healthy moment so you don’t miss a beat. Feet pounding, sweat flying, whole body releasing, this is healing at its most immediate and empowered, this is art utterly inspired and real, this is you.
PersephoneSomewhere down in my bones I knew all along how to do this, but numbed through years of survival in the emotional desert of middle England, I forgot that I knew. One beat of Gabrielle’s drum, passed through recording studio, from tape to tape, finally into my ears in a midnight room in Norfolk in ’88, I heard the call, and started to remember.
None of us ever really forgot what our distant ancestors knew, that the body has its own way of dealing with the wounds of the psyche. We just need to remember that we know. And then when the call comes to go down, we dare, holding onto one bar of light as we journey into the not-altogether-safe realm of our depths, one bar of light called Creativity.
But when the fall happens big time, and it’s not over when the music stops, or it happened in the night anyway, not when you were on a workshop, then you are going to need a little more self-reliance. Listen carefully to yourself for what you need to do. Dance. Sing. Write. Draw. Walk in the woods. Swim in the ocean. Visit your parents and give or ask for forgiveness. Plant some roses. Take a whole day to rest in bed. All of it with the intent to turn your suffering into art and art into healing. Sometimes you may realise you need help. Then ask for it. And if you don’t know where to find it, ask the ocean, the woods, your body, a friend, to help you find some help. You’re not the only one. We all do this. No-one is immune from their own wounding. And ultimately, that vulnerability is the source of your deepest power.
Thank you Gabrielle.

mountain-lion