This feels like a time when ancient wounds are coming to the surface. I don’t know if it’s a Mars retrograde thing or if stuff I’ve been working through are coming to a head, but a big change is happening. My body is telling me that the old hurts are going to express themselves by my body getting vulnerable and sick.
Which is ok. Those neural pathways don’t like change.
Healing–at least the healing of psychological wounds–is seen in a pretty linear way. It’s mostly seen to happen in the head, in a landscape of words, or the suppression of words. Talking about the wound, or finding new words to talk about the wound, or not thinking about the wound at all. We see a counsellor who encourages us to talk, or we take a medicine that helps us not to think at all. There is a focus on explaining, understanding, capturing and controlling the language around the wound.
I kinda feel like the body has seasons. There’s a season to talk and figure stuff out, a season for things to sleep and mature, and a season to wake up and reap the seeds sown. I must be aligned to the northern hemisphere, I think, because I feel like spring is in me right now. It hurts a bit, the labouring, the birthing, but what grows is worth it.
Last weekend I went demon dancing with my friend Lucy. She lives a lot in her head, too. 5Rhythms is a dance class which is somewhere between therapy and exorcism. It taps into the tribal, intuitive wilderness within. Their recommendation is: “to still the mind, move the body”. You dance to unblock, to connect. Here we were, two brains on legs, amongst leaping, grunting, whirling dervish animals. We couldn’t help but leap and grunt a little, too. I didn’t let go, completely. But I got to pretend a bit, and even that felt good.
Like most humans, I have wounds that run deep. I have a longstanding and bloody mythology about myself and my place in the world, which causes more suffering than happiness (I’m working on it). Well and good to rewrite it in my head, but I want more than that. I want to feel the change in my muscles and my breath. I want every cell in my body to experience the release of those stories, of them catching the wind. I want to live like I am my body, not my thoughts.
Does it matter if you don’t identify what causes suffering? Does it matter if you can’t explain the sadness? Do we have to understand to heal? Can we purge things and move through them without putting them into words?
All that I know is that I’m tired of talking. Talking only gets you so far.