A glimmer occurs about my trigger.
I needed more transition time before I return to my “normal” schedule—the rigorous life schedule I revolve around Arden’s school schedule.
I needed more fallow time & I wasn’t going to give myself that. Very subtly, as the days collected last week & I landed on Friday & then Saturday & then Sunday day & then Sunday evening: I was (mentally) gritting my teeth, girding my loins—bracing myself—for my return to “normal”.
I sat my inner girl down. Told her, “I know you don’t feel like it, I know you aren’t ready, but you gotta suck it up, okay? That’s just how it is.”
Very very subtly, my inner girl swallowed. Hung her head. & nodded.
But in a genius hero move, my body went triggered & held me suspended, rendered me incapable of going “normal”.
I think all our bodies do this: respond in a very clear, very reasonable, very genius way to violation of their sovereignty.
We are conditioned, often violently, out of trusting our bodies. Out of trusting our soft animal knowingness. This knowingness is a threat to capitalism, patriarchy, all the buzz words.
& so, we are conditioned to treat our triggered bodies, & triggers themselves, pathologically, even contemptuously, instead of with great honor. We are rewarded for our bodily betrayals.
Being with the body during a trigger isn’t easy. (See previous posts.)
But a very still light, very still & quiet & undomesticated & ancient, does emerge, vulnerable & superbly strong & otherworldly as a newborn. It directs.
This direction can feel frightening because it is of the moment. There is no knowing ahead. The moment is water rising to my chest. Shoulders. Chin. Nose—
—noooo, not my nose! How will I breathe?
The water climbs. I struggle. & then I realize:
I can breathe under this water.
Money problems blossom in the manner of rosebuds and arias as the water rises to my forehead. Crown of my head. The ceiling. The sky.
Softest water ever. Magical.
Today, I read a book. Some tea I’d ordered arrived. I had just enough milk to drink with it. I napped.
I don’t know what happens next. It’s frightening. & soft. & magical.
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