Open your heart

Dave X Robb undressing, Salt Point THIS WEEK MARKS THE END of my Writing from the Chakras class, and I’m going to miss it. I’ll especially miss the community of talented and giving fellow writers who have shared so generously the gifts of their own writing and the insightful feedback and encouragement they’ve given to me. And, tough as it’s been at times, both in terms of the time crunch of deadlines and the emotions stirred up by going deep, I will miss the structure that has held me these last 8 weeks.

I’ve not been able to keep up with posting on here weekly during the class, but I’ll still write a post sharing some of what I learned in each week. Today’s is about the Heart Chakra. If you know me at all, you can guess this was a big one.

One of my favorite parts of this class has been the meditations that go along with each chakra, where we are guided through visualizations and encouraged to reach deep within—in this case, to the heart—and then immediately after to freewrite, putting to the page whatever comes up, no stopping to think, to edit, to censor, to fix; just writing freely. It’s like writing in a trance.

As with the poetry I was writing a couple months back, I don’t know quite how these read to anyone who hasn’t gone through the same process with me; but I do know this kind of writing feels very freeing and will inform my writing in all its forms. Here you go, friends:

Madonna: Open Your HeartA Heart Chakra messy post-meditation freewrite

I feel such calm and knowing, here in this pure land of green and water. I love that I have come here alone, walked slowly on my own toward this destination of complete, blissful, tranquil abiding. I needed no map, no guide, simply trusting the echoes of my lifetime of accumulated wisdom and guidance.

I have journeyed in the bright white, warm sun, the sky and sea to my left both the same shade of bright blue, the faintest of breeze, not a soul in sight. I shed my burdens, my physical burdens, my cell phone, my wallet, my watch, my money, my keys, my belt, my shoelaces, my hat, my sunglasses, my shirt, my shoes and socks, my jeans, my briefs, my sunscreen, my moisturizer, my deodorant, my toothbrush, my dental floss, my soap and shampoo, my body scrub, my pumice stone, my nail clippers, my razor, my hair, my beard, my skin; I shed it all, leaving behind me a trail of my self.

And I have never felt so free.

Where am I going? Why? Am I escaping something, a leaving-behind; or is this a going-to, an arrival?

It is an arrival. Arrivals on the lower level, bypassing the baggage claim, I walk from the smoky, hazy, air-polluted interior through the automatic doors to the outdoors and find myself suddenly in a green forest, naked, then on a wide-open expanse of clifftop, the ocean over there, the waves crashing far below; I can barely hear them over the sound of my heart. The path takes me down gradually to sea level, to a sandy spot on the shore, and I collapse onto my knees, my hands and knees, lowering my face, then my whole body, to the warm sand. I fall asleep, the sun on my back equally warm, maybe a little warmer. It feels so nice.

I lie still and feel my heart pumping, the silverware-falling-from-the-sky-far-far-away sound in my ears—I’ve been told that’s the sound of the blood pulsing through—I sleep and I dream of this place, the same place, my dream of the dream of the land I come to inhabit when my mind takes a break from tormenting me and my heart opens up to the hope and the joy of the knowing I am safe and alone. I am happy. I have no fear, no ties, no possessions, no worries, only this joy and freedom and a heart bursting with love, so full it hurts me sometimes. It craves an outlet.

Salt PointI turn over, the sand stuck to me, the sunlight shining bright orange through my eyelids, burning, killing me softly, and I smile at the thought of you, my love, the blood still pumping, gathering and regrouping without my knowledge, without my having to do anything, without using hands, my cock stirring and growing, grains of sand falling off, whole cities, whole worlds erected in a grain of sand, I stretch and twist my body, I arch my back, I dig in my heels, molding a shape in the earth opposite that of my body, a container custom-made, a mold I fit in, I need nothing more than this, ever. I will never eat again. I will breathe, I will sweat, I might laugh or cry if I feel like it, and my heart will keep beating. I will bake tan, I will sleep, I will wake. I will shiver when night falls, wishing for a cover, a blanket or a warm body, your warm body beside me.

I turn back onto my stomach, I grind a new shape, I shiver, still alone, I awake in my bed not knowing the time or day or where the fuck I am, the memory fading as I piece things together, but still not knowing if I am alive or dead or sleeping.

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Fire escape

Ohio Players: FireI’VE PUT OFF POSTING about the Jewel Chakra, that fiery source of power at the gut, I realize. I could chalk it up to being busy and not having the time, but I think it’s also true that I don’t feel so secure in this place, the power center, and I feel similarly insecure in my writing about it. Power can be a scary thing. I feel like I have power, but that I don’t trust myself to exercise it—something to work on.  

Here’s what I think: If I were totally free, I would be so powerful and unafraid, there is no telling what I might do. I feel the strong, solid center, guarded deep in my gut, seemingly fresh and new since it has so rarely been used, a precious jewel, old and unpolished from having observed for so long, sidelined soaking in knowledge and experience all these years, a decades-long gestation, and just now beginning to emerge, late, better late than never.

I see an advantage to having waited this long, my wisdom ripened, ready to eat, juicy and sweet, dripping, running through my fingers, over my hands, down my arms as I offer up this fruit, wanting to share it before it spoils, overripe. I am eager but without panic. Now is the time to let this power shine. Now I have the tools to wield it skillfully, to control my anger and judgment, my jealousy and pride, my impatience, my irritation. Now I find power in pure love and patience, compassion, kindness, calm, and appropriate gravity.

My thoughts and impulses take shape in there, fetus-like, growing, developing into a coherent being, capable of breath and life on its own once it pushes its way out into the world. I tread carefully, still, but my preparation bestows the confidence to lie exposed and vulnerable, knowing I am in good hands, the hands of a midwife, incongruously my own hands holding me steady, nurturing, keeping me from falling or freezing or from punching someone in the face.

The Boxer: Simpn & GarfunkelI have never been a violent type, never a fistfight in my life. The closest I ever came was childhood fights with my tough-nut sister, a year younger than me, pulling hair, biting arms, crying a lot. I learned the mechanics of it as an adult in boxing class at the Y, skills I had never known, was never taught, skills still never used in real life, but nice to have under my belt for the confidence they give should it come to that, bashing back, the powerful snap of a hard punch.

A friend talked about the sex she had the other night and how she couldn’t get into acting out the hardcore discipline, slapping the other girl hard across the face—she could do it, she said, but it didn’t feel right. And I said I couldn’t do it. I have tried. I can’t smack someone, playing, not hard enough for it to seem real, so not in the way they want—not like I mean it, because I don’t. Rape fantasies, extreme power plays, pain, humiliation, whips and slaves, dogs and horses and pigs, cops and robbers, a gun to the head, a sharp knife edge, a boot to the neck, none of it holds appeal. Life is hard enough without that shit.

All these fantasies, ways to escape from reality! Give me mindful presence. Give me eyes open and paying attention. Give me reality. (This is why I don’t drink, in case anyone was wondering.)

But here’s a power I can get behind: the power to ask for what I want, to tell him what I want to do, to free myself to express what I keep locked down, to say “I love you” in the throes of it all and not care what happens next.

Meditating on the Jewel Chakra Jewel: Pieces of You

I feel warmth swirling through my body, enveloping me like a blanket, a hug, a furnace. I feel some melting happening, drops sizzling on the hot stones, and am surprised to know I am still frozen in places I would have guessed had long ago thawed. I catch a glimpse of the power I harbor and know if I were totally free and in my power, I would be happier, free from fear, fear of the fire that warms me but that also threatens to burn.

I fear the hot energy of anger, of the fight, preferring the coolness and calm of the lake deep in my lower body, the even-numbered chakras comfortable resting places, landings on the Kundalini stairway; the odd ones seeming, well, odd, unfamiliar, intimidating, uncomfortable. The peacemaker in me doubts the fire, not to be played with; the controller in me wants to keep it contained, clear-cutting a break, locating the nearest exit in the event of emergency, the fire escape.

What might I unleash if I give in to it? I go there in my mind sometimes, to a place where I assert my wants, my needs, without second-guessing. I imagine myself acting without fear, and I see the fruits of my freedom. I jump off the cliff and know my wings will open to catch me, the parachute unfurling as I glide free and safe and exhilarated.

I go a step further and actually do it once in a great while, boldly asking for what I want, approaching the stranger, speaking my mind. It always works out. I always feel better afterward, so why don’t I do it all the time? What holds me back? I know enough at this point to be able to trust that I won’t do something stupid.

Led Zeppelin: PresenceMistakes are one thing; the disasters I imagine, the irreversible, irreparable harm I must unconsciously imagine (otherwise why hold back?)—these are fantasies, mind-creations never to see the light of day. Action is karma; it ripens upon me no matter what. I might as well have some agency around it all, might as well take part in this life, take the wheel and guide it, with or without the map, getting lost, hell, flipping and rolling the vehicle. This is life.

New Year’s meditation

Dave X Robb and MonaIT’S NOT LIKE ME, I’m sure my friends would say, to be welcoming the new year quietly at home, just me and the cats. (First he skips the Folsom Fair! And now this!!) But it’s been a full day and, as I just got through saying, tomorrow’s another one. Unlike me, I guess, because I’m usually so interested in marking these milestones. But for some reason, I’m content to let this one just wash over me.

Similarly, I’m taking a casual approach to resolutions this year. I just came from a wonderful talk at the Buddhist center I go to, where we were encouraged to go easy on ourselves. So often, the best-intentioned resolutions can leave us feeling bad, like there’s something wrong with us that needs changing.

That isn’t to say we should just give up trying, learning, improving. But it would be nice to approach it all from the perspective that we are pretty amazing to begin with. We all have pure goodness within us. Whatever you do, don’t take the view that you can’t be happy until you’ve changed. Be happy now. And change little things if you want to. Or don’t. I like you just fine.

I’m not content to stay the same. I’d like to make some small changes in my life in the new year. But I’ve always felt resolutions should be about making the changes you’d enjoy working toward, not about depriving or flagellating yourself (unless you’re into that kind of thing). I’m going to work in the yard more, I want to do more yoga, and I want to get back to swimming.

Mona and EmmaIt occurs to me those are all forms of meditation for me. The other day, I was at home ironing shirts—one of my favorite ways to meditate—and listening to Xmas music, and I was overcome with a sense of extreme calm and peace and gratitude. Hard to explain, but it felt pretty special. (When I posted about it on Facebook, nobody said anything. I guess you had to be there.)

Maybe my resolution should be to learn to recognize and cultivate meditation in all of its forms. Maybe that’s why I’m at home writing this at midnight. Happy New Year!