Sunday, August 26, 2007
"Can you describe how you feel?
I mean how you really feel.
Not in your mind, but in your body.
Where in your body do you feel that?"
I am in the middle of my
therapy session. Generally I find
this $100 weekly expenditure
to be a good investment. But this question,
this very challenging question,
is relentless. Week after week, I
am forced to investigate the landscape
of my body, a painfully disquieting practice.
Before answering, I contemplate.
The response always begins this way.
I'm desparate to avoid thinking about this,
and yearn to make a run for it.
She sends an empathy cringe, sensing my discomfort as I shift
in my chair, swinging my crossed leg wildly.
"Where do you feel it in your body?"
hastily scanning through my numb body
dreaming of a sudden sensory awakening.
I don't want her to know that I have
no way of answering her.
Nothing below my head knows how to respond.
She might think I'm dumb.
Eyes closed, my focus shifts inward.
With intensity I slowly draw in a bottomless and bountiful breath.
And then my belly beckons.
Hand drawn to belly, I can now answer.
"Here. I feel it here"
She nods, acknowledging the magnitude of my self-discovery.
"It is deep.
It is a sinking feeling"