Yesterday I wrote about being real. In that blog post, I mentioned the class I'm taking and what I wrote in it and how hesitant I was to read it out loud. Well, here is the first piece I wrote now for the world to read. Me being real. Yeehaw!
Right now I am feeling nauseated with pain. My head feels in a vise. The muscles running down my neck are cords of steel, gripping my trachea, blocking the wind from running smooth and free through my throat into my body, allowing for the burst of fresh air I need to feel well in my body. My stomach and intestines are craving something, what, I dont know, perhaps for me to stop the antibiotic that took away my rash - dried it right up and left me with scaly skin under my arms and between my legs.
My arms think to tremble from the effort of concentrating to write through the pressure in my temples, under my eyes, in my sinus cavities.
I want someone to grab my shoulders with their loving skillful hands and squeeze until the pain knows it has met its master and must leave once and for all. It has been vanquished and I will return to my life.
I do not enjoy low grade pain moving occasionally into high grade debilitation each and every day. The one or two days the last two months I haven't been in pain have made me feel like a fawn loping through the woods unafraid, unencumbered and free to do whatever moves through me, energized and joyful.
I have so much to do. I hate this pain.
What does it want to tell me? What do you want to tell me, Pain?
SLOW DOWN. You're pushing too hard. I am here to slow you down, to make you chill out, to stop you in your tracks if you refuse to do it without me. I will accompnay you until you no longer need me - I am here to teach you to be gentle and loving and precious to yourself. I am your teacher and your guide. If you medicate me away, I will return again with a vengeance. My intent is not cruelty. It is gentleness. My intent is to offer you great compassion and love and tenderness. Can you feel me cradling your head now? You who are here to perform and perfect and create and do more? I am holding you in my hands, a bit firmly perhaps, but I want you to know I'm here. Holding you. Loving you. You need the firmness and the clarity of pain to make you listen.
No, actually, I don't.
That is all bullshit. What I need, actually, is gentleness and compassion, a soft bed, a loving massage, tender listening. Not cruel pain. That is a lie. So back off, and let me be.