I am learning how to become my own healer. I am learning to listen to my body. I have a strong need for analytical understanding and confirmation of what my body is sensing and trying to communicate.
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In two days this week I tried six different healing modalities for my knee. Difficult to discern which input had which impact. I was full of energy at 10:30 pm when usually I’m sore and can barely move or keep my eyes open.
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Walking slowly like a robot. That’s how I am. A friend who is not on Facebook contacted me today because she hadn’t seen an update on my blog for a month. I was amazed that anyone noticed. I’ll start with a health update. It’s been 11 weeks since I tore my right meniscus. I decided about 10 weeks ago to not have surgery. I will post some articles below which support my decision. I’ve been actively doing physical therapy, and pursuing alternatives. My quads just starting working about a week ago.
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I had vivid dreams this morning that felt real and shook me awake. I felt myself being submerged underwater and then forcefully pulled. At first it was scary, and then it felt good. I realized that the person pulling me was a physical therapist and was yanking me toward healing.
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In November of 2011 I attended my first 10-day silent meditation retreat at Spirit Rock. Waiting around in the dining hall for the others to check in, having a few last moments of random conversation. Advice was flowing from other more experienced meditators, things like, “you won’t make it to every session,” and “remember, there’s no meditation police.”
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Feeling stuck in many ways. Once upon a recent time I filled a small vessel with sacred tears, creating a medicinal concoction to be applied when stuck.
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Dear San Francisco,
I realize I need to put some work into our struggling relationship. Darling gem by the Bay, you know I love you, but I’m having a hard time with the regular screaming sounds of the streets…
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Power’s out in the neighborhood. My options to amuse myself are to read, write or meditate. I read about three pages and then decide to write instead. That’s how much I don’t like reading. If it’s not excellently written, I can’t stay focused…more about that another time.
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Writing to write. Write write write. Type type type. Epiphanies arrive and float by. Pens and keyboards seem far away. Trying to move through time and heal along the way. Trying not to let the situation get me too depressed. Feeling myself moving back to that place where I was before I started dancing. Fear. Fear of getting hurt. Fear that my body won’t support me. Fear that I will fall down. Fear that some part of me will break.
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When I experience something powerful and potent, I want to talk about it. I want to put light on it. I want others to share in the discovery. I had a powerful experience a few months ago which connected me to a sense of trust and belief in nature. That’s all I can say about it now. A miracle shared is a miracle halved. At least that’s what I heard.
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