I remember a
concept we learned in psychology called ‘functional fixedness’. The function of
an object can vary but we get fixated on the one that is commonly denoted. For
example, a book can be used for multiple functions other than its assigned
function of reading material, it could be a paper-weight, a hand-fan, a fly
swatter, a door jammer, a floor mat, a weapon, etc etc. In fact there was a TV
show called “whose line is it anyway” that featured a number of improvisers,
who did funny things on the spur of the moment and the show had one section on
imagining different uses for common objects. And one of them put an umbrella to
some very uncommon uses like a boat, a dress, a weapon, a pogo stick, a
signaling device, an oar, an ear-piece, a tail, a measuring instrument, a hat,
a walking stick, a bat, a hockey stick and I don’t know what else.
It is such
fun to free associate that I might get carried away and lose sight of the goal
of the writing completely, but if the goal is to write freely then I am on
track. Yet I am writing an autobiography of sorts so let me inform you that the
aforementioned Tv show was my favorite when I had not had any experience in
theater. After my theater experience I appreciated their spontaneity even more,
though I could imagine myself doing some of what they did. If you have seen the
show you will know what I am talking about. Of the generally four actors I
liked the tall lanky one the best. Unfortunately, the women on the show were
rarely impressive. Or I tend to prefer women; no that is not my sexual
preference, but as a feminist I tend to give women’s issues a fair bit of
importance. And feminism is not all men are bastards and all women are angels,
as one friend has posted on Facebook.
Sitting out
in the back yard enjoying the breeze, watching the pretty flowers in bloom,
feeling Spring in the air, hanging out with Kalicrow, the cat and Keno, the dog….this
is the life. A long session of meditation in the morning, where I felt the base
of my spine get on board. My posture right now is not the best, so correcting
that, it is a little harder to write with the laptop sitting on the lap while I
sit in shahajasana or ardhapadmasana. Distant traffic
noises fall on the ears as do the lovely tones of the bamboo wind chimes.
There
is a gentle quiver in my spine, I notice that often when I go deep in
meditation, a clearing and cleansing that happens that reminds me of the “waking
the tiger, healing the trauma” book by Paul Levine. Releasing old patterns and allowing
the present to come alive and thrive. 'I am healed for Thou art within me'.
I shared
with my supervisor this afternoon about the letter I have written to my father, recently on
his eighty-third birthday. Did you as kids play the game of “I sent a letter to my father and on the way I
dropped it and someone came and picked it up and put it in his pocket.” All the
kids are sitting around in a circle and the den is going around with a handkerchief
in his hand behind them while everyone sings the ditty and the den drops it as unobtrusively
as possible behind someone. If the one who has the handkerchief behind her
discovers the hanky she chases the den with the hanky waving and gives it back
to him if she catches him before he completes the circle and sits in the place
that she vacated. If she does not discover the hanky and the den completes the
circle empty handed, she still has to be the den. So while you are sitting in
the circle singing, you are also keeping a watch on the den to see If he drops
the hanky behind anyone. If he does that behind someone else you can relax and
watch the fun unfold. Since you are not allowed to turn back and look you try
to ascertain with groping hands if the hanky is behind you after he passes you
by. Hours of fun can be had in this way. We certainly did.
So anyhow
this letter that I wrote to my father and sent it off by post without dropping
it, was essentially a call to him to take responsibility for what he did when I
was a kid. So far I have been excuses for him in a sense, never ever saying that
it was okay what he did, but that he must have been under the influence of his
elder brother, that he was coerced or compelled, that he was himself treated in
the same way, whatever any or all of which might be true but he still needs to
take responsibility for what he did to me, before we can have a genuine relationship.
Those are my terms for relating to him.
As I write
this I notice that my solar plexus is dense and charged. It is still a heavy
topic and intense but I am much healed and lighter as I can write this without weeping
or getting super angry. How to stay connected to the light, to joy and peace,
while allowing the trauma to heal. By not raking it up, more than necessary,
and what is necessary amount? Forgetting about it feels like denial, which I did
for years and years and if it came up in my consciousness surely it was because
I could finally work through it and heal. Not repress, not suppress, just face
it and be done with it for once and for all.
Let it go,
let it go, let it go.
What do you
hold
In the folds
Around your
waist
dear mother?
What is
stored
in the tiny,
little hump
on you back
dear sister?
What sits
heavy
On your
chest
Dear friend?
What pulls
Your right
shoulder
Higher than
your left
Gentle one?
What drags
Your left foot
Sweet sister?
What maims
you?
What ails
you?
What makes
you dis-eased?
Look into
your
Heart-soul
Feel into
the body-mind
And see the
answer
Divine.
