Ever notice how work stress, health hiccups, or relationship challenges derail your groove of meditation, nutrition, or exercise? What do you need to do to get back to these life tools? Reclaiming them is like finding your way home. Welcome home, y’all!
Knowing I couldn’t hand over responsibility for my healing to others, I scribbled in my journal almost every day and often three times a day after the growth on my ovary was discovered. When my doctor uttered words like “stages” and “rupture” and “containment” and surgery was scheduled, the good student in me sat up straight.
“What is it to live in this body right now?” I wrote in my journal one morning. The answer was as loud and sassy in my head as on the page. “Same as always,” said the snarky spiritual trickster I call “Om” who likes to float around my mind in an enviable full lotus posture, pontificating. She also likes to make things overly simple and sometimes, I hate to admit, she’s right. I knew her words had merit that morning because she reminded me of my simple solution to most things—meditation.
I put down the pen, closed my eyes, and took several deep breaths. I slid into a habitual meditation in which I follow an imaginary light beam that emanates from the top of my head, all the way up into the cosmic plane of Spirit beings. That morning’s plug-in connection to the Universe left me, well, tingle-less. Floating among the starry fields, I felt disconcertingly disconnected—from Spirit, Guides, and my body. With that recognition, I was slammed back into my living room as if kicked out of the warm nest.
The Way Home
“Here we go again,” I said aloud to the peace lily plant. (I love that it is known for its resilience and forgiving nature.) I’d gotten cocky over all my years of meditating and developed a “shortcut” to connect to the world of Spirit. When I learned to meditate for real in 1993, a lot of attention was placed on connecting to the body first with focused awareness. It helps to calm the mind to more easily plug into that Spirit connection. I had gotten really good at settling my body fast and going straight to that connection. But given my present state of anxiety, I clearly needed to honor the basics.
So, I placed my hand right between my breasts on my heart chakra and felt my chest rise and fall with each breath. I re-closed my eyes and listened to the rhythm of my heart. I felt the weight of my body on my bum and my feet on the floor. I brought my attention to my heart, and then asked my harmony center (backside of the heart chakra) to “please open” and felt the familiar warm wave of harmony rise up inside me. My inner harmony colors are soft, like the colors in a rainbow just beginning to form. These soft colors feel warm and gentle, almost like a lover’s caress. Harmony circulated up my spine into my head, then down into my left shoulder and arm, down my left rib cage, waist, hips, and leg. Next, this rainbow light of harmony moved down my right shoulder, arm, chest, waist, hip, and leg. It then radiated into my organs and veins, muscles, and bones. My body absorbed it, inflating me with life in the way my peace lily plant expands when I water it after being away for a week.
I then turned my attention onto my skin. What did I sense there? Could I feel the breeze coming in the window? What did the air feel like entering my nose? I did a body scan to check for tightness in my neck, shoulders, hips, and even my facial muscles. It was like a morning status check. It felt comfortingly familiar, like waking up in my grandparent’s house to the smell of sizzling bacon and perking coffee. I was coming home, into the home of my body.
“Oh, no! I’ve lived outside of my body for at least six months.” It was so clear to me as I sat in the stillness after meditating. Was this a conscious decision, I wondered? No. It was just my way of coping. My body’s waning fertility messages and my glacial-moving love relationship were just too painful or scary to heed.
The ovarian growth gave me a chance to press the pause button and heal in all ways. In the pause, I recognized the need to return to myself, to what works: the groove of meditation and journaling. And to do the scariest thing of all – ask for help.