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A few moments ago, the weight of a lifetime crossed
over from a client only to land full force across
my chest like a load of mined iron oar. Here I am
sitting at my desk, feeling the weight of that discharge.
The unearthed deposits seem to be filling my own
mineshafts that I emptied over the years as I mined
for gold. I need time to survey my landscape and
to account for the state of my union.
I find myself gazing at the office wall without
any particular focus point. My gaze meanders over
the blank stucco-like open space before me. I follow
the promptings of my body inviting relaxation and
a letting-go of mental control. I sink into an expanding
awareness of my body to the limits of my skin. Coextensive
with ego-consciousness, taught Freud. Something
very old has been activated deep within me. I have
no clue.
The patterns on the wall covering, imitating sandstone
slate, draw me in further and I notice the tightness
in my chest. “Breathe,” it seems to
say, “Just breathe and you will find your
way.” I am surprised to learn that I have
lost my way. But is that not how we lose our way,
without noticing it? Is there something that I missed,
ignored or denied? What has fallen beyond my conscious
reach? What lies buried, never before uncovered
or covered over by my own neglect? I breathe. Why
not? Breath is life. How could I go wrong if I am
to go down into some forgotten or discarded mineshaft?
Minutes pass and I sense a stream of cool air expanding
the space behind my sternum, inviting me to focus
on the room-making going on inside my chest. What
is this work triggered by the fancied imprints of
deluvial debris? Did I never before take the time
to notice? Is it possible that I have ignored this
personal invitation during the countless hours that
I have served as a guide to others in their dedication
to soul-searching and somatic awareness? Have I
so concentrated on others that I have neglected
myself? If so, what a sophisticated avoidance strategy!
I am amazed that this is the first time I am touched,
even disturbed, by these ancient scars facsimiled
on the wall before me. I say ‘disturbed’,
because I have been distracted from my customary
and usual way of being task and responsibility focused
in this world. Now I feel unsettled as if awaiting
an unfamiliar prompting. I wonder if I will recognize
it; and if I do, will I know how to follow it, will
I want to? I am startled by what looks like a cross
section of a deep ocean floor bed. My eyes trace
over the markings. It is as if I were looking at
what lay below the sea for countless eons?
I am jolted out of this inner world by the sound
of the outer office door. It is time to return to
my work; but not empty-handed. I want something
to rinse and sift in my own small stream. I want
to pan for my gold one spec at a time. I do have
a handful of questions for later. What lies deep
within my psyche-soma from ages past and hidden
by the refuse dumped by my own sea going barge?
What archetypal pattern have I not lived on the
surface of my sea as gift from life? How do the
movements of the ocean’s currents ebb and
flow in my body? How do the instinctual thermal
energies of life and death dance at the thinnest
surface of the costal waters’ edge where the
opposites in me meet to embrace in love or in hate?
Today, on my seashore, often more like delta mud,
I prepare the sea floor for the generations to come.
It will all depend on how I dance with love and
hate. The developmental and evolutionary tasks that
I complete and those that I leave uncompleted in
my lifetime will flow to my children in the sea
water of their cells as the blue print of their
destiny: the completion of their human wholeness
as mine has come down to me.
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