When grief appears it permeates every layer.
The pain is conscious and unconscious. It is a cloud, a fog at a minimum always in the background, but it also takes over and can be the dominant thought. It impacts how you awake and view the world on any given day, despite the day not having yet unfolded.
Grief creeps down our spines, makes a home in our bellies, connects wires to our brains where the machine replays the most terrifying moments of pain, anguish, sadness.
Over and over on a loop so we don't forget.
Grief winds, spirals, clenches and creeps.
It drips into every cell, making its way into the past and future.
Now bodywork... that's here, now.
Here in between these four walls, you're safe.
You, me, this pain.
Just the three of us ready for a different kind of conversation.
I reach out my hand to find the place where it hurts.
You breathe in, tentatively at first, unsure but ready to listen.
The pressure feels pleasant.
A welcome reprieve.
You breathe deeply, discovering new places within yourself.
Through my offered touch you embark on a sensory journey.
The trauma and the pain show up as guides.
And we get to know them.
They don’t want to hurt you.
They say, “I have something to show you.”
We wander over and explore new sensations.
And it gets easier.
Then you say, “My body is my friend.”
based on original post here
I write about things that I myself need to be mindful of. ways in which I would like to improve. It is not from the perspective of preaching - but rather writing helps me work out what I myself need to do - we are all in this together.