photo of Blue by Susan Kaeppel

So, here we are facing the Vast Unknowable again. The threat feels more distant than the fires on  my hillside did back in 2017. I’m once again catching myself looking fearfully out a window or across a snowscape wondering, “What comes next?”.

The other evening at writing group, my counsellor buddy was talking about the “orientation” of trauma survivors. How we orient to certain experiences or fears when we are under stress. I am very clear that I am more afraid of the people, than I am of Covid19. The damage in my fire experience came from the social interactions I was weathering, more so than the flames I was seeing.

 I am orienting to abandonment and rejection; being sent out of the safety of the herd. Knowing this, I am at least aware of it. I can understand that this is the filter I am viewing the world through. Aware of this, I can stay more open to it not happening, and when I believe it is happening, to the possibility of it not actually being true. I can stay open enough to watch for confirmative or contradictory information coming in later.  I can find some curiosity in that. What are your fears causing you to orient to?

Mostly, I don’t experience the fear directly. I just know it’s there when I catch myself having ice cream for supper, chasing it down with cheesies and then wanting chocolate. The actual experience of fear comes out to play in the liminal space, lying in bed, resting, before tipping off into blessed sleep. I seem to be linking the fear of the Unknown this event is inspiring, to other actions in my life I am taking or relationships that feel a bit risky right now.

I feel the slippery roll in my stomach and a clench behind my bellybutton, closer to my spine. Something tight is happening in my diaphragm and my shoulders won’t release completely. Where does your fear show up in your body?

“YOU WILL NOT PASS!” I firmly Shout(in my imagination), Gandalf style, with full light suffused Staff Shaking action to the slither and slide, the small writhing of a growing agony. Then, more gently, “I can love you here”, I reassure. Grabbing my mind by the collar, like a ball obsessed border collie, I reorient it to the lovely, warm bed I lie in, the body of my beloved beside me and invite my shoulders to relax and lengthen my out breath. I imagine my Blue pony popping his head up out of the grass, to trot around the end of the fence, jump the irrigation pipe and canter toward me, mane blowing in the breeze of his own making. What image can you bring to mind that causes a smile to bloom upon your face? That can distract you in the moment you feel yourself beginning that slippery slide?

 I blow out my air, lengthen my out breath(again), ask the Divine to fill me with Safety, with Appreciation, with Gentleness and Fortitude. I imagine myself in the lap of the Divine, held, comforted and Safe while I look out over the world  and take in the Beauty as tears run down my cheeks. 

Our imaginations are powerful tools capable of morphing lovely little. frolicking pastel ponies into sod ripping Night Mares, tearing across our life scapes at a hard gallop.  Have ready a breathing practice, a visualization of a beloved moment, for when they crest the hill of your personal horizon. Reach out for the light and be there with yourself, if you can. If not, reach out to a friend and allow them the gift of sharing the love and empathy they hold for you, grateful for the opportunity to be with you when you need them. Let the fear turn you toward love and Bond in this time of uncertainty. It’s how we’re made.