ritual and reality

Yesterday, the counselor had me do one of those things that I hate doing-- an exercise working with non-verbal expression to create a process where I could see how attached and stuck I was and maybe find some relief, even if only symbolic. 

So, first, he had me write down all the things I am holding on to, all the feelings that seem to not be moving through but seem stuck.

Jealousy, outrage, disbelief, sadness, anger, resentment, regret, remorse, nostalgia, sentimentality, fear, self-loathing, self-righteous indignation, loneliness. 

I wrote these down with a water soluble marker.

Then he had me draw a picture of how it feels to be stuck in these things. This is the kind of work that I resist so heavily. I have this skepticism about it which probably springs from shyness, a lack of any art skills whatsoever, feeling like it will be foolish or I'll be exposed and it will be too revealing. Who knows-- let's just say I always give these kinds of exercises the side eye. 

Anyway, here is a facsimile of the drawing I did-- stick figure me wrapped in what I imagine is a combination of a strong living vine with spikes and rusted barbed wire, in a cage, with arrows flying at me from all directions. 

The counselor said, "I'll be right back, just meditate on that for a minute," and left. He returned a couple minutes later with a clear glass bowl with some water in it. "Now take your list of the feelings you're holding onto and put it in the water." I did. The paper curled up, floated, slowly started to absorb water. The words started blurring up, turning into ink. I couldn't help myself-- I reached in and pushed the paper down, under the water. 

Then he had me put the drawing with the vines, barbed wire, arrows and cage and my miserable, trapped, assailed and suffering self into the water. That image too started to blur and wash away, especially after I pushed it down. 

I must reluctantly admit that this exercise had and continues to have an actual, palpable effect on my attitude toward my tumultuous emotional life, feelings of stuckness and suffering, feelings of not only being trapped but also being exposed to arrows of pain that seem to come from all directions and are unpredictable. There was some actual movement in myself, watching the words melt, watching the ink just be ink, floating in the water, and then watching the image of myself dissolve as well. 

Of course, the counselor noted that I couldn't wait for a longer process of the words and image to dissolve. I felt compelled to push both pieces of paper under the water. Understandable.

In spite of my reluctance to participate in these game-like rituals, now I have an image for the power of some container greater than myself (clear bowl with clear water) dissolving attachments (the ink just drifting into nothing, the paper completely blank when I took it out, the ink not even visible in the water either). The image alone is enough to at least remind me that I can let go if I choose.

One of the terrifying things about this passage has been the overwhelming feeling of having absolutely no agency. No boundaries, no input in decisions, no control at all. Everything in the breakup, for example, has been completely unilateral. My dissertation proposal is completely at the mercy of my committee. My grant proposals are completely at the mercy of grant committees. I had little agency in moving-- either with timing or to where-- I felt compelled to jump at the opportunity for the room I am renting. So one of the big themes is that I am just being swept along, against my will, into the unknown, into situations where I don't know the outcome. 

Flash flood on the river Styx. 

But this little series of images of the abstract nouns for abject feeling states and my abject assailed figure, washing away to absolute nothingness and clarity in a clear bowl of water-- surprisingly helpful. I grudgingly admit. Maybe I'll even be willing to do more of these non-verbal rituals. Maybe.