Today I lay on a boulder outside my house, letting the sun and vulnerability wash over me.
My foot still hurts. But taking care of it is hard for me.
It was five years ago that I had a severe panic attack, large enough to send me to the hospital. The difference between this attack and others I have had was that this time I was completely alone.
Without a lifeline to keep me grounded and present in this world, I began to spiral, slipping away into a cold, dark death far different than the loving reunion my soul knows death to be.
I knew. Knew. That without help I would disappear into nothingness. Forever.
Because of this experience I have become at odds with my instincts–because my instincts are skewed.
So I push and I fight and I prove. Prove that I am stronger than my mind, that I am stronger than my body, and that I’m not crazy. I fight so hard that sometimes my healthy instincts get ignored.
It’s said that we create what we fear and in trying to prove I’m not crazy, I’ve engaged in the crazy act of hurting my foot again and again each day instead of allowing it to heal.
So today I lay on a boulder outside my house, letting the sun and vulnerability wash over me. I felt crazy. Crazy for lying on a rock at midday where others could see me. But I didn’t run from it. I listened to the wind-chimes, the birds, and the bees. And most importantly, I listened to my body. I nurtured my foot and let it rest.
“I’m faced with the paradox that I as a human with a human emotional heart, want to take away your suffering, and at the same moment there’s another part of me that understands that suffering is grace. Suffering is the sandpaper from the spiritual point of view that is awakening people. And once you’ve started to spiritually awaken, you reperceive your own suffering and start to work with it as a vehicle for awakening.” ~~Ram Dass
Panic and anxiety have truly been a vehicle for my spiritual awakening. Through these I have come to know God as He has succored and strengthened me. But though–in all of this–I have found joy in my Father’s grace, I have failed to offer that same grace to myself.
So today I lay on a boulder outside my house and offered myself grace as I listened to the wind-chimes, the birds, and the bees while nurturing my wound.
Until with the buzzing of the bees, a little voice in the back of my head said, “You’re home alone. If you get stung by a bee you could die.” (panic doesn’t care that I’m not allergic to bees) So I jumped up and, ignoring my foot, began tidying up the porch.
Seems I’m not fully awake yet.
But oh how I’m enjoying the journey as I work to get there.