Truth. The real truth only comes years later, when finally one day your body feels safe enough to feel it. –Tom Spanbauer
The screaming started a year after I had my thyroid removed, and a few weeks before someone I used to love broke into our family home, causing a great deal of damage.
For three weeks, on and off, at what felt like random intervals, the demon would come to me and sit on my chest in the night, dense with the weight of an anvil, and slowly drain the breath from my lungs. Paralyzed, I would watch it compress my chest, pinning me to the bed, syphoning my lifeforce, eliminating my breath in tiny increments, freezing everywhere in my body but my eyes, which continued to blink and dart and roll, furiously fighting against surrender, refusing to accept death at this creature’s gnarled hands.
But eyes aren’t much of a defense against a demon, and I would feel myself begin to fade into the sheets until somewhere in my throat the scream would begin to form and escape my mouth in a barbaric, primal roar that wouldn’t let up until it exhausted me into a little ball of quivering quiet.
When the screaming began, my family would turn on the lights, and see that nothing was there, so they would shake me, gently, and then more aggressively to wake up, please wake up, while I screamed without words at this thing, at this thing, please, get this thing off of my chest.
At some point I would recognize the person who was actually in the room, but the demon still held me, so that I had no control over the scream, where it started or how it ended. When my senses became alert enough to hear it, it was a sound outside of me, just as the sounds of my family pleading for me to stop were outside of me, instructing me to wake up, trying to convince me I was dreaming.
But it wasn’t a dream. It was an assault.
The voices of my loved ones made familiar sounds outside of me and I could hear them, even as I heard the scream outside of me, alien and intrusive, like an out of sync audio track in a foreign film. The scream was its own entity, and I could hear that sound like the crescendo in an orchestral score, the sound of a woman rising up and fighting for herself.
The throat chakra is the energetic space that pertains to our self-expression, our personal truth, how we define our purpose in life, and our ability to express ourselves to others, with creativity and authenticity. When our fifth chakra energy is blocked, we may find ourselves unable to speak our truth when we need it the most, we may have difficulty expressing our needs and desires, and we may lie to avoid conflict or to keep others from knowing who we are.
Communication is, at base, an act of connection. We may be connecting intellectual ideas, clarifying economic transactions, or sharing intimate feelings, but regardless of tone and content, the action of communicating merges us with our listeners and expands beyond the boundaries of our own minds.
To open our fifth chakra, we practice synthesizing old ideas into something new, something more concrete–through listening, speaking, writing, chanting, telepathy and art forms. When we share these things openly and honestly with others, we deepen our connection not only to them, but to ourselves. When we lie, to ourselves and to others, we create dissonance and distance.
Of course, before we can share our truths, we need to be self-reflective enough to know what they are.
At the time, I didn’t find the the gash across my neck, nor the stitches, nor the healing process, nor the fact that my vocal cords had been stretched apart during surgery, to be of any particular significance. Nor was I able to acknowledge, even afterwards, how the fear of that demon was connected to signs that the past wouldn’t stay in the past. I wasn’t able to connect these dots because I didn’t know myself well enough to know what I was feeling, let alone express it to anyone else or to ask for help in understanding my relationship to these events.
My throat remained constricted, tight, strained and raw during those weeks, even on nights I wasn’t screaming. On the nights I did, I could only whisper my way through work the day after.
I am now committed to a daily spiritual practice of ruthless self-honesty. And when Visuddha, my fifth chakra, is open enough, when I have rigorously practiced communication within my own body and mind, when I have sat long enough with the pain to have built up neural pathways of radical honesty, I will find the courage, strength and will to express these truths to others. And I will be ready to create art.