Tag Archives: illness (?)

Manipura

 

 

“It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.”  

Sometimes the chakras are referred to as the wheels of life, even though we usually think of them as a vertical line, a hierarchy that goes straight up the spine.

These days, I’m more interested in horizontal thinking than vertical thinking. Sometimes a lateral move is the best move we can make.

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

The purpose of the third chakra, Manipura, is transformation. A friend recently asked me to explain the relationship between the second and the third chakras. I tried to describe how when we activate the point of matter (chakra 1) with the line of movement (chakra 2), we generate energy. It’s like rubbing two sticks together to ignite fire. It is the fire of our will that propels us away from fixed patterns, away from the path of least resistance, and steers us past the expectations of others into a realm of integrity within the self.

He asked me how I maintain the discipline to keep moving. I said for me, moving is survival.

The Field was my home. It was the only home I had. The Field was my family, my fortress, my ballast, my only love.

Be brave enough to break your own heart.

When I was 13, I had been in and out of Children’s Hospital for over 3 years. I had felt weak and helpless and alone, separated from the Field since I was 10 years old. The operation I was offered was a risk. The doctors said it could go either way. My mother told me I should stay back, but she wouldn’t stop me from moving up. She told the Leaders at the Field where we come from that if they didn’t let me move up, I might die on the operating table.

Where I come from, this is the language we used.

Nothing could force me to stay one moment longer than I had to.

I moved forward.

My friend asked me how I learned to take care of myself at such a young age, how I could trust my choices. If I didn’t take care of myself, no one else would, I said. He pressed me further, “But why didn’t you just look for someone else to take care of you?”

Do not look for healing at the feet of those who broke you.

Where would I have looked? Need is inversely proportional to power, and my needs were too great for anyone to fill. I couldn’t have asked. I couldn’t afford to give up my power.

If you’re not enough for yourself, you’ll never be enough for someone else.

I left the Field at 17 because I had to. It was the only way I could grow.

 

Advertisements
Tagged , , , ,

on (not) eating

I have always had a robust appetite. I can out-eat almost anyone, including my 6′ 4″ husband. My Mexican step-abuela used to call me Gordita, and I once overheard my aunt and uncle’s hushed and anxious conversation about how much of their food I was eating on a weekend visit. I’ve weighed over 160 pounds since the 8th grade. I never had any willowy teenage or even childhood heyday. I’ve always been thick. And I like it all–Indian, Thai, Mexican, Italian, Korean, American, sweet, savory, spicy, salty, mushy, crunchy, moldy (just cut it off. just kidding. sort of.). Even when I was pregnant and had morning sickness, I wanted to eat all of the time. Then vomit. Then eat again.

For this reason, I’ve always struggled with my weight. I have to exercise a fuck ton to compensate for my appetite. After having children and turning 30, my already slow metabolism got even slower. Sure, I could stop drinking beer and have one breakfast instead of two. But I have never been able to. Last year, I trained for 18 weeks for a marathon, and I lost a grand total of one half of one pound. I regularly have vivid dreams about eating.

Until recently. For the last two weeks, I have found myself in the curious position of not feeling hungry, of not spending the forty minute drive home daydreaming about what I should eat next. I look at food I love, like pizza or ice cream or tacos or oatmeal cookies or Mediterranean garlic sauce, and I shrug. I have no urge to snack between meals. A vague sensation of nausea looms through my day. I don’t know where it has come from or when it will go.

This is me now:

nausea-picture

NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT; WASH YOUR MOUTH.

I’ve lost 6 pounds in this short time, and I’m thinking maybe I should make a doctor’s appointment. I keep waiting to wake up one morning dreaming of food. Instead, I think about what I can eat that won’t make me vomit and calculate how many calories I need to keep me running without passing out. I still drink beer because beer. And I can keep my food down. Whatever this is is not extreme. But nothing is as good anymore. I used to be ashamed of my appetite, but now I miss it. When I figure out what is wrong and I start feeling better, I will once again dream of maple bars and paneer saag (typing this is making me nauseous again), but next time, I will dream proudly.

Photo credit: www.home-remedies-for-you.com

Tagged , , , ,
Advertisements
We Will Begin Again

"To hold a pen is to be at war." -Voltaire

GentlemanSparks

Gentleman with a hint of Spark. If you have any Questions you would like answered email GentlemanSparks@Gmail.com with the subject #ASKGS x

midnightpears

Just another WordPress.com site

The Winter Bites My Bones

The Collected Poems of Dennis McHale: 1981-2016

A Birth Project

Transracial Adoption from one black girl's perspective

The Guilty Preacher Man

abandoned illustrations

projectophile

\ˈprä-JECT-oh-fahyl\ (noun) 1. A lover of projects, especially those derived from scavenged materials and made more beautiful through paint, thread and sandpaper.

Another angry woman

Thoughts and rants from another angry woman

Unkilled Darlings

Faulkner said, kill your darlings. I say, put them on the internet and let strangers read them.

MiscEtcetera v2

Random bits about libraries, digital culture, life, and writing

glass half full

This is my blog. I write a lot about autism, raising boys, and my own alcohol consumption. I also tend to cover topics like poop and toothpaste. You've been warned.

jessepeckwrites

about all things human

Megan Has OCD

About Mental Health, Daily Struggles, and Whatever Else Pops in My Head

The Belle Jar

"Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences." - Sylvia Plath

Daniel Nester

essayist, poet, college prof, hubby, dad, Queen fan

spookyactionsbooks.wordpress.com/

a publisher of quality chapbooks

James Henry Dufresne

"To hold a pen is to be at war." -Voltaire

%d bloggers like this: