Will Little Eric Please Raise His Hand

“Do you feel more free of your past trauma today? “

Oh fuck yeah. I am universes beyond where my trauma tried to hold me captive. Absolutely, there were times I didn’t think I could ever be free. Such thoughts can still occur to me when I’m feeling down. The difference today is that I know: not only will I be free, but that I am free, any time I want to be. Like yoga and meditation, my freedom is a practice. My thoughts are me and mine.

I shared an anecdote this morning in class. One of my early yoga teachers said something that has been instrumental in my practice. 

“When you practice hatha yoga, there are two “I”s in the room. The I that is me doing the yoga, and the I that is me watching myself do the yoga. During a yoga session, we are practicing the gradual merging of these two indivdual selves. We are seeking union within ourselves.”

Most mornings, I wake up with a song in my head. Sometimes a medley. Yesterday was a medely of Beatles songs. This morning is was a single Beatles song, “This Boy.”

That boy took my love away
Though he'll regret it someday
But this boy wants you back again

That boy isn't good for you
Though he may want you too
This boy wants you back again

Oh, and this boy would be happy
Just to love you, but, oh, my
That boy won't be happy
Till he's seen you cry

This boy wouldn't mind the pain
Would always feel the same
If this boy gets you back again

The song is ostensibly a love song about a boy who lost his girl to another boy. But like all good art, it can be interpreted in many ways. What I hear in this song is a plea for a re-union. That boy and This boy are the same, if only they can see each other outside the frame of their trauma. I took my own love away from the world, and only I can bring it back. And along the way there are times when I want to stop trying. There are times when my attachment to my fear and sadness is so deep, I never want to let them go.

I didn’t go to sleep last night with any intentions about what I might dream. I had no wonder about what song worm might awaken me. And I had no inkling that I was going to share that anecdote with my class today.

“How do you figuratively go back in time and do what you need to do for yourself? How do you go back and be the parent for yourself?”

I sat down a few minutes ago to muse on the three questions cited here that someone asked me the other day. I didn’t make the connection between my yoga anecdote and, “This Boy.” But it's pretty obvious now, ain't it?

Where I used to bemoan, “Oh woe is me, why has it taken me so many years to become free?” I now say, “Oh wow, how incredible is it that that little kid has been so committed and determined to heal, that he’s stayed on task for decades!”

In retrospect, I am finding it impossible to explain exactly “how I did it.” There’s not a single, simple answer. Even if I thought that I could break it down into steps, or methods, or specific therapeutic approaches, it’s doubtful my words would hold the same meaning for you as they do for me. The thing I can’t communicate fully is the experience of what my healing journey has been. So, I’ll do what any good alchemist would do. I’ll share my recipe with you with the instruction, do with this what you will.

Intuition is key. Listen to it. Trust it. Intuition is your higher power, because it transcends language and explanation. Intuition is you whispering to you.

Memory is not what it’s cracked up to be. It’s a helpful tool, but it’s not science. It’s about as reliable as dreams and fairy tales in terms of helping you to “know” what happened. But use it. Think of your memory as a playground. Because exploring memory is like using your imagination. In fact, scientifically, it is exactly like that. (I don’t know if that’s true, but I remember hearing it somewhere.) The benefit here is twofold: we’re not sure how memories are stored in the brain, if they are at all, but you have a lifetime of experiential understanding buried in the sandbox of your mind. You know how people talk about their memories playing out in their minds just before they die? Here’s a secret: you don’t have to wait until you’re about to die, to do that.

By the way, you do not have to remember what was done to you. I remember as much as my young brain could process, which means that the unfathomable parts are probably erased forever. That was necessary for my survival.

Feel what you feel and trust what you feel. There are no good or bad emotions. Emotions are expressions of energy as it travels through the body. It’s ok to wallow in emotion, to dive deep down into the abyss of it. Explore it. Get to know it. Make it your friend. Feel what you feel, and use it. Most importantly, express it. In any way you can. In private to yourself, to a trusted friend, in a journal to your cat (if you have a dog, go borrow a cat). Better yet, make some art. Any kind. Make it only for yourself, or it won’t work. Creativity is the purest form of spiritual expression.

Fear comes at you like a foe. Don’t buy it. It’s an act. Fear is an ally. Fear’s ultimate goal is to protect you. To keep you safe. Fear tempers you on your journey.

“All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” 

That quote is a warning, for sure, but it’s warning as enticement. It’s akin to the saying, “Be careful what you wish for.” It is not saying, “Do not enter.” It is saying, “Proceed with caution, but this is the way.”

For years, when I was trying to remember a specific... act, incident, abuse... whenever I got very close to it, I would become petrified with fear. My body literally responded as if the act of remembering was going to kill me. My body would panic, and my mind would shut down. So many times. Just like in my nightmares. The Prince of Darkness would appear, toss me the knife, and I would wake up screaming. Maybe I got his name wrong. Maybe it was Dante.

One of the questions above used my own words about “figuratively going back in time” to reconnect with little Eric. What I meant by “figuratively,” is that I didn’t have to go back in time at all. Instead, I had to awaken to the reality that that kid from so long ago is still here. He didn’t go anywhere. I just had to stop pretending that I’m not still him. He is me.

I’m feeling like this is enough words for now. I hope it helps a little. I’m making this up as I go along. And that’s my advice to you. Make it up as you go along. Be spontaneous. Improvise. Play.

I've been listening to music as I write. Streaming music, to be specific. Not a playlist. I'm not making the selections, Apple is. I've been hearing David Bowie, Bob Dylan, The Violent Femmes, Neil Young. And right now, as I'm doing my final scan for typos, "This Boy" is playing. How 'bout that?

I think of this kind of coincidence as being like Schrödinger's cat. It's both, a coincidence, and not a coincidence at all. Or maybe I'm just a butterfly dreaming I'm a little boy.