Yesterday I had a session with my psychotherapist, Trip, where I felt very angry at him (as I often do) and tried to stay with and ride the feeling. I began to moan deeply -- haltingly at first, then continuously for about 5 or 10 minutes. It felt right. I thought, "this is what I want to express, not 'f.u. Trip' as Trip has sometimes suggested but which never felt right".
Today, while I was meditating on the bus, the noise from somebody's headphones began to irritate me. Instead of freezing in a miserable fight against myself, as I have in response to such noises for the past 30+ years, I let go into a warm, full, vibrant feeling in my upper chest, a feeling that is not familiar but pleasant and not at all miserable.
Right now I can feel it mildly. It extends into the throat, where before today, if I was aware of any feeling at all there, I felt only tightness. It's a good feeling.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Finally able to explore breathing fully
Many times in my life, in a yoga class or such, I've been instructed to breathe in a certain way, and I've always found this to be uncomfortable. Often I would be led to believe that a certain way of breathing would leave me feeling energized or centered or at peace, and usually it wouldn't. In recent years I've avoided following any kind of instructions about how to breathe.
But lately, while working with Stacie Haines' book, The Survivor's Guide to Sex, I've felt ready to again try to intentionally breathe differently than usual.
Several years ago I heard that some people avoid emptying their lungs, and habitually hold the breath when the lungs are full. These people, it was said, tend to have a certain personality type that I can't remember. And I heard that other people do the opposite: they tend to keep the lungs empty, and after filling the lungs (usually not very full), quickly empty them. These people are trying not to feel emotions.
This is me.
So lately, while reading Haines' book, I've practiced breathing fully, lingering in the state of having full lungs, and NOT lingering in the empty-lung state. And, finally, I am able to look at what is uncomfortable about this, rather than just getting upset and saying, "I hate this, I'm not doing it!"
When I breathe like this, I have more sensation in the throat and upper chest. In the upper chest, it's almost like the ocean. Constantly changing. The sensations are not inherently unpleasant, but they arouse anxiety, because they are unfamiliar and out of my control. And in the throat, tightness, as though there are words or noises wanting to be expressed.
I also have sensation in the head that I call lightheadedness. I don't really feel dizzy or like I'm going to faint, though. Still, the word "lightheadedness" seems to describe it.
This abundance of sensation is now tolerable to me. Even enjoyable on some level. So I am now able to practice full breathing and explore, mindfully, what it brings to me. Very exciting.
But lately, while working with Stacie Haines' book, The Survivor's Guide to Sex, I've felt ready to again try to intentionally breathe differently than usual.
Several years ago I heard that some people avoid emptying their lungs, and habitually hold the breath when the lungs are full. These people, it was said, tend to have a certain personality type that I can't remember. And I heard that other people do the opposite: they tend to keep the lungs empty, and after filling the lungs (usually not very full), quickly empty them. These people are trying not to feel emotions.
This is me.
So lately, while reading Haines' book, I've practiced breathing fully, lingering in the state of having full lungs, and NOT lingering in the empty-lung state. And, finally, I am able to look at what is uncomfortable about this, rather than just getting upset and saying, "I hate this, I'm not doing it!"
When I breathe like this, I have more sensation in the throat and upper chest. In the upper chest, it's almost like the ocean. Constantly changing. The sensations are not inherently unpleasant, but they arouse anxiety, because they are unfamiliar and out of my control. And in the throat, tightness, as though there are words or noises wanting to be expressed.
I also have sensation in the head that I call lightheadedness. I don't really feel dizzy or like I'm going to faint, though. Still, the word "lightheadedness" seems to describe it.
This abundance of sensation is now tolerable to me. Even enjoyable on some level. So I am now able to practice full breathing and explore, mindfully, what it brings to me. Very exciting.
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