That's a no-brainer, right?
The act of breathing is actually a no-thinker and an all-reptilian-brainer. In the lower brain stem (the "reptilian brain") the medulla oblongata controls our breathing among other things, and it is so inextricably tied to our survival that the urge to breathe exists independently of our will to breathe; that is, it bypasses cognitive function.
In "Deep Survival" by Laurence Gonzales, the author refers to instances where scuba divers remove their regulators while under water and drown, even though their tanks still contain air. For these divers, the feeling of being smothered (deprived of air) -- from the regulator covering the nose and mouth -- overpowers their cognitive function which tells them that that covering is actually providing air: their physical urge to breathe is stronger than the mind which is telling them they ARE breathing. So, off comes the air supply and they suck in water and drown.
Breathing = survival = breathing.
But what if you want to do more than survive, or what if you want to experience a state of mind that transcends the human or reptilian experience? Can breathing differently elevate survival to a different level?
Yesterday I took my first ever real kundalini yoga class in New York City. It was 90 minutes of breathing and chanting and holding my arms over my head in impossible positions for a really long time -- longer than I would have ever thought I was capable of. First we panted with our tongues hanging as far out of our mouths as possible. Later on we held the left nostril closed and did right-nostril breathing for what seemed like half an hour. We also did "breath of fire," which is like panting but breathing through the nose only.
Several times in between the postures and the breathing we laid down on our backs (presumably to recover). About half-way through the class during one of these respites I experienced such utter stillness in my body, my thoughts, my emotions and all my senses that I felt I could almost stop breathing entirely. I was floating in such a blissful state that I knew when we started up again I would be tapping into some other power than my own muscle or mental strength.
I've always been very athletic: a jogger, aerobics teacher (it was the 80s, give me a break), a high-altitude mountaineer, a skier and snow-boarder, swimmer, waterskier, roller-blader, hockey player, hiker -- you name, I'd jump right in. I have an intimate knowledge of my limits and possibilities, I have extraordinary physical and mental endurance accumulated over decades of physical challenges with nature, others and myself. Especially in the mountains, at times when my life was really in danger, I dug deep into my body and mind and powered through -- what a great feeling that was!
Before this class, I experienced the joy and rush that comes from mind and body connecting and powering through difficulties. In this class I experienced the otherworldly feeling of mind and body disconnecting from the idea of being a singular unit of power and connecting with everyone else in the room, and with some huge, crazy energy. I'd had moments of that before, in meditation, but because I generally meditate alone it was a much different feeling.
So while I'm lying on my back, disconnected from myself yet feeling more powerful and connected than ever before, my Council began to show up. There they were in their usual semi-circle, and I swear they were actually celebrating. One of them even came up and put a medal around my neck, which was kind of a gentle joke like, "you finally got it!"
No words passed between us in those few minutes, but I got the distinct impression that I was supposed to keep doing this kind of yoga, because breathing was going to transport me to a place where I could understand what I was supposed to do next. It was like when I was a junior in high school and I went to visit my older sister at the College of the Holy Cross: after a blissful weekend of underage drinking and meeting handsome boys at a mixer, I felt like two more years of high school was beneath me. I belonged at college! I was ready. This high school shit was for babies.
I couldn't have been more wrong, but I couldn't see that at the time. I needed two more years of maturity and learning before I could begin to understand what was expected of me socially, intellectually and spiritually at college (I went to Holy Cross too).
And that's like what happened yesterday. Before that class I thought I knew the route I needed to take to channel healing, and I thought I knew I was ready to be there. But my guides had always had something else in mind: more maturity? More training in the basics (like breathing)? So when I kind of went back to square one, I got the feedback and encouragement I was looking for.
Who needs this basic stuff like how to breathe, this "high school" shit?
Me. I need it.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Forensic Psychic Readings
I've always wanted to be able to help locate missing people or pets. Ever since I was a young teenager I've wanted to work with the police to find lost loved ones. Something about being never seen again has always caused me a lot of emotional upset, though I have had no personal experience like that.
Once when I was about 4 years old I was walking behind my parents and aunt and uncle on a dirt road in New Hampshire, right by my family's summer home. Apparently I wandered off, following a kitten. The adults were ahead of me chatting with each other, and I must have fallen behind. I have vague memories of this, and recall being in a kitchen with a lady who seemed ancient. My mother showed up screaming at me and, according to therapists I've seen over the years, it turns out this is the entire cause of my abandonment issues. I don't remember much fear at being lost, more confusion at the terror of being found; I didn't think I had abandonment issues anyway.
Not too long ago a colleague wanted to try a new past life regression method, and I volunteered. I love that stuff! I am a real believer in multiple chances at life -- it's no more a miracle to be born twice than to be born once, right?
The most emotional moment for me reliving this otherwise ordinary existence as uneducated household help in an urban estate in the South, was when the man who plowed the fields showed me a human skeleton his plow had turned up. I was horrified to see the bones and the belt buckle (which was all that was left), not because of the body itself but because somewhere, at some time, someone never came home. Someone walking or traveling just ceased to exist and died and was buried and decomposed, without his loved ones ever knowing what had happened. Even in my altered state of consciousness, wrapping my mind around this concept really freaked me out and was the most upsetting moment in the whole regression.
I know it's worse for the family left behind, who never know the circumstances or location of death -- or if death has actually occurred. I can't imagine the pain of the family of Nathalie Holloway, who five years ago disappeared in Aruba. She just disappeared. She vanished. It's probably clear she'll never come home -- but where IS she?
I don't think the spirit haunts the area or cares very much about the circumstances. I've met enough spirit people who themselves met violent ends, and they seem cool with the whole thing. They've got a completely different perspective than we do, here still in the physical.
Lost people are a horrifying fascination for me. Like watching some terrible accident, I can't look away. I can't stop myself from trying to feel the family's pain or grief. Just the other day walking in the woods I wondered out loud to a friend, "how many people do you think lie buried in the ground all over this continent, throughout time? How much of this ground is made up of bodies that just never got back home?" He gave me weird look and said I was being morbid, but honestly, that shit draws me in. And it's not just the family's pain I am drawn to, but to the last thoughts of the lost person. What are they thinking when it becomes clear that they won't be found? Sadness? Worry about family members? Or are they too busy watching their lives flash before their eyes to even consider whether their remains will be found?
So, since I was a young person (and apparently in a past life too) this topic has held a fascination for me; yet I never did anything about it. I never trained search and rescue dogs, I never offered my services to the police. Once back in the early 90s, when I was doing 3D animation for a living I looked into age progression, which uses computers and designers to anticipate how a child who went missing years ago might look in the present. I looked into it, that was all.
But yesterday an opportunity came to me during a regular psychic reading. As usual, I asked my client before our reading began what questions she would like me to look into; I got the usual -- love life, career -- and then she said, "Tonight a group of us are getting together to look for our friend Thomas, who went missing last Sunday. If you see anything about his whereabouts, please let me know."
Oh boy.
So I started the reading, figuring I'd get to Thomas later; I couldn't concentrate on this girl's love prospects to save my life, so I said, "Do you have a picture of him?" She showed me his Facebook picture and we went back to the reading.
I wanted to say so badly, "this guy is still alive." But my stupid logical mind was saying -- no way. Four days after driving drunk away from a party? No chance. But his friends and family had been searching for two days already, and no one knew where he went to when he left the party -- home to NYC or somewhere else?
So I said, "I see the Taconic Parkway. I feel like there is an animal in the road who he hit or attempted to avoid, and that he went off the road at highway speed. The car threaded through small enough trees and came to a stop well off the road, out of sight from the Parkway. The impact did not kill him. The car didn't hit a big enough tree to cause the kind of impact that would kill him. I see him lying on his side in the leaves, with either blood or vomit in his mouth. I see a registered campground nearby. And I hope you are prepared to learn that he isn't alive."
I kept repeating that the car crash didn't kill him, but my logical mind kept adding in that he wasn't alive.
About 30 minutes after my client left she called me to say Thomas had been found: off the Taconic Parkway, near a registered campsite. He was found outside his car, lying on the ground with internal injuries and a back injury -- and he was alive.
Obviously my information didn't help in locating and ultimately rescuing him, but I was pretty psyched to learn that it matched that closely. More importantly, I ignored key information my impressions were giving me about whether he was alive or not -- and that's not a mistake I'd want to make when dealing with a family. I also wonder whether what I picked up on (which was likely happening AS I was giving the reading if not just before) was a result of the rescue already being accomplished.
I won't know unless I have another opportunity, and while I'm not yet ready to offer my services I would welcome another chance to tune in, if one should come my way.
Once when I was about 4 years old I was walking behind my parents and aunt and uncle on a dirt road in New Hampshire, right by my family's summer home. Apparently I wandered off, following a kitten. The adults were ahead of me chatting with each other, and I must have fallen behind. I have vague memories of this, and recall being in a kitchen with a lady who seemed ancient. My mother showed up screaming at me and, according to therapists I've seen over the years, it turns out this is the entire cause of my abandonment issues. I don't remember much fear at being lost, more confusion at the terror of being found; I didn't think I had abandonment issues anyway.
Not too long ago a colleague wanted to try a new past life regression method, and I volunteered. I love that stuff! I am a real believer in multiple chances at life -- it's no more a miracle to be born twice than to be born once, right?
The most emotional moment for me reliving this otherwise ordinary existence as uneducated household help in an urban estate in the South, was when the man who plowed the fields showed me a human skeleton his plow had turned up. I was horrified to see the bones and the belt buckle (which was all that was left), not because of the body itself but because somewhere, at some time, someone never came home. Someone walking or traveling just ceased to exist and died and was buried and decomposed, without his loved ones ever knowing what had happened. Even in my altered state of consciousness, wrapping my mind around this concept really freaked me out and was the most upsetting moment in the whole regression.
I know it's worse for the family left behind, who never know the circumstances or location of death -- or if death has actually occurred. I can't imagine the pain of the family of Nathalie Holloway, who five years ago disappeared in Aruba. She just disappeared. She vanished. It's probably clear she'll never come home -- but where IS she?
I don't think the spirit haunts the area or cares very much about the circumstances. I've met enough spirit people who themselves met violent ends, and they seem cool with the whole thing. They've got a completely different perspective than we do, here still in the physical.
Lost people are a horrifying fascination for me. Like watching some terrible accident, I can't look away. I can't stop myself from trying to feel the family's pain or grief. Just the other day walking in the woods I wondered out loud to a friend, "how many people do you think lie buried in the ground all over this continent, throughout time? How much of this ground is made up of bodies that just never got back home?" He gave me weird look and said I was being morbid, but honestly, that shit draws me in. And it's not just the family's pain I am drawn to, but to the last thoughts of the lost person. What are they thinking when it becomes clear that they won't be found? Sadness? Worry about family members? Or are they too busy watching their lives flash before their eyes to even consider whether their remains will be found?
So, since I was a young person (and apparently in a past life too) this topic has held a fascination for me; yet I never did anything about it. I never trained search and rescue dogs, I never offered my services to the police. Once back in the early 90s, when I was doing 3D animation for a living I looked into age progression, which uses computers and designers to anticipate how a child who went missing years ago might look in the present. I looked into it, that was all.
But yesterday an opportunity came to me during a regular psychic reading. As usual, I asked my client before our reading began what questions she would like me to look into; I got the usual -- love life, career -- and then she said, "Tonight a group of us are getting together to look for our friend Thomas, who went missing last Sunday. If you see anything about his whereabouts, please let me know."
Oh boy.
So I started the reading, figuring I'd get to Thomas later; I couldn't concentrate on this girl's love prospects to save my life, so I said, "Do you have a picture of him?" She showed me his Facebook picture and we went back to the reading.
I wanted to say so badly, "this guy is still alive." But my stupid logical mind was saying -- no way. Four days after driving drunk away from a party? No chance. But his friends and family had been searching for two days already, and no one knew where he went to when he left the party -- home to NYC or somewhere else?
So I said, "I see the Taconic Parkway. I feel like there is an animal in the road who he hit or attempted to avoid, and that he went off the road at highway speed. The car threaded through small enough trees and came to a stop well off the road, out of sight from the Parkway. The impact did not kill him. The car didn't hit a big enough tree to cause the kind of impact that would kill him. I see him lying on his side in the leaves, with either blood or vomit in his mouth. I see a registered campground nearby. And I hope you are prepared to learn that he isn't alive."
I kept repeating that the car crash didn't kill him, but my logical mind kept adding in that he wasn't alive.
About 30 minutes after my client left she called me to say Thomas had been found: off the Taconic Parkway, near a registered campsite. He was found outside his car, lying on the ground with internal injuries and a back injury -- and he was alive.
Obviously my information didn't help in locating and ultimately rescuing him, but I was pretty psyched to learn that it matched that closely. More importantly, I ignored key information my impressions were giving me about whether he was alive or not -- and that's not a mistake I'd want to make when dealing with a family. I also wonder whether what I picked up on (which was likely happening AS I was giving the reading if not just before) was a result of the rescue already being accomplished.
I won't know unless I have another opportunity, and while I'm not yet ready to offer my services I would welcome another chance to tune in, if one should come my way.
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