You know that indulgent and blissful deep sigh which accompanies a – they get this – feeling, which occurs when you relate so completely to the words of stranger?
When it all melts and merges compatibly with your own juices and ideas so wholly.
Whilst there may be huge differences – between them and you – within character, life and your entire universe – you still get exactly what they are saying as though they had personally penned their script entirely for your eyes and heart. Their words reaching a place of such resonation that you want to spontaneously hug them and breathe ‘me too’.
You fully vibrate on the same page.
I often feel that way about Sarah Wilson and her words on Autoimmune Disease, and consistently find myself neck-snapingly nodding along with her intricate woven insights time after time. This lady creates art with her expression. I wrote before HERE about my response to her previous article on THE LINK BETWEEN AUTOIMMUNITY AND SELF HATRED.
She touches upon issues which, how can I put it? Erm… Trigger me.
For I believe that if you are triggered and recoil even slightly….. there must be some level of truth to explore.
Sarah’s topic inspiration also often comes from elsewhere (likely from a source which triggers her) and in articulating and examining her thoughts she aquires the writing baton and becomes the next vessel….
I guess her words are often my trigger for my own creative voice similarly.
I feel like she perhaps unwittingly passes me the baton even.
I recently read THIS ARTICLE of hers (on how to heal from autoimmune disease) and before I knew it (and without conscious thought or planning) I reached across my duvet and opened my laptop. My words (below) formed from my dark foggy brain, and I creatively explored and expressed, in my own – free-flowing – diary format way, my version of what she (and the original vessel Meghan O’Rourke) discuss…… -Thyroid symptom and management madness.
My Diary: April 2016
When I feel in such a funk like this, and such a flare, I can do barely anything. Thinking, feeling, expressing – hell even breathing – feels so abstract, so contrived and so unnatural. It’s like everyone else has ease and grace except I. They tiptoe and delicately dance where I just stumble and fall. They giggle and laugh as I contemplate and drown.
Over and over. Knowing this will pass. Only to arise again. And again. Always knowing this will pass though. The gratitude and the hope amazingly resilient no matter what. It’s a phase. A patch. A flare. On repeat – often with no let up. Years now. 2 decades to be precise. Learning still how to live with it and how to create a life within the breaks.
I hold my hand high in the air and admit that I am forever the eternal student of this particular conundrum.
Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.
Hope. Hope. Hope.
Ears pounding and head spinning I’m a trapped figurine inside a snow globe. My surroundings are quite beautiful but I crave a doorway that lets me out – just for some balance you understand. My home is shaken unrepeatedly, and without consent, and I watch the white stuff swirl and swirl around me, waiting for the pretty flakes to settle before it all begins once again.
Life feels simultaneously constrained and full of possibility. A contradiction in terms is how I myself feel.
A beautiful world I appreciate and adore coupled with a desire to break free – and – yet -cling on.
I cant read, hold a (proper) conversation (without acting it out anyway, or replying with habitual answers.) Hell, I’m in bed and im longing to go and get a drink…. but I cant move. I mean, yes I could move if there was a fire – or perhaps if 100k of notes were fluttering on the floor with a deadline on their detonation….. but still truthfully I’m like superglue. Stuck. Like treacle I’m glued together – bones tense and muscles tight.
(And this too shall pass. Yes I know this completely. It always does.)
That feeling when the rollercoaster swoops low and your head is still back there…. Yes thats where I’m at right now in this instant.
Except bizarrely (like now) I can occasionally use this ‘funk’ as a catalyst towards total immersion. The caveat being that the ‘immersion’ can only be in just the ONE task. Just one. Thats it. So fully and so completely so that I actually become the task – the motion, the flow, the breath itself – and within this moment I am more spirit than body.
It is ‘art’ born of circumstance, and it is ‘form’ created by cathartic release.
And so I lay, and I doze and I shiver and I shake. I cry and I get so dam fed up of the roller coaster that I feel sick. I want to move. I want to do. I need to. I actually have to now. No choice.
Eventually when I can muster the strength to snap out of the painful cocoon I immerse in my one valuable task – which usually chooses me. I may walk. Slowley. Step by step. Toe to heel. Toe to heel. Left foot, right foot. Read more about my thyroid walks here… Or I write. Like this…
I write fully and completely and independent of my brain. An excerise to banish the demons. My wrists aching but simultaneously revelling in the release like a much needed Thai massage which feels full of equal pleasure and pain. A heavy limbed women stamping metaphorically on my shoulders with her feet. So Blissful in its hurt.
My words should logically be jumbled and incoherent. Often, however, I find they are the most precise and truthful out of them all. I am living and breathing these words. Right now as I type. You can sense that type of writing right? I dont want the page to end for to do so will be to feel it all again….. The buzzing is coming back already. The Thai lady prepares to climb down and put her hands in prayer over me. My written words protecting me only for a short while longer as I do my best to spin them out….. Yet, like the walk, there is a new peace which remains. After the rain the clouds do part and the rainbow rises and I feel productively spent.
A deep deep sigh. Honoured to be guided by something bigger than myself and which took over for a while.