I’m trying to keep seated. I’m trying to keep myself from fleeing into the world of my alter. I sit up straight and my eyes follow the three-story atria to the turning blades of the ceiling fan. The church is bright, wonderfully bright and airy. I glance at the pews of people lined up on my right side. Its almost time for the mass to start. Why did I come today- why didn’t I listen to my hesitancy. I should be at home relaxing, reading or watching a good movie. I should be lying on the sofa with my feet up and head propped up on a cushion, full of isolated peace. Shouldn’t I? Instead I sit here half inhabited with some kind of pulsating hammer, a steady pounding nearby, which seems to be drawing nearer. I can feel the dark sensation around me, the beginnings of that nowhere feeling and I know its going to be a tough day.
I try looking around, one more time, to calm and locate myself, then I will be fine. White light fills the church; vivid, blue toned; it shimmers the white walls, candles, and multiple bunches of white carnations dotted with dandelion yellow tulips. The long, white, narrow banners, simply sewen with a peace dove flying over white and gold posts, hang behind the altar and on either side, stretch from the floor of the sanctuary to the very top of the crucifix, a good thirty feet above.
It is so beautiful. Throughout my teenage years, I enjoyed artwork with fabrics and garden photography. But this is a different place and time- there isn’t much room for beauty here. So much has been risked and lost; so much hurt and regret. I could have done anything for a career, but for reasons I am only now beginning to understand, I turned away from the world of art. How could I deny the many opportunities offered at the same university for much more practical, professional studies, that would allow me to earn a good living and demonstrate success for my immigrant parents?
One more look around to enjoy the colours; just one. I turn my head, notice the swathes of white gauze fabric draped along the aisle, pinned with a trio of daffodils at each pew. I am pushed back by a wave of sorrowful feeling, a tidal wave hitting me, forcing my body to collapse; to shutdown, as if I have been flattened, face down, by crushing gravity to where I am most comfortable, the suck and swell of sleep, that weightless beautiful state.
Sing to the mountains, sing to the sea. Raise your voices, lift your hearts.
How could I not enjoy the beauty around me? Decided, as if I’d surfaced from the water, I look up, straighten my shoulders, breathe. I will stand with everyone and be part of this celebration.
I sit back down. The skin on my arm sucks my attention like a drain. Mites crawl under my skin, pinching, poking, pacing back and forth, mutiplying as they go. They infiltrate my feet, then my face. They scurry and settle rather than just strike. These strands of pain announce themselves, but I can’t understand what they are telling me. I look for something, someone that may have triggered this reaction. There is nothing.
I scratch my forearm, then the other. I try to stay mindful, keep talking myself back into singing. I reiterate that I am safe and comfortable. Clearly, my body does not agree and is struggling to tell me something. But what? Why now? Where is the trigger? Again, nothing.
My queries usher in a deep, sick feeling in my stomach as if bulks of heavy butter are churning. Pay atention to the body sensations, I tell myself. Reassure the sadness. It’s okay, I whisper. This sequence of sensations makes me frustrated; in the past I would have avoided it at all costs; flee, shop, eat, have sex, drive far and real far- anything! Today, however, I will try to understand and if I can’t, I will at least try to listen, acknowledge the message and stay calm. I trust that by supporting my body through this sorrow and agitation, I can benefit from the body memories that can disclose my past, day by day, like a chrysalis. I have dreaded these body memories but I now know they are necessary and even though I cannot understand the message, I can act confident, ready to listen and accept; know that all is safe now.
Making Good 