“Pain grows bitter with age.” Dominic said in the writing class I took last week. How could pain do anything else? It sure can't grow sweeter with age. I have a “vulnerability hangover” from last week. I was somewhat familiar with this term from Brené Brown when I read some of her work six months ago. It's one thing to read about it and another to experience it on a somatic level.
It feels like some kind of “psychic surgery” was performed on me by a loving group of people who all seem to share my best interests. It went something like this… I revealed parts of myself to the18 other people through my writing, they did the same with me and the rest of the group. Then we pushed on inside of ourselves through creative writing to unhinge the bits we needed to express. I was forced to hang up my virtual suit of armor and talk about difficult things. Sitting with the painful stuff and drawing it out. Sometimes these things were the stuff where one doesn't want to bother others with such talk. It would be too heavy and crying would ensue. I cried my eyes out and sometimes couldn't stop. It was crying from a cellular level. Then sweet Elizabeth overheard me talking about crying “fuck the crying, I'm done with it” I had said. Elizabeth is 88 years young and she calmly replied “just be careful not to cry too much if you have grey hair, then they'll really lock you up.”
The week long workshop was taught by Ann Randolph at Esalen. We were also fortunate to witness Ann perform her LOVELAND to a private audience last Thursday night. No other words can really describe how it shifted me on a deep level toward a sense of calm and peace, but shift I did.
|inside the beautiful Porter's Yurt all week|
|Ann Randolph (Left) with me in the middle and Marcia McMullen|