11
Nov
11

7 stations on the road to the ocean, after hiroshige (day six)

two meditations

1.  to cure a headache (real or imagined; the imagined one being psychic ache, emotional pain)–close your eyes.

close your eyes and you’ll see that darkness descend, the darkness that all of us see when we close our eyes, with the kaleidoscope of fractured bits & pieces of color and thought falling across the inky blackness of our mind.  among that spectrum you’ll look for a pinprick of white light.  there are times when you may have to concentrate harder than you ever thought possible and then times when it (the white light) is dead center, straight ahead, the light of a train in a tunnel coming at you (without the fear of being run over, splat!).  take your time and focus your thoughts, let the details of the day slip away; let the pain of your headache thrum a little less loudly; stop time and watch that white light.  as you concentrate on the light and this is where you’ll decide how you want the next part to happen, let the light grow and push away the darkness.  for me (and this may work for you as well), i like to wield the white light like an eraser and scrub away the darkness, one corner of the darkness at a time — there are many corners, so don’t be surprised if after you clean one space, it fills up again with the blackness of your pain, but be diligent, don’t give up, don’t let go of the light, keep your concentration and let that light fill your head until you’ve got the sun shining, its energy streaming from your brain pan, shooting out of your closed eyes.  it’ll course through your body (let it) and blast out of your fingertips and your toes.  you’ll be radiant, a sun god, your pain will have gone, you’ll open y0ur eyes to the possibility that you are in charge of your body (mind over.)

2.  to fall asleep (lay down) and close your eyes.

close your eyes and lay on your back (you can do this reclining in a chair or on a couch, just make sure your head and neck are supported.)  concentrate (when you read or hear that word, do you think of concentric circles or a spiral?  it always reminds me of the hindi view of time) on the top of your head and once you’ve focused your thoughts on your hair, let’s say, give it permission to relax, perhaps one strand at a time, or again as a series of concentric waves emanating from the top of your scalp.  next, concentrate (those circles again) on letting the tension from your forehead dissipate; when you do this you’ll notice that your ears will also relax, let them.  think of your eyes, the orbs of that organ, relaxing, your mouth, your chin, let it all sag under the weight of your ease, the pushing of your day away down through your head.  sink back into your pillow, your head a stone weight pressed hard against the feathery softness (for you allergy types, the kapoc softness then), but always supported by the ease with which you are letting go of the tension.

focus now on your neck and shoulders, allowing them to droop, allowing them to melt into the softness of your comfort.  have you been breathing?  take a deep breath and let the tension flow out with your exhalation; inhale and fill your lungs with quiet, exhale and let your heart slow its rhythm, your breathing becomes gentler and slower, your chest and ribs relaxing, exhale, and your gut drops softly against your spine, let your hips and your pelvis fall deeply against the bed.  let your arms become anchors as you let the negative flow out of your fingertips the weight seems lifted, but you’ll find that you couldn’t lift a finger right now, they are at ease.  inhale, exhale.  every muscle, every hair, every tendon, every bone, vein, artery, sinew and flesh, relaxing, relaxing, relaxing.

have you ever felt so heavy?  now let that weight flow down through your thighs, knees, shins and calves; your legs should feel like they’re going to drop through the mattress or the chair right now.  inhale slowly, exhale the tension out through your mouth, like frost on a winter morning (that’s how i see tension, how about you?)  your ankles, your feet, that high arch you inherited from aunt jane and the extra long toe from your great-great-grandmother (the tsarina), should now all be floating, the weightlessness of relaxation yours at last (if you haven’t already fallen asleep.)

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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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