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untwisting

Untwisting

This entry is part [part not set] of 4 in the series Body­work


Untwist­ing our bod­ies first of all starts with untwist­ing our minds long enough to hear what our bod­ies have to say.

bodywork and breathwork

PDF down­load­able book and online videos. More info here.

Untwist­ing our­selves is not dif­fi­cult, but it does take effort. We have to use tech­niques to explore the “root caus­es,” and then use var­i­ous Body­work tech­niques to let go. 

A couple of articles back I wrote about about being “twisted.”

The way to body works as regards hold­ing pain goes back for­ev­er. For exam­ple, this:

…a mas­sage ther­a­pist was hold­ing the sacrum of a client, who then start­ed to “see” what was going on in her body. She’d been in an auto acci­dent, and was com­pen­sat­ing. Her body was “twist­ed,” but thing thing is, after com­pen­sat­ing for what­ev­er, you stop notic­ing the com­pen­sa­tion. Twist­ed becomes normal.

Our compensations become our reality

Back in the 1920s-30s, a psy­chother­a­pist, a 20th cen­tu­ry stu­dent of Freud, Wil­helm Reich, iden­ti­fied what he called body armor / char­ac­ter armor. He described the armor­ing as phys­i­cal block­ages to the free flow of energy. 

He worked with his clients by adding in body­work and breath­work, as he real­ized that talk ther­a­py alone was­n’t cut­ting it as far as heal­ing went.

He realized that trauma of any sort that was not resolved (through the release of the blocked energy) ended up “stuck” in the body

This is armor­ing — the tight­en­ing down of mus­cles so that the trau­ma is “held in place,” as opposed to expressed and released. The longer it’s held, the tighter and more blocked the per­son becomes. 

Reich equat­ed phys­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal pain to restrict­ed ener­gy, which of course also sounds like Chi­nese med­i­cine. He dubbed the ener­gy “orgone energy.”

Most blocks are not caused by physical injuries.

They’re caused by unre­solved trau­ma. That trau­ma can relate to upbring­ing, sex­u­al or phys­i­cal issues / events, and decid­ed­ly by how we view ourselves.

This week, I want to talk about how to discover what’s going on for you,as you explore what might be getting “caught” in your body.

A decade ago, I start­ed lean­ing to the right at my pelvis, this caused by a wonky SI joint. I did Body­work and physio for it, and am almost straight again. After this hap­pened I start­ed to notice how many oth­ers had sim­i­lar­ly twist­ed low­er backs.

I was amazed, on Playa Sama­ra, to see lots of teenagers and 20-some­things with the same out-of-align­ment low­er backs.

twisted backs

I cre­at­ed a movie of the woman in the cen­tre. It’s for the Body­work book I wrote.

The images show: 

  • 1) me, tilt­ed right at the pelvis, 
  • 2) a woman tilt­ed high left at the shoul­ders, high right at the pelvis (her rib cage is com­pressed on the right, and 
  • 3) a woman with a lev­el pelvis. 

Please note! The hips of all three peo­ple stay the way you see them as they walk!!!

If you’ve been read­ing me for long, you know one of my issues is a combo.

  • The a) part is that I have a burn­ing desire to be “of use.”
  • The b) part, which is con­tra­dic­to­ry, is that I also think that peo­ple don’t like me for me… they like me for what I do. This can quick­ly become resent­ment and sadness.

Both of these are sacral, 2nd Chakra issues. No coincidence, then, that this area of my body gives me trouble. I hurt, especially if I sit too long. 

The idea with Body­work is to go where the pain or resis­tance or block­age is, and to help the places to release. The prin­ci­pal approach is to apply enough pres­sure to help the mus­cles let go, and then to con­tin­ue until the under­ly­ing pain is expressed.

What I’ve learned as a body­work recip­i­ent: I do not need to come to any con­clu­sions about why I do what I do to myself. I already, in fact, have a pret­ty good sto­ry invent­ed about “why.” I just need to straight­en out my twists, breathe into them, and then let go of any emo­tion that comes up. 

Most, on the con­trary, find excus­es for not work­ing things through — that’s how they got “twist­ed” in the first place. Many know exact­ly where they’re are caught, and how. 

They rec­og­nize that releas­ing might be messy, or noisy, or angry, or emo­tion­al­ly charged, and they step back. The key is to let go of a life­time of sto­ries. That let­ting go is going to have some­thing to do with being locked in by our minds — for­bid­den, in a sense, to feel.

An exercise to begin the process

This exer­cise is found in my web book / video series on Bodywork.

bodywork and breathwork

PDF down­load­able book and online videos. More info here.

At work­shops, I often read a heart med­i­ta­tion; I decid­ed to write my own heart med­i­ta­tion for this article.

I’ve also record­ed it, and you can down­load the mp3 file here. (right click to save) OR… left click the above link, and it ought to play!


Heart Release Meditation

Begin by find­ing a place to lie down. Adjust your­self so that you feel com­fort­able, secure, and safe.

Begin to breathe in and out, soft­ly, and gen­tly, being aware of the breath as it moves through your mouth and nose. Feel the breath fill­ing your lungs, ful­ly and deeply.

Now, using your fin­gers, locate your breastbone.

Slide your fin­gers out­ward, toward the place where your ribs meet your breast­bone. Move your fin­gers into the spaces between the ribs, and press inward a bit, feel­ing for sore­ness or tenderness.

When you find the spots that seem the most ten­der, rest your fin­gers there.

Breathe.

Press the ten­der spots gen­tly, and then increase the pres­sure until you are aware of the pain you hold in your chest.

Breathe into the pain.

Allow your mind to float free.

Recall sit­u­a­tions in your past where your heart has been hurt.

Per­haps some­one aban­doned you. Friends, loved ones, may have died. Sit­u­a­tions, jobs, careers may have end­ed or been tak­en from you.

See what emerges from your mind’s store­house of memories.

Rec­og­nize that you have pushed these mem­o­ries away. You told your­self that you’d griev­ed enough, that it was time to move on. Or you promised your­self that some­day, even­tu­al­ly, at the right time, you’d come back to revis­it the pain of your loss.

And you nev­er did.

Until now.

The mind stores data. And it replays the data as it seems appro­pri­ate. Often, our painful, unre­solved mem­o­ries become the things our dreams are made of.

Our wak­ing moments trig­ger mem­o­ries we thought were lost in the recess­es of the past.

Breathe. Take in a “breath of calm sur­ren­der” to all of your mem­o­ries, good and bad.

Con­tin­ue to apply pres­sure to the ten­der area.

Open your­self to the pos­si­bil­i­ty that you can­not think a feeling.

Your heart is designed to be vast­ly capa­ble of con­tain­ing all that you feel, all that you hope, all that you dream.

As you let down the walls you have erect­ed to guard your­self from fur­ther hurt, you begin to feel just how big your heart is.

Breathe. Acknowl­edge that, in the past, your pain caused you to tight­en up. Your shoul­ders rolled for­ward, as you attempt­ed to pro­tect your heart from fur­ther hurt.

You became blocked, rigid, and unlov­ing – of your self – of others.

Far from pro­tect­ing your­self, your tight­ness only iso­lat­ed you from others.

Breathe. Open to the pos­si­bil­i­ty of let­ting go. Feel the ten­der spot beneath your fin­gers and be kind with yourself.

Rec­og­nize that all of the avoid­ance did not dimin­ish your pain. All that it did was push it deep inside. Your mind seized upon it and obsessed over it. Your mind found peo­ple to blame for all of your pain, and when no one was con­ve­nient, your mind blamed you.

And you blamed you, and tight­ened more, and hunched your shoul­ders and rolled them over your heart, and from there, attempt­ed to live.

No more.

Open your­self, right now, to feel the pain beneath your fin­gers. Let your sad­ness and loss be real for you. Open the cen­tre of your­self – open your heart and let in all of the hurts and sad­ness of your life.

Feel them. Let your heart do what it is best at.

Grieve your losses.

Breathe.

Let go of your need to hold on to your pain, to your sto­ries, to your vic­tim stance. Let it all go.

Let your heart absorb your thoughts and remembrances.

Let your heart begin to feel. Everything.

Notice that, as your heart begins to feel, the pain beneath your fin­gers is dimin­ish­ing. Your mus­cles are relax­ing. The pain in your ten­der spot is eas­ing. You feel your heart opening.

Breathe. Rec­og­nize that block­ing your heart from your pain means you’ve also blocked your­self from giv­ing and receiv­ing love.

Love is meant to be giv­en with aban­don, received with aban­don. Love is not doled out with an eye­drop­per, but rather is released as a flood.

Open your­self to feel­ing com­pas­sion – for your­self and for others.

Breathe com­pas­sion out into the Uni­verse and breathe com­pas­sion for your­self into every cell of your being.

Notice that the pain at your ten­der point is almost gone. A rem­nant remains, not the result of refus­ing to feel, but rather because, as humans, we all hurt.

All of us are bro­ken at the heart.

Breathe, and have compassion.

Let your hand fall away from your ten­der spot.

Breathe in the free­dom that comes as you open your heart to your­self and to the uni­verse. Notice your relax­ing mus­cles, the ease with which your lungs fill with air, and then release it back.

Breathe. Feel what it means to be human and let your­self hold your heart ful­ly and wide­ly open.

Let your breath return to nor­mal and feel your­self sink­ing deeply into the ground. Relax­ing. Let­ting go.

Stay there until you are ready to car­ry on with your day.


Series Nav­i­ga­tionVul­ner­a­bil­i­ty — 5 things »
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