22 Jun Heaven on Earth
During the lowest period of my life, I went into the woods alone and fasted for 33 days. Drinking only water and living out of Ocean, my van, I heard a voice, wise, assured, divine. Nearly three years later, I’m still unpacking what she said. I called her GodDess.
On Day 13 of the fast, I lay in my bed and searched for something to like about my face. I had been looking at the mirror and finding only things I hated. Tears came, and as I let those tears run down my cheeks. I felt the wetness on my skin. I heard the sobs, raw pain of being disliked. I smelled the sweat from my armpit. I tasted the salt from my tears. I looked into the mirror again. Determined, I started singing. “The shape of your cheek, the curve of the skin, rolling from temple to jaw, I see you.” All of a sudden, I didn’t look for an external reason to like myself. I experienced myself. I appreciated myself.
How do we experience and appreciate ourselves? It’s a scary thought, isn’t it? Aren’t we terrible people? Are we pretty fucked up?
Experience this scenario:
You’re eating a lox bagel. You’re stressed about work because you made a mistake and your boss called you out on it. But you’re like, “Oh my god, this bagel is good.” Your thought goes to the bagel. You taste the mixture of cream cheese, toasted bagel, lox, and that salty green thing. The smell, it’s perfectly sour and savory. What’s it called? Oh yes, capeeeerrrrrssssssss.
You let each bite pull out more flavor, paying attention to the crunch of the toasted bagel edges. You see the edges, dark brown, and a little smoke coming off the black crumb on the plate. You remember the store attendant who put the bagel into the toaster. You see her gloved hands cut the bagel and spread the cheese. You taste her effort dissolve across your tongue. “Thank you,” you whisper.
You realize a song in the background plays a deep bass. The beat moves like waves, and you feel them move your body. You taste and move to the same rhythm as the saxophone starts to improvise a melody. You close your eyes, and the salmon flavor bursts. You see red and green salmon swimming in a strong ocean current. “Oh beautiful salmon, thank you,” you say. Your heart starts to warm and shine as you sit in the feeling the salmon gave you. You open your eyes and see a tall cedar pine dark against the bright sky behind it. The green needles pulling on the lower branch float on a breeze.
You engage all of your senses and in that moment, you are present. You experience yourself experiencing.
You don’t want to leave, do you? The thing is, you don’t have to.
I’m learning that eating a bagel is practice for feeling like shit.
When I got back from the 33 Day fast, I spent two years in the dark. Overcome by pain, grief, and sadness, I spend hours wondering if I would ever feel good again. But there was GodDess, in the writing I wrote. She told me I could savor everything.
One day, on the gray carpet, I sat and cried. My heart poured out water, oozing with stink, crusty blood, and puss. I arched my back, I let the pain squeeze my lips to the sides of my mouth and contract my lower abs into a curdling exhale, a scream-grunt mix. The blurred sliver of light became black as a grimace closed my eyes. My body rolled forward and collapsed on itself as the grunt emptied my lungs. My hands moved to the floor, and on all fours, tears left my eye ducts and dropped onto my hands. I let my hips pull me up and then down as the grunts turned into growls. Fully present, pain moved through every cell, every sound, every feeling.
My heart warmed.
I can savor this. Even this.
For hours every day, I allowed myself to be sad. To be lonely. To be in pain.
And at some point, I learned to savor it. All of it.
I got so good at it, that I nearly forgot how to savor happiness. Two years taught me the heaven in pain.
Can I learn the heaven in joy?
I’m still not great at savoring everything. I have mastered horniness. That one feeds me like a turkey dinner. Grumpiness and annoyance? Not even close. Honestly, I haven’t practiced much.
But I believe it’s possible. I think.
Sometimes, when I’m doing something shitty, or I feel particularly fucked up I hear GodDess.
“Even this,” she says.
“No,” I say. “I don’t believe it. Not this.”
“Yes,” she says.
“No, it cannot be. Not this.”
She responds, “Yes, even this.”
Is it true? Can I savor being exactly who I am? Traumas, mistakes, disappointments, desires, beauty, and all?
The senses.
Start with the senses.
I dare you.