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| Bipolar. The highs and lows. Depression Suicide Fear of Death The lesson and the healing |
| Simply Stunning! A beautiful and profound experience 3 guided meditations on one CD. Access higher wisdom, intuition and insights. Change habits, release fears and activate healing energies. Buy Now Full description. Read what others say |
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|
The room is stark and stained and shadows on the widow pane are the only
source of light. Sitting naked on a wooden chair he waits like Auguste Rodin's
sculpture, The Thinker Statue. He has been here so many times before and
reflects back to his earlier days of sheer terror. There is no more screaming,
no more running away and no more war to be won. The fear is the same and
so is the threat. It’s always a matter of life and death, but death can be the
greatest seduction. Physical death intrigues him and more than once he has
played scenarios through his mind and found it quite comforting; perhaps even
liberating. He is almost certain that he has come to terms with death; his own
that is, and by his own hand most likely. Does one take the guilt and
consequences into the afterlife, he ponders once again.
No, physical death would be an easy solution. The real issue is always about
isolation and abandonment. The terror here is the complete and utter loss of
connection with life itself. BUT with the mind still alert enough to be locked
into an eternal observation. The heart still open enough to experience pain. The
spirit left with the knowledge that a life was spent without any purpose.
His thoughts are interrupted as a huge black spider walks slowly and
menacingly across the floor towards him. He doesn’t flinch – this is what he
was waiting for – it’s all so predictable and familiar these days. Neither
underestimates the other, this is a dangerous game to be sure. He learned long
ago that the spiders intention is not to bite him or poison him; at least not in a
physical sense. He understands that the spider is only a symbolic representation
of insanity.
It’s a war of minds; like a telepathic game of chess. Except this is not a game
and the game is not chess. When he comes, he calls you by your name and
you can not turn away. You watch him, anticipate his moves and respect his
powers of destruction. You do not fight or struggle nor do you argue or beg.
The greatest mistake is to claim that he is not real and only a fool would try to
trick him or humour him.
Depression: To sit silent and still, in respectful observation; imbibing darkness
through all of the senses, to fully emote the full spectrum of fear and self-
worthlessness.
Depression is the spiders calling card; his venom – insanity, his conquest –
your Soul.
Name it by knowing it. Observe and process without resistance or judgment.
Just keep moving through the dark towards the light; with only the faintest
memory or wispy belief that light will ever or has ever existed.
As the pendulum swings the natural rhythm of life comes back into play. Life’s
polarities reveal themselves again. Like a sunrise screaming into a new day we
thrust ourselves back into our own Godliness. We soar across the sky to sit
within our own creative intentions. Into the light and cracking open the seeds
of rebirth. Magical, mystical powers, ancestral wisdom and future genius fill
those empty places. We are our own creators, teachers and healers once again.
Fear is the opposite of love; as dark is to light and life is to death. So do not
offer me your pity or counsel if you have never slow-danced in the shadows.
Don’t offer me your pencil box of black and white and gray. Your songs have
only two notes and your words are lah, lah, lah, so don’t tell me of your music
or the joy within your sphere. Be normal, you insist - with your own life as my
measure. Don’t cry or love too much; it’s far too great a risk. Don’t reach for
stars or dream too big. Keep yourself small and hide your authentic spirit.
Avoid the darkness - deny the light.
I admit I’ve been to hell and back and fought my inner daemons. I might even
have taken a coin or two in exchange for eating your sins. You have whipped
me and diminished me on more than one occasion. You will never understand
me as your swing is set too low. I talk too fast of obscure things and you call
them hallucinations. I share my ideas of wondrous things and you tell me I’m
deluded. I love too deep and trust too much and you say I’m immature. I hear
your thoughts and know your heart, but you deny them with your lies and
phony faces.
You refer to my sensitivities as weakness; my pain as self obsession. You think
you are right - I know you are wrong. I understand pain because I have
experienced pain. The same is true of all things dark. I walk into my darkness,
through it and out of it. My purpose here is to heal you - by knowing who you
really are and traveling roads you will never walk.
I know what love is. I know what light is. I am a Wounded Healer.
Copyright Sonya Green 2007
www.reinventingmyself.com/bipolar_highsandlows.html
source of light. Sitting naked on a wooden chair he waits like Auguste Rodin's
sculpture, The Thinker Statue. He has been here so many times before and
reflects back to his earlier days of sheer terror. There is no more screaming,
no more running away and no more war to be won. The fear is the same and
so is the threat. It’s always a matter of life and death, but death can be the
greatest seduction. Physical death intrigues him and more than once he has
played scenarios through his mind and found it quite comforting; perhaps even
liberating. He is almost certain that he has come to terms with death; his own
that is, and by his own hand most likely. Does one take the guilt and
consequences into the afterlife, he ponders once again.
No, physical death would be an easy solution. The real issue is always about
isolation and abandonment. The terror here is the complete and utter loss of
connection with life itself. BUT with the mind still alert enough to be locked
into an eternal observation. The heart still open enough to experience pain. The
spirit left with the knowledge that a life was spent without any purpose.
His thoughts are interrupted as a huge black spider walks slowly and
menacingly across the floor towards him. He doesn’t flinch – this is what he
was waiting for – it’s all so predictable and familiar these days. Neither
underestimates the other, this is a dangerous game to be sure. He learned long
ago that the spiders intention is not to bite him or poison him; at least not in a
physical sense. He understands that the spider is only a symbolic representation
of insanity.
It’s a war of minds; like a telepathic game of chess. Except this is not a game
and the game is not chess. When he comes, he calls you by your name and
you can not turn away. You watch him, anticipate his moves and respect his
powers of destruction. You do not fight or struggle nor do you argue or beg.
The greatest mistake is to claim that he is not real and only a fool would try to
trick him or humour him.
Depression: To sit silent and still, in respectful observation; imbibing darkness
through all of the senses, to fully emote the full spectrum of fear and self-
worthlessness.
Depression is the spiders calling card; his venom – insanity, his conquest –
your Soul.
Name it by knowing it. Observe and process without resistance or judgment.
Just keep moving through the dark towards the light; with only the faintest
memory or wispy belief that light will ever or has ever existed.
As the pendulum swings the natural rhythm of life comes back into play. Life’s
polarities reveal themselves again. Like a sunrise screaming into a new day we
thrust ourselves back into our own Godliness. We soar across the sky to sit
within our own creative intentions. Into the light and cracking open the seeds
of rebirth. Magical, mystical powers, ancestral wisdom and future genius fill
those empty places. We are our own creators, teachers and healers once again.
Fear is the opposite of love; as dark is to light and life is to death. So do not
offer me your pity or counsel if you have never slow-danced in the shadows.
Don’t offer me your pencil box of black and white and gray. Your songs have
only two notes and your words are lah, lah, lah, so don’t tell me of your music
or the joy within your sphere. Be normal, you insist - with your own life as my
measure. Don’t cry or love too much; it’s far too great a risk. Don’t reach for
stars or dream too big. Keep yourself small and hide your authentic spirit.
Avoid the darkness - deny the light.
I admit I’ve been to hell and back and fought my inner daemons. I might even
have taken a coin or two in exchange for eating your sins. You have whipped
me and diminished me on more than one occasion. You will never understand
me as your swing is set too low. I talk too fast of obscure things and you call
them hallucinations. I share my ideas of wondrous things and you tell me I’m
deluded. I love too deep and trust too much and you say I’m immature. I hear
your thoughts and know your heart, but you deny them with your lies and
phony faces.
You refer to my sensitivities as weakness; my pain as self obsession. You think
you are right - I know you are wrong. I understand pain because I have
experienced pain. The same is true of all things dark. I walk into my darkness,
through it and out of it. My purpose here is to heal you - by knowing who you
really are and traveling roads you will never walk.
I know what love is. I know what light is. I am a Wounded Healer.
Copyright Sonya Green 2007
www.reinventingmyself.com/bipolar_highsandlows.html
| Heal your heart, Love your body and claim your Joy! These articles are now available in paperback. Click the book cover to find out more. EBook also available. Instant Download for only $8 |
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thinking about someone who would benefit from visiting these pages - Trust Your
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If you would like to copy an article to your site or blog, you are welcome to do so, but
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