Balls of Energy
I went to see a meditative art therapist yesterday. I liked the therapy and the idea of the meditation, but I could’ve done without the art.
The therapist--a 50ish American woman-- talked with me for about 45 minutes about my circus of a life, and she was warm and receptive. Then we moved on to the meditation, and she turned on some music and had me close my eyes. She read to me off of a piece of paper about a ball of energy at the base of my spine. This wasn’t what I was expecting from the meditation-I thought I’d be imagining myself lying on a beach or something relaxing, not some cuckoo new age baloney.
Anyway, I tried to go along with it, but it was hard for me, especially because she sounded like she was reading and going much too fast for me to visualize my energy balls moving around and all that shit.
Then she whipped out some crayons and a piece of paper and told me to draw my energy experience, so I drew a peach-colored stick person with spirals of purple, blue, and green all over my body, except for my hands and the top of my head, which had sparklers of purple shooting out of them. I showed my drawing to her, and she seemed satisfied. She told me that purple is the color of transition, which is certainly fitting.
I made another appointment to see her next week, and I may ask her if we can bypass the coloring. My homework is to make a list of things that “excite” me. My first thought was to make a list of different foods, because, really, just saying “food” doesn’t allow me to explain the different emotions I feel in regards to lasagna, brownies, and Frosted Mini Wheats. Plus, if she thinks this could be made into something productive, like a cooking class, it’s important to note just how happy fast food makes me and that is not something I can replicate in my kitchen.
I intend to see my thieving ex-landlord tonight. Considering that his SMS to me was written in Czech (and all of our previous communications have been in English), I’m expecting him to be even more difficult than previously thought. I may arrive with a pack of scary Arab men who can rough him up if it doesn’t go well. (Kidding! But I do want Fouad with me if only because the anxiety of this is already too much to bear. And, no, Fouad and I are not back together.)
The therapist--a 50ish American woman-- talked with me for about 45 minutes about my circus of a life, and she was warm and receptive. Then we moved on to the meditation, and she turned on some music and had me close my eyes. She read to me off of a piece of paper about a ball of energy at the base of my spine. This wasn’t what I was expecting from the meditation-I thought I’d be imagining myself lying on a beach or something relaxing, not some cuckoo new age baloney.
Anyway, I tried to go along with it, but it was hard for me, especially because she sounded like she was reading and going much too fast for me to visualize my energy balls moving around and all that shit.
Then she whipped out some crayons and a piece of paper and told me to draw my energy experience, so I drew a peach-colored stick person with spirals of purple, blue, and green all over my body, except for my hands and the top of my head, which had sparklers of purple shooting out of them. I showed my drawing to her, and she seemed satisfied. She told me that purple is the color of transition, which is certainly fitting.
I made another appointment to see her next week, and I may ask her if we can bypass the coloring. My homework is to make a list of things that “excite” me. My first thought was to make a list of different foods, because, really, just saying “food” doesn’t allow me to explain the different emotions I feel in regards to lasagna, brownies, and Frosted Mini Wheats. Plus, if she thinks this could be made into something productive, like a cooking class, it’s important to note just how happy fast food makes me and that is not something I can replicate in my kitchen.
I intend to see my thieving ex-landlord tonight. Considering that his SMS to me was written in Czech (and all of our previous communications have been in English), I’m expecting him to be even more difficult than previously thought. I may arrive with a pack of scary Arab men who can rough him up if it doesn’t go well. (Kidding! But I do want Fouad with me if only because the anxiety of this is already too much to bear. And, no, Fouad and I are not back together.)