Monthly Archives: May 2018

SABOTAGE.

During my 2018 Spring Equinox retreat in Glastonbury, in the United Kingdom, I had a very bad experience. It went under the auspices of “bodywork,” a vague treatment on the detox regime. All I knew about this was that I had to wear a ‘strappy vest’ without a bra (I had received that very specific instruction three times, before and during the week). I had to be silent during the “bodywork” session and not know what was coming next, in a dirty room, in an old house, with a tired and distant weird old man. It was a grim experience. When his hands were moving around and over my breasts, and when his hands were around my throat, I could feel my soul say ‘no!’ And when he tied up my hair in silence, with a grubby rubber band, I could feel my horrified soul spread it’s wings and take flight out of that room that hadn’t been hoovered for a many number of moons. I have never tied my hair up in a rubber band! Why would I do that to myself? I buy soft, silky hairbands and nobody ties it up but me!!!! THAT’S THE RULES. It made my saliva curdle and my bellybutton hairs stand on end. When I was squished into the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable, I spied a pile of spider bones and long-dead daddy long leg carcasses that made my eyelashes curl inwards. I called ‘time’ on the experience when a sudden move threatened to expose my entire right side. I just could not fathom what on earth all of this was doing to me – where were the therapuetic benefits in feeling powerless and scared? The hands around my throat, the hair tying and being made to wear a grubby strappy vest that a number of people had worn in the past six months by the thickness of the dust embedded in it, was not ok by me.

“Because I feel disgrace because you’re all in my face.”

Beastie Boys

I respected me too much to carry on with whatever was coming next. It wasn’t sexual – it was the complete lack of any space for my true, loved and respected self to be in that room that made the expereince an assault. I was nothing in that room, I was the dirt that was ground into the carpet each day. The other disturbing things he did was to oil me up from a very grubby bottle. And he was wearing grubby tracksuit bottoms – obviously those were his “bodywork pants.” I could see from those tracksuit bottoms that he’d done a lot of bodywork in his time. Using the washing machine is a burden on environment but clean clothes make a good impression, right? I felt like I was submerged into somebody else’s fantasy, I was being forced to play along with his weirdness, his sickness. Up, chuck! And, his breath stank of something pungent. It was an odious experience. His hands were not clean either. When he was running his lubricated fingertips through my hair (again, what is the therapeutic benefit of having your hair played with?) his large gut was bumping up against me.  I am not a person who strives for ethereal perfect cleanliness by any means or perfection in any other form. I respect authenticity and truth. And I love dirt (because I have spent most of my life in it and acknowledge that dirt is good for our immune system and gut health). Yet, ugggh! What a rank experience. It put a real wave of shame on the week’s retreat. The next day his wife came to me to say that her husband, the predator, was feeling ‘vulnerable’ and that they often had complaints from women about the ‘bodywork’ sessions. I said that his hands on my chest had triggered an emotional response because of the tattoo I have across it and it’s symbolic meaning, I lied about that. The other part of this experience that was distrubring was that he was trying to shift an emotion/energy rom my throat without my consent -that’s not ok. My protest was spiritual, and he knew that. I know my metaphysical limits and hate to see them pushed by alternative practicioners. I get sick if too much old pain is released; I know me.

I know that I can measure this experience against two shiatsu massages I had (by women) in the same room. The chemistry and air had changed. The women worked with me, and I was fully present with them and fully on board with the experience. Respect and mutuality, equality, and empowerment were very much at the forefront of the shiatsu massages. The connection was entirely different. I was moved by those experiences. And I am very grateful for that.

I went to Glastonbury. The mecca of weird.  I went searching for the esoterical. And I found a sad and sugary old detox regime that left me feeling like I did when I had gastroentiritis in my second year of University.

There were magical moments within the vortex of colonics, vegetable juice, and bentonite clay apple juice drinks. I was having a cup of green tea one morning and a deer came by the window, we shared a few long moments together, minding our own businesses, wondering into each other’s gaze, thoughts, and telekentically sharing our to-do-lists-for-the-day, ‘oh, I have loose plans for an afternoon nap too’. Hello my power animal? Or was that a message on my machine to tune into my graceful power? At that point I didn’t know how much I would need it.

Dr Jensen Bowel Care

The other thing that I noticed was that the week’s retreat was based entirely on Dr Jensen’s Guide to Better Bowel Care. The nutritionist I went to see, years ago, also based their guidance/advice on this book. It’s a £tenner on kindle! I might buy it, call myself Bernard and set up my own shanty nutrition business.

 

 

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Feel better. Live more.

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I went along to Dr Chatterjee’s talk on the 4 Pillars: RELAX, EAT, MOVE and SLEEP. It was part of the Guernsey Literary Festival’s programme of talks. It was a full house, and I had spied a lot of health professionals in the crowd. The easy road to better health is attractive and a huge draw!

I loved his use of nudge theory, how his patients were free to smoke and he could only share his wisdom, knowledge, in that conversation on making healthier choices. I loved his version of ‘the rainbow’ and how breakfast and meal times in his family kitchen are like a game, and a challenge, to go on a treasure hunt in the fridge to find all of the colours of the rainbow! Change and better choices can be made into fun! YES! This reminded me of my cosmic hypnosis with at The Cure Clinic, Guernsey to create a desire deep within me to eat the rainbow of vegetables. It was a good investment. I’ve also been listening to a hypnosis recording on portion control, helping myself to re-tune into the cues and signals my inner cockpit sends to me when I am full and done-enough of eating!

I also wondered if the fifth pillar could be FEEL and I wondered if number six could be LOVE. The Good Dr said that he believed that counselling was a real benefit to patients and he said that he had felt let down by long waiting lists for counselling services before.

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Yesterday, what I tuned into the most was the first pillar of Dr Chatterjee’s plan: RELAX. Sometimes we have to go away and come back to find ourselves. Whilst I was on my Glastonbury Retreat for the Spring Equinox 2018 I realised how much crap I was holding onto from my day job. I realised that it was a pressurised and stress loaded situation that had been ongoing for 18 months. It had taken over me. So, I made a change. And I hope that my cortisol levels will come down – to subterranean levels if I’m honest. I have life plans that being on a constant  fight and survive mode will f*ck up! Cortisol overdrive can lead to bigger issues than a belly bulge from frantic feeding to survive incoming apocalyptic thoughts and fears. I don’t fit into my skinny jeans anymore!

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That’s me coming around the cliff path corner to Fermain Bay, with a bag of mother nature’s goodies swinging gaily in the mild sea breeze. I think you can see my bald patch, on my crown, giving off a glare as the sunlight bouncess off it’s smooth surface, because for the past 18 months I have literally been tearing my hair out! So, RELAX, was on my mind and I had seen an article about mindfulness and making mandalas with flowers, twigs, and anything natural along the way. Working through BIG STRESS with mindfulness goes a long way. And, as long as you don’t lick your fingers when you’re making the mandala, it’s perfectly safe.

It was a loving and magical way to wind down, and also feel that magical inner child connection glow bright and beautiful, as we weaved and scattered all of our pretties in soothing patterns. At one point, we built a dance tent for field mice. By the time we were finished the rodent ‘Burning Man’ had come to Guernsey!

“Be brave. Be awkward. Be kind.” Brené Brown

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