What is a memory but one moment that you've locked away tightly somewhere deep inside of you? When flipped onto its back, a beetle uses its legs to right itself. If the nervous system has been damaged, they struggle against gravity and cannot get upright. Turtles use their head to shift their body weight to roll to one side. We all have our methods to course correct. I delete the memories I do not need. Pleasurable moments, mostly. I learn through pain; there is no need to recall those delights.

I have been conditioned based on my emotions. Reckless and a bit naive. I am porous as a snake, and what I take in is not as easily released. I am learning the elegance of choosing what I want instead of accepting what is given.

All that is unknown to me, I long to know. My nervous system is the only thing I have control over, and as I strengthen my inner landscape, I can endure more of what occurs outside of me, outside of my control. This is yoga. The practice of refinement and attunement to the sensations in the body. The desire and need. The grasping and greed. The anger and shame and disgust. I wear all of it like a cape tied at my throat. The loving expressions are loose and flowing. Fear is a noose at my neck; if I pull too far back, it is the death of it all.

I am still alive because of my ability to let go and move with what occurs in my surroundings. My practice must be to withhold - the things out here do not need to enter inside.

During the acupuncture appointment on Thursday, Mariko mentioned that my left side is very sensitive. From my lower back ribs to my left hip. When I asked why, she said it was from my childhood.

Something happened to you; it is natural. No one is at fault. None of us are balanced. As an adult, it is your job to be more observant and learn to care for yourself. Small adjustments. You will always have to perform these things. We all have imbalances. It is part of nature, part of life.

As Mariko spoke, she rubbed the small silver wand along my left side waist in smooth, slow strokes. As she stroked the back of my heart, I felt something relaxing inside me. Like the tail of a kite without the wind, the line is slack, and the airborne object falls to the ground.

Without intellectual banter, I will tell you what I felt.

I was surrounded by blue and purple light at the back of my heart. The light extended beyond my skin. It rippled and responded to Mariko's touch, growing brighter and bolder through the simple rhythm of her hands and the wand. The light spread from my armpit to my thigh, just on the left side of my body. As Mariko stroked, the light grew until it filled the room.

I had taken up residence in the space outside of my body. There was so much of me bleeding outward, pressing to the window and seeping under its wooden frame toward the birds in the trees.

Mariko felt it. She put her hand on the back of my heart.

Stay here, she said. Breathe deeply into your back. You must stay here.

I took a deep breath, and some of the light contracted, coiling in spirals around my ribs and hips.

Slowly, slowly you exhale, Mariko murmured, stay here; she pressed her palm to my back.

I counted to eight as I exhaled through my nose, and the light in the room sang purple and blue.

Again, do that one more time.

As I inhaled, I felt the light move closer, like a small orb protecting my body like an egg or cacoon. I held my breath at the top as I would in kumbhaka, breath retention, and focused my inner gaze at the center of my chest. I counted to eight and then slowly exhaled for the count of twelve. This time as I exhaled, the light stayed in a soft orb around my body. It did not seep into all corners of the room or beyond the glass window.

I felt Mariko move to the dresser and set down the wand. She placed her hands on my back under my ribs.

I will put a few pins in now along your back line. It will be sensitive a little bit; you will feel a pinch.

I focused on long exhales as Mariko set the pins in my low back toward the spinal column. She moved her palms to the soft space of my side belly, and I flinched.

Keep breathing- she selected a pin.

I felt Clara as the needle punctured the skin, and I cried out as my phone rang.

Without looking, I knew it was Clara.

Are you ok?

Yes.

I'm sorry. I knew that would be a tough placement for you.

The inside does not always match the outside in the same fashion people's words do not align with their feelings. I pick up on the felt thoughts; I attune to the body and not the mind when engaging with others. My nervous system is sensitive; I enter people and do not know how to get out and back into myself.

This is reiki; I am experienced in practice, perhaps from another life, and yet lack the subtle skills to maneuver each encounter with respect for boundaries. I lack grace.

There are certain etiquettes in relationships I do not adhere to. Politeness, for one. I act on what I feel. I speak it plain. I do not have patience for the top layer; when I order a latte, I relish the foam though it's the first sip of espresso I am after. The other night, when we were out dancing, it was all icing on the cake, and I was bored. I want to meet a mate who confronts the world with their pelvis and shoulders squared and their gaze focused.

There are so many wonderful things worth waiting for!

Like the message from Clara- as I lay on my belly, I was curious about what it could possibly say.

A question, a voice memo, a photo of Karmen, a book or podcast reco, a work request. So many variables. All of them welcome, each grand in its own way.

The path forward is easier with the help of a memory; I keep the moments that I have learned from and leaned into. What can I glean from each experience? Where can I better myself? Where can I evolve?

Doesn't everyone invite this space through inquiry?

I cannot stay here in the physical sense or metaphor.

I must go, and I do not know where. I have been flipped onto my back and am ready to get up. I've been waiting, a little impatient but trying nonetheless!

Photo source.