Me: Oh, honey. You’re in pain.
My throat: Yeah.
Me: What’s going on?
My throat: I don’t want to talk about it.
Me: *waits patiently*
My throat: I have things to say but I don’t want to say them.
Me: Mmmm. I have that feeling a lot.
My throat: I know. That’s why I’m so constricted and raw.
Constricted and raw.
Me: Oh, that’s really hard. I’m sorry. Tell me about this constricted and raw thing. Is it only from the pain of unsaid things or are there other things going on too?
My throat: There are other things, but I don’t want to talk about them.
Me: Okay. It sounds like it might really help to have some form of release. Is that right?
My throat: Not here! You’ll put it on the blog or you’ll write about it. No!
Me: Alright. That’s fair.
My throat: Thank you.
Me: So you’re saying any form of release would have to feel safe.
My throat: Yes.
Me: We can do that. What if we come up with a form of release that appeals to you, and then you can check anything I write and give me a yes or a no.
My throat: That could work. But I don’t have any ideas.
Wait, I don’t have any ideas?
Me: That sounds eerily familiar. That’s what I’ve been saying the past few weeks.
My throat: I know.
Me: It’s this thing about not wanting to say stuff at the Twitter bar or the Frolicsome Bar. Not being in the right headspace for writing blog posts or saying what I want to say at the Kitchen Table. But it’s not true.
My throat: What do you mean?
Me: It’s not true that we don’t have ideas. We’re shivanauts. We always have ideas. The truth is that we’re not feeling comfortable sharing or discussing the ideas that we’re currently spending time with.
My throat: You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. So what do we do?
Me: Same thing we were going to do anyway.
My throat: Take it to the forest?
Me: See? You pretend you don’t have any ideas, when actually you know exactly what to do.
My throat: I was waiting for you to want to join me.
Take it to the forest.
My throat and I tramp through the wet and muddy woods, with Gus and Bobby (my uncle’s dogs) enthusiastically leading the way.
We look up into the giant moss-covered oaks and breathe in the smell of…I’m not sure what it is, but to me it feels like RESILIENCE and POWER and TIME.
We tell the trees all the things we’re so busy not saying.
We tell the trees about pain, hurt, sadness, fear, regret.
We tell the trees what our gwishes are.
And about how frustrating it is to want something, all the while knowing that you will still continue to give precedence to the thing you don’t want instead.
And then?
Me: Okay, so now I know more about all this pain, hurt, loneliness, sorrow, regret, fear, sadness. What’s the next step?
My throat: Find out what its truth is?
Me: Oh, right. What is the hidden essence of all of this pain and hard?
My throat: Its essence is silence.
Me: The good kind of silence. The kind where the not-saying is gentle and filled with ease. It isn’t about controlling pain, it’s about interacting with pain. It’s a loving kind of silence. It’s meditative. It’s shavasana.
My throat: And the distortion is when I silence myself because I’m afraid of my pain.
Me: So how do we move from the not-helpful self-silencing to the safety of not everything requires a response?
My throat: I want to tell you what I need.
What do I need?
Me: Tell me what you need.
My throat: Listen:
I need to go to the forest more often. Or the magical elevator shaft at the Playground. I need days off. Real days off. I need early bedtime and morning writing. I need you to notice when you are taking on responsibility that is not yours. I need to be appreciated and loved.
Me: That all seems reasonable.
My throat: And I want tea and lozenges and naptime.
Me: Okay. And here’s what I need. I need you to tell me when things aren’t going well in a way other than getting sick.
My throat: Will you pay attention?
I’ll try.
Me: I’ll try.
My throat: I like it when you talk to me.
Me: How are you feeling now?
My throat: A little better. Not as rough.
Me: Anything else you want to say?
My throat: If you put this up on the blog, please don’t use the things I said in the forest, and I would also like there to be a very clear comment zen thing, so that people don’t give you homeopathic remedies or tell you what they think your issues are.
Me: I think we can do that.
My throat: Thank you.
And comment zen for today.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
Talking to our stuff is hard. And interacting with it in a curious, compassionate, loving way is probably the hardest.
So we practice and we give ourselves room, and we remember that there isn’t really a way to get it wrong, because it’s an ongoing experiment. And there’s time.
We let people have room for their stuff too, which is why we don’t give each other unsolicited advice. Stories and conversations and wonderings are always welcome. So much love.
Follow
Just a very quick thank you to you and your throat and the forest. I am going to read this to my son tonight when he comes home from school. This piece will resonate so much:
And the distortion is when I silence myself because I’m afraid of my pain.
And as a writer I think he will immediately get the idea of talking to his throat. This will help him access what he isn’t saying, give (written) voice to what he thinks will diminish him if says them. And the forest– I don’t know what his forest will be but a safe space. That will absorb all that is in him. He needs that. And he will get this metaphor.
With deep gratitude,
pearl
I get this. Oh, how I get this. And I am reminded of walking with the redwoods on the coast of northern California, and how unutterably magical those forests are.
Thank you for writing this, and thanks to your throat for being willing to share. It is very appreciated, and helpful.
I really love the way you talk to yourself. It inspires me to do the same, and my internal cast of characters is very grateful for that. <3
I hearts. This helped me understand why I haven’t been blogging as much lately. Things are incubating.
Wishing tea, lozenges, and naptimes for you both.
Perfect for how I’ve been feeling lately. “We tell the trees about pain, hurt, sadness, fear, regret.”
Wish it wasn’t a yucky winter day – I would be good to talk to the trees. But the crummy wintery mix we have had the past two days make walking to my car a challenge. Kissed the sidewalk last night 🙁
I guess journaling will have to suffice.
Thanks, Havi.
My froat is also sore. And I’m also working on ideas that I’m afraid to talk about… Hmmm…
I think my froat (and my sore sore glands) and I need to have a conversation. And tea. More tea (my glass is empty, what!).
x
The timing is impeccable. Again. I must be in the right place for me right now.
Yes, the throat and all that is wrapped up in it and can be channelled through it.
Like, right now I can see:
– the palest grey blue of early mornng clouds
– the soft, light blue of my pyjamas
(oh dear, I just said pyjamas on the internet!)
– many shades of ultramarine and cerulean blue in my blue glass and china display on the mantelpiece
– a stormy, brooding navy cushion
– a melancholy, almost grey or mauve-y blue on the spine of some of my books
– joyful, jumping turquoises and clear, serene, happy sky blues on others.
And boy does my throat know a lot about all of them!
My throat is a faded mauve blue right now, going through the sad and the scared and the disappointed and the tired. Sometimes streaks of angry navy swim by.
Man, I am so throat it’s ridiculous.
Me: Seriously, throat, dude, you do KNOW there are six other chakras to play with don’t you?
Throat: Yes, yes, I know but I can’t use WORDS so well with them can I?
Me: Do you know that you can be a bit bossy and domineering?
Th: That’s because I’m the SMARTEST and get the best grades!
Me: Uhuh. You know that’s a very limited understanding of things don’t you?
Th: Yes, I know… I’m just… worried about you. I’m used to being in charge. I’m GOOD at taking care of you when I’m not so… stuck. Words appeal to you.
Me: I know you are. Thanks for that… You wanna give a bit of room for me to listen to some of the other guys too? Especially seeing as you’re a bit stuck right now?
Th: No, they don’t TALK so you can’t LISTEN.
Me: Okay, okay smarty-pants, you’re right. Okay then, can I please have a bit of room and quiet so I can ‘tune in’ to the others and see what I can find out from them?
Th: Errgghh… ‘Tune in’ is such a wanky self-help phrase.
Me: Dude – you know what I mean. It’s a bit ‘feel’ and a bit ‘listen’ (yes it is!) and a bit ‘wait and see’. There isn’t any good words for it.
Th: I’m worried about this idea.
Me: I can see… Can I give it a go?
Th: Well…. okay. Except I’m probably going to turn into a drunken monkey and chatter at you. I don’t mean to, it’s just how it works.
Me: Okay. Well, I promise to try and Not Mind and stay ‘tuned in’ here while you get drunk and chatter at me, like, OVER THERE. Deal?
Th: I have my doubts.
Me:
Th: Okay, okay, deal.
Me: Thanks. You want me to write this up? In words?
Th: Yes yes!! Words are my favourite thing EVER!
Me: I know they are honeypie. I’ll go do it now.
Th: *does a little jig / spins fast with lots of bright cyan blues and gold flecks*
x
Thank you so much for this, it is helping me read to myself what I haven’t been able to articulate. (Now that is one mangled sentence!).
My favourite part is about the smell that feels like resilience, and power, and time. I would go and hug a tree, but it’s dark and raining, and I live within the neighbourhood watch area of a small village. Maybe tomorrow then.
Love to your throat.
Wow. Wonderful. Thank You Havi and Havi’s Throat for letting us in on your conversation!
I am left with a major wondering though, what is “the magical elevator shaft at the Playground”?
It sounds wonderful.
And I have a musing on silence from my own experience, and that is that sometimes (a lot of the time, if I’m honest with myself) I fill my life with sound (radio, podcasts, audiobooks, etc…) because I’m afraid of really meeting myself in the silence.
Much Love,
Andy
This post fills me with tenderness.
A conversation with my tears…
Tense Me: Oh, God. Here you are again. What do you want?
Tears: Please.
Tense Me: *sigh* Please what?
Tears: Please let me be. Please let me be here.
Tense Me: Well, I can’t seem to stop you, can I? You’re here.
Tears: Please…
Another Me: Hey.
Tense Me: What?
Me: Can I take the front of the V for a while?
Tense Me: Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe. Are you sure?
Me: Let’s try it.
…
Me: Hey, tears. You still here?
Tears: Yes.
Me: Is there anything you need?
Tears: To be. Please. Please let me be.
Me: You just want to be? You don’t want to tell me anything? I’m listening. Well, I’m trying to listen.
Tears: Be with me?
Me: Of course.
Tears: I don’t want to talk.
Me: Okay.
Tears: I just want to be.
Me: All right. Would you like me to hold you?
Tears: Yes.
…
Tense Me: Ask her what’s wrong.
Me: That’s not what she wants right now.
Tense Me: But —
Me: It think it’s okay.
Tense Me: What can I do?
Me: Can you let go?
Tense Me: *whoosh*
…
EPILOGUE
Monster: Wait! Wait! I’m not so sure you should submit this comment. It’s too sloppy, too cheesy, too something. Can we talk about this? Am I too la-
@Kat I felt such tenderness reading your comment – seems to be catching! Also adored the Monster Epilogue. Monster Epilogues are definitely something I would like to start incorporating into my life.
@Havi Thank you.
This is so lovely, Havi.
I could smell the Resilience, Power and Time…Trees are such good listeners, as are you.
Thanks for letting us in on your conversation. x
Oh, love. Yes. You and commenters too.
I think talking about quiet+allowing sad+talking to trees are what prompted me to shift out of Beloved Lurkerdom at this time and not others. And throats too – it’s a not-so-common place to find a stuck living (or is it?). And the trees. Again.
Oof, it’s a lot of stuff. But – thank you. And I’m smiling with the idea that you’ll be making what you & throat & all the bits of you need happen. (and hello!)
Love you, Havi. Hope you and your throat feel better soon!!
Also, I never said the other day how awesome your comment about fires and being made of the element of water was. It was VERY awesome. xxx
Thank you, Havi, Throat, Trees, Forest.
This was exactly right for me tonight.
My throat story:
I had a time in my life when I was always sick to my throat. Then I started saying the things and left the job and left the relationship and started listening and respecting myself and I haven’t been sick like that in two years.
Oh thank you!!
I had a sore throat yesterday, and today it feels like a chest cold, and even though it’s not bad I cancelled my dinner plans.
And then I felt guilty. And got easy food instead of healthy food. And then I felt guilty about that. and everything is just wrong.
I think it’s because I’m talking to the wrong thing. I’m talking to my guilt and my sense of responsibility to others. Instead, I need to talk to the source of the pain and the sick and to my responsibility to myself.
thank you thank you.
Thank you, Havi and thank you, Havi’s throat! Your honesty and candidness is soooo helpful to me.
I have been having different body parts screaming at me lately. Even tho I am aware that body parts really do talk to us sometimes I need them to scream for me to stop. Stop. And listen.
My skin has been getting INTENSELY itchy as soon as I calmly lay down for sleep. INSANELY itchy. So…I have been having dialogue with my skin and it has been so constructive, helpful and mind blowing at times.
Sometimes the itchiness ceases as soon as I begin the dialogue and my skin knows I am really listening. Completely ceases.
My skin has needs and I want to provide them. This is important to me – all parts of me.
Your story and dialogue is so supportive for me to keep on communicating with whatever shows up for me.
With so much appreciation and hot tea and throat drops and lots of love,
Maya
I, too, am hearing this at the right time.
And I especially needed the reference to time.
I have a lifetime of stuff that I have been beating myself up for not getting over it, already.
But, wait, there is time!
Thank you, thank you, for the permission slip with the reminder!
gentle hugs and gratitude to you for sharing this and sending you some virtual tea with honey.
I have a literal sore throat right now, and ugh.
Also, cough.
I think mine is the virus kind, though. And sadly, there’s no talking to a virus. But there might be going to bed at a reasonable hour with one, so there’s that.
“And about how frustrating it is to want something, all the while knowing that you will still continue to give precedence to the thing you don’t want instead.”
It’s amazing how much easier it gets to bear the hard, knowing that there are others who go through the same. This is getting written down, this will be a mantra for the guilt that I wrestle with on a daily basis.
Havi and everyone else: Your conversations are beautiful and inspire me to open dialogue with my own body, which is just now recovering from a week (weak?) of yuck.
Tomorrow I’m going to go and sit in a tree.
–Interesting, I want to write more and why and stuff, but find that it’s stuck in my throat, and not being allowed out of the cage that is my heart at the moment, in case I crack from the pain and the grief.–
Looks like I need to go deeper still:
Tomorrow I am going to sit in a tree and give myself safety and permission to delve inside and find the disparate bits that would like to be drawn back together, and start untangling this knotted ball of wool that is my emotions at the moment, and perhaps use that to start knitting the bits of me back together.
HA, then I got an image of this, Guerilla Knitting, as seen on trees near where I live
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dneese_l/3070730590/in/set-72157610868899993/
I know where one of the current knitted trees are, maybe it needs a hug. Maybe it wants to give me a hug.
After reading about trees this morning, I went out on the First Sunny Day of the Year to some of my own bestfriend trees and said ‘hi’. And other stuff. Totally worth it, the Robin was in his usual spot and was serenading his heart out.
My throat has spent a lot of time being frog’s-butt tight. Not helpful in counselling, but a one-removed thing to talk about when I couldn’t talk about the thing itself. An especially bad period dissolved a bit when a friend reiki-fied me a bit. I coughed up a virtual ball of tinsel (miles and miles and miles of it!) and felt a lot better. Which always seemed freakyweirdwoowoo to me, but in this space it’s allowed to make the perfect sense that it always did.
Love to all and gratitude for being invited to witness conversations.
And maybe a huge ball-pit of lozenges so all our cold, germ and tension beset throats can go wriggle.
Loved this. So many bloggers seem to be feeling ‘voiceless’ right now – or maybe I’m being drawn to those bloggers who ARE feeling this way for a reason, a guidance about my own stuck voice. Will explore. Glad I found you.
I’m taking an hour out today to talk to my ear and its earache. Thank you for posting this.