Insomnia

During a disrupted night's sleep I found myself reading and much like a dream, I can't remember what I read or where I read it exactly. However, the thought, which I think I read, has stayed with me. 

As I recall, a research project had suggested that people who use the word 'I' more than most were more inclined to anxiety. In it's simplest form this idea makes sense, since it suggests a preoccupation with oneself; maybe some self-aggrandizement or self-involvement.

If you look at the above two short paragraphs, there are already 7 'I's typed, so there's no doubt this sort of language is like a runaway train, and to some extent unavoidable. 

In my insomniac state the idea held some merit. So too did the work of Dick Schwartz, that our minds are made up of parts, some of which are less than useful to us. The two ideas were somehow blending together. 

Trying to do whatever might work to allow surrender to sleep I tried the idea of referring to myself as 'cindi' rather than 'I'. cindi isn't my birth name but I relate to it more and feel more authentic using that name. 

At my yoga studio I have noticed that there is a trend amongst teachers to suggest one give oneself a hug. It might happen towards the beginning or end of a class and it is a lovely, self-soothing thing to do. I think many modalities of healing are coming to see how important touch is to humans.

Blending these ideas together, I lay on my side with my arms wrapped around me and said to myself, 'it's okay, cindi, you're going to be all right'.

I felt something shift. In the past days, I had allowed myself to be rattled through external environmental factors. My internal state had become distressed. I had, through frustration, made comments that only someone with influence can make. I'm not sought for my opinions at home but rather as a place where ideas can be expressed and sorted through. No more than a word or two is necessary.

Yet a 'part' of me had demanded a voice. It was a part that hated conflict. It said things to my husband like, 'Do you really need this in your life? You're 65! Why can't you just choose joy?' It was a part that was refusing to acknowledge the facts of life; that my husband never wants to leave the arena of business; that this is his version of joy.

That's when I felt myself sinking back into that joyful place inside me. cindi is innately joyful; quiet; at peace. cindi never feels comfortable using 'I'. cindi is completely in tune with that bimbo entity. cindi hasn't a thought in her little head.

And, that's when I fell deeply asleep, awaking again at 10.56 am.

Authentic self

In a series of days - 90 days in fact -  that roll on for me like a man in the desert hanging on to hope that over the next hill there will be an oasis -  there was this one reprieve. My husband acted like an owner.

It probably wasn't longer than 30 minutes - maybe significantly shorter - but I was aware for every minute of that particular day, which was spent mostly alone and mostly doing menial tasks, that I was light, untroubled, bright, buoyant, happy.

I knew it was just a little thing, not likely to lead to anything else, or to be repeated any time soon. Still, I enjoyed every last drop of the glass of water that had been given to me and the journey that day was smooth. I put one foot in front of the other with a light heart.

I knew that I was still likely to remain alone in the desert for considerable time to come, maybe for a very, very long time. I stayed in the Now, neither worrying about what happened yesterday nor wondering about how to deal with tomorrow. 

This is my authentic self.