Journal entry by Eve Ilsen — 1 hour ago
So let me assure us all: good news.
My personal prep of three days' clear liquid and two bottles of magnesium citrate worked fine.
We left at 6:45 a.m.
The procedure itself was easy.
Result couldn't be better: no polyps; and a photo that looks like the cover of a science fiction novel about a planet where the caves are alive.
I went to the Conservative shul tonight where a movement class was being given as a preparation for the High Holy Days. Mostly young chickies, and three of us old hens. I was very aware that I attended partly in memory of my old teacher and friend who died before I got to visit him once more.
It does not approach the profound depth and complexity of his work at all.
But it put me in the position where each moment of music or instruction, I had to decide whether I was going to dare to re-enter my body again. For real. Because---as we all know---when we really breathe, we begin to feel. We can't easily pick and choose: when we really breathe, we feel whatever is really there.
Of course there are those places in our bodies/feelings that were so threatened, at some point in our lives, that we locked them up good and tight.
But in honor of my friend and teacher, z'l, I consistently decided, for those two hours, to be fully present in movement, in breath, in sensation, in feeling.
What's scary, of course, is that this might open the door---several doors, actually---to who I was Before.
Not only before my beloved died; also before my parents died, before I had to shut down parts of me in order to learn with another teacher; and way before, before I froze parts when I was still a child because they were too dangerous to the tenuous family balance.
By the age most of us are, we all know this story. We each have our own version of it.
I came home proud of myself that I went and that I breathed and that I moved. I came home embarrassed to observe how much I had learned at earlier periods of my life that I had abandoned completely---I thought. And then it turns out that these parts, though dormant, still live in me, just waiting to be invited back into life.
I'm amazed that I did it.
I'm amazed that it took so long.
I'm grateful for what is still there.
And when I returned home, the cat rewarded me with a long nap in my lap, purring.