Death/Rebirth

Last summer, I was playing with medicine cards in our hippie hamptons home. Each person pulls a card out of the deck, and it really is an entertaining and bonding experience to share this with others.

Well, I pulled out "The Bat", which is a symbol of death/rebirth. Lauren (my college roommate and tribal core) was particularly enthusiastic of this choice for me, pointing out that it suits me well.

I go through a fairly dramatic death/rebirth cycle.....um, once a year? twice a year? twice a month? well, with some frequency.

It's usually characterized by a period of panic in which I realize that the life that I'm leading isn't a truly authentic choice. That is, I am not acting like the mortal and timely being I am, in which each moment is precious and there is not a single one to waste.

So now I live in Venice, and I nervously type this across the attractive photographer/ motorcyclist sitting in front of me. It's a fascinating state of writing where, instead of getting caught up in the page, I feel more present in the situation as the words flow out of me. There's less mind to it. It's like Thich Nhat Han says, I am writing, but I am not suffering.

This way of self-expressing is something I've been seeking in various stages of intensity through college and in particular, the past few months. And Andres Salcedo's classes have been helping.

It's the Kirtan.

I swear it is.

I asked Shiva, what can I do for fifth chakra blockages, what asana, but to no avail: just chanting, she says. Anything else, I ask? You can kind of bring your fingers up and away from your throat as you chant, she shows me.

But basically, chant.

I had a panic attack tonight. I thought that was a new york thing. (nope). Thought it was a childhood thing (nope).

For those who haven't had a panic attack, it's a succession rapid heart beat and downright pain in your chest. A subtle, empty, sore pain.

Mind goes nuts. Mind sounds like this:

"I'm so scared to try and fail. I don't think I can do it. I don't think my best is good enough. I don't know when I made that decision, but I don't think my best is good enough anymore. Oh man....

And then...

"I want to be loved so much. When did this arise? Oh my god, I want to be loved SO much. This was never my thing, this was always someone else's thing. And now it's my thing- wtf?

And the kicker....

"What if I die, having never created anything significant or meaningful. What if I fucking die, never having created anything significant?"

So, I'm hanging out on my back in a restorative heart opener, pounding my chest- probably not as wise a choice as a forward fold, but at this point I was so fascinated by my panic, that I wanted to explore it just as much as I wanted it to go away.

The moral of the story is that it turned out just dandy all over, and quite joyous as well.