At approximately 3pm yesterday a herd of elephants began dancing on my heart. This lasted for about two hours. The pain was indescribable! Like nothing I’ve ever experienced! I laid on the couch, palms open to the ceiling, and watched these creatures doing the stomp. Then it was over.
You might think I was having a heart attack but no, it was pure grief.
My cousin and I each took a dose of MDMA at 1pm. I augmented my experience with four capsules of San Pedro. For the first hour, I laid on the grass watching the clouds roll in, feeling the sun on my face until it disappeared into the arriving cold front. I had warned my cuz that I might be split wide open and told her not to be alarmed if she found me somewhere lying in a puddle of tears. Her intention was to open her heart and later, after the elephant dance, she described her experience to me as we sat on the porch wrapped in yoga blankets. She had a subtle, profound nuanced first date with the medicine. Her share was beautiful and her heart was indeed opening.
A friend recently sent me a talk by Michael Brown. According to him, the pain I received was “manna of the gods”, or, for me, a continuation of learning how to hold my young self with unconditional love rather than addictively seeking a stand-in for my mother. A huge part of this digestion was the realization that I wasn’t able to give my partner the care and tenderness that I felt for her. For so many years, I asked her to carry my pain of abandonment instead. Why does Brown describe pain as food of the gods? I’ve recently discovered for myself that projecting, self-soothing, seeking, avoiding and resisting hasn’t healed me. The abandonment feelings are still with me 24/7 and emerge relationally through triggers but haven’t actually gone anywhere. In fact, they are like wounded caged animals, ready to strike. According to Brown, being with these sensations and feelings is a wholly different approach and by simply watching them, like watching a bird in a tree, or listening to them, like listening to a song, they can provide wisdom. No longer doing anything about them, they become messages, perhaps even “soul food”.
Here’s a question that might have entered your mind, who the fuck wants to lie around and watch a herd of wild elephants dancing on your chest? Well, as I said, it was excruciating! Not for the faint of heart, I can tell you! Yet, the medicine was giving them the stage and as I lay there observing, I knew it wouldn’t last. Later, sitting at the dining room table eating salade niçoise with my cousin, I felt gentle as a lamb, not exactly normal for me. My voice was tender and soft. There was a clear recognition of something shifting in me regarding my usual anger or self-pity. And I felt so much compassion for my partner of 27 years even though there was also a great sadness present that I couldn’t share this experience, or meal, with her.
Today, the grief comes and goes. No elephant sized stomps but I’m not doing anything more than being with it like one would with a child who’s having a rough time. Holding it, offering it presence. Like I’ve done for my own children. In truth, I have no idea what I’m doing but when my first child was born, I had no idea how to parent him either. The night he came into this world, he slept on my chest while my partner rested from a three day labor. I was acutely aware of every breath he took as I watched him rise and fall with each of my own inhalations and exhalations. I couldn’t sleep because I found myself suddenly caring for an infant who needed my full attention. I loved him unconditionally then and still do, with even more awareness.
I suppose this is what I’m attempting now, for myself. If it needs to start with an elephant stomp, so be it.