Primal Memories
Continuing on from the last post "I Always Knew that I Was Adopted"
During the movement class I took as a part of my master's program, I had an intense dream about the day that I was born when I experienced my birth mother leaving me. There was something about the movement that I participated in during class that shook loose those primal memories.
During the class I created three paintings based on my memory of the dream. As part of the homework for the class, we had to incorporate movement in some way, and we needed to work with a partner. My friend Lisa, also in the class (now a Jungian psychologist), and I chose to work together. I did not want to do this work, not at all. I didn't like movement and I sure as heck did not want to dredge up these memories that I'd held in my body for so many years.
It's hard to write this post, realizing that I'm sharing these deeply personal experiences with anyone who chances across my blog. But it's cathartic too, and it's healing to write about it.
From my grad school journal (2001):
I looked at the painting of the Venetian blinds for a while and closed my eyes. I started rocking back and forth while standing, and then fell to my knees. I was reaching, searching the room for my mother. In my dream, I had the sense that she was there, and then left. In my movement, I wasn't sure how long she had been gone, but she wasn't in the room at all. I searched the whole room with my hands. The room was filled with dim, hazy light. I reached as far as I could, into all the dark corners, searching. Finally, I pulled into myself, hugging myself and rocking back and forth. I am my only resource, there is no one else, she is gone. I cry.
I was dreading the 2nd painting even more: Grief and Rage. The 2nd painting is intense pain and agony. I regress, back to being an infant. I search, jabbing the air, reaching, demanding, angry. Where is she? She's gone. I give up. I am helpless. I am crying and hurting to the depths of my being. Only I can soothe myself. I am alone.
The third painting: Confusion. There is no more reaching out. She's gone. I am questioning and wondering where she is. Everything is gray and hazy and confused, and the pain is overwhelming. I sink into myself. I comfort myself and hold myself in despair. There is nothing to reach out to, nobody, no mother. In the end, I can only reach inside myself and there are no more movements to make except to curl up and hug myself. The movements are minuscule. I am exhausted.
I slept for the rest of the afternoon and woke with a sense of having been through something extraordinarily sad, like a death. I tried to talk about my experience but found that I couldn't. It was too personal, too deep, too fresh. I am now able to write about it, to try and understand the profound experience that I had.
Natalie Rogers writes that "certain movements allow us to release anger, frustration or blockages. Keeping those negative energies bottled up makes our bodies into pressure cookers". Movement can be a constructive way to become aware of ourselves and release those negative energies. It's a human trait to be afraid of the rage or anger inside us. A safe environment allows us to express our emotions in dance. In turn, the emotions are transformed into strength and empowerment and healing begins." The movement I did in response to my paintings released extremely deep and powerful emotions. Now I can begin to understand more about my personality, who I am, what forces shaped me.
"This inner world houses our feelings, our emotions, and our spirit. It holds the memories of our ancestors, our past, our present and our future. If our body holds the memory of something that is too painful to remember, then sometimes we are unwilling to be in touch with our bodies. It is crucial that we return to our bodies, to return home and reawaken our senses, so that the natural healer within can renew its strength and power." (Halprin)
"Pain accompanies all birth.
There is pain when we are born...
and there is pain when we are re-born
as old facets of the personality die away...
or are brutally torn out of our life pattern....to make way for the new.
In breaking down the old future, one's world may seem to fall apart.
Trouble will enter the life like a storm...
A tempest will rage.
Do not resist...
there is a balancing power at work...
for your new self is about to enter the world."
Zambuka
Halprin, Anna (2000) Dance as a Healing Art, LifeRythym, Mendocino, CA
Rogers, Natalie - Arts, P.-C. E. (n.d.). Centered expressive arts.
Zambucka, Kristin (1978) Ano Ano The Seed, Mana Publishing Co, Honolulu, HI
II am sure this and the rest have been hard to write; god knows they're hard enough to read...I never detected this level of grief and heartbreak when we would meet up back in Portland. You carry your past well, and I sense it has been more instructive rather than burdensome. Always the best and happiest smile. Carry on.