I was a sailor in a past life…I swear I learned about this in a hypnotherapy session, which led to what they called, “A past life regression.” First, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to calm myself. After the first breath, I was instructed to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. In, slowly Out, slowly “Relax and listen to the sound of my voice.” I was told. “Slowly breathe in and allow yourself to feel calm.” I concentrated on my breathing and felt my chest rise, and then fall. I embraced the darkness behind the walls of my eyelids while sinking deeper into a softer state of consciousness. “I want you to concentrate on the top of your spine and feel the tension disappear.” “With each breath,” I was told, “You will inhale all of the nourishment your body needs. And with every exhale, you will let go of everything that holds you back.” The instructions were told in a soft, soothing voice, and after each instruction, I was reminded of my breathing. “In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The temperature in the room was comfortable. I was told to lay flat on my back with my arms slightly extended away from my hips and my legs were partially spread. My head rested on a pillow, and within minutes, I felt myself drifting into a different level of awareness. I wasn’t sure if I believed in hypnosis. I was more open to the idea of relaxing my body, one piece at a time. Starting with my shoulders, I felt the weight of my neck become gentle. As instructed, I allowed my arms to lighten. I felt the stress in my back become less troublesome and my legs became weightless. I was told, “Allow yourself to relax.” “Feel your body become light and allow your mind to empty.” Then I was told, “You are safe.” Feeling as though I was just below the level of sleep, I fell into a dream. I saw myself on an old wooden ship from perhaps the 1700’s. The seas were mounting over the bow and the rain was heavy. I could see the front of the ship climbing up the waves and then quickly slam, nose first, into the stormy ocean. I was mid-ship. My left hand gripped onto a wooden rail around the ship’s mast and my right hand reached towards the forward cabin door. The wood planks were riddled with cracks, and the heavy brown ropes were the color of wet paper bags. I was reaching for the cabin door, but I couldn’t let go of the wooden railing. I wanted to go inside and be safe, but the ocean was too rough and I was afraid to let go. The door I faced was in the center of the ship’s beam. Its frame was made of faded 4x4 beams, and the door had only one small four-paneled window, which was somewhat centered in its upper half. The glass to the windows was back, so I could not see through them. At the sides of the cabin door, steps lead up to the forward deck, where the pulpit stretched outward from the carved figure of a woman’s body, and pointed out into the angry tide. The off-white sail flew in the heavy wind and rain splashed onto the deck. My left hand remained gripped onto the railing and my right hand continued to stretch towards the cabin. I wanted to let go but the ship was being tossed in the high-seas. There was no one around and no one to help me. I was alone in the storm. I could get to safety; all I had to do was let go, but I was too afraid to let go. Then I heard, "As you breathe, I want you to become aware if your surroundings." Suddenly, I woke up the same as I would as if I were sleeping. I felt the floor beneath me. I felt my arms and legs. I felt my shoulders and my neck. I felt myself sweep back into consciousness. I learned from this... I learned that I hold onto things. Sometimes, I hold on too tight and I’m unsure when to let go. And I don’t like being alone, at least not in a storm, and there’s no one around to help. I don’t like feeling helpless…or desperate, but when I don’t know how to let go. I hold on tight I learned that it’s ok to be scared. And it’s ok to let go too Have a good night, folks
Posted on: Fri, 20 Sep 2013 01:07:52 +0000
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