When I was in massage school, I took an introductory class in Craniosacral Therapy where I learned about something known as a still point. This is a physiological state during which the production of craniosacral fluid ceases, causing a pause in the craniosacral rhythm. This rhythm is familiar to the rest of the body as is the heart beat or the breath; a normal, natural movement within it. This pause allows the body a few moments of deep silence as well as an opportunity for self-correction, a reduction of symptoms in certain conditions, and an increase in wellbeing.
Mid-November 2013 through mid-March 2014 was a time of chopping wood, carrying water, doing only what was necessary to my survival and letting everything else go. Every moment since Dannica’s accident has been this way to a great degree, but these four months were an even more drastic release of anything not necessary; a deeper silence, an absolute stillness within me to the point of being mistaken by others and myself as dead and gone. The holidays, and the weeks that followed my failure to be jolly, filled me with the sense I was chopping petrified wood and carrying water from the ocean floor to the highest mountaintop only then to realize it was unfit to consume.
I once had a vivid dream in which I lay myself down upon the earth and waited for my own death. It was a struggle and seemed like it would just never happen. I tried to relax my body there in the dirt looking up at a sky full of stars. I envisioned the insects arriving to dispose of my body and other creatures coming to return it to the earth. I was anxious, but willing and grateful to have this opportunity to offer myself back to Mother Earth in this way, which brought a certain calm. I’d drift off into a restless sleep and awaken once more to find myself still living and looking up at a now cloud covered sky lit eerily by the lights of the city. How long until morning? No way to know.
Something was going on in the world that required everyone I knew to evacuate taking only the necessities. They would not be coming back. I saw my dad’s Ford station wagon loaded, my siblings holding their dearest belongings to their little hearts. I had chosen to stay behind…I would be dead soon. They needed to go on. They went. Morning came and I found myself still there, in the dirt. Realizing it just wasn’t going to happen, I ran to all the places I knew hoping to find the people I loved and go with them after all, but they were gone and now I was dead to them.
I remember having a dream within that dream as I was tossing and turning in the dirt and the grass that long night awaiting my own passing. I dreamt of a golden kernel of corn. A seed. There, in the center of my vision, it glowed and sparkled as if it were actually made of gold.
I was 20 years old when I had that dream and wrote of it in my journal. I was newly married. My children still in spirit, where my daughter is once more. My golden seed. Now, I look back in time and I’m in that dream with my 20 year old self. I see the 45 year old me, showing the 20 year old me a golden seed, creating the dream within the dream, the still point. The 45 year old me was telling the 20 year old me, she still had a life to live. A lot of it. And though I felt alone in the world, she was there with me. My daughter was there with me, too. My dream within a dream. Her life lived within my lifetime, burning bright there in the center of my vision. The center of my life.
The dream within a dream, those four months last winter, these still points created hollows; opportunities for self-correction and increases in wellbeing. A dear friend told me today, “Life has not been good to you.” I agree. It hasn’t. And yet, it’s been amazing to me. For one, I have this dear friend who brought me fresh eggs from her own chickens and gave me the greatest hug and the biggest smile. I am blessed. For another, I am reminded today of a dream I had 25 years ago which I thought was telling me I am alone in life but which now tells me I never am.