I am supposed to be journalling; for whose exact benefit I do not know, but I have changed so much over the past two years, made so many shifts, possibly imperceptible at surface level, but which in reality have spanned whole universes in my subconscious map of what the world is. It would be good to have a record of these ongoing changes, to be able to look back and say 'gosh, yes, I did feel that way. I did believe that, for a while'.
Currently, for me, EFT is all about tears. Not when I see clients. but in my own personal work, and I love it. In my little world, emotions have always been things best treated with extreme suspicion, held at arms length and carefully examined from a clinical perspective, although that was probably just as well. A drop of sarcastic detachment can be incredibly useful if your inner Goddess (gah!) is an immeasurably ancient Welsh dragon with sore teeth and sore feet and the temper of a granny denied her bag of mints and her rolling tobacco. (In fact, Emily Teague, beautiful-heart, creative lady and pretty spiffing medium, read my 'soul plan' this week and pegged my early life lessons as an 18:9 which I understand is a kind of anally retentive mass murderer. So there you have it, I am a walking oxymoron. I want a badge.)
The thing about near-overwhelming tears is I have never consciously allowed myself to experience them, and in the dark days of the soul, even then, I transmuted them into fury instead. Rage is so much more productive than collapsing in a puddle, am I right? Sorrow always seemed so defeatist.
It seems that without this defensive disassociation my heart is strapped to my sleeve, out in the fresh air and as sensitive as a wet nipple in a wind chamber. EFT is my sound-proof room; my safe space in which to allow controlled exposure and the incremental reconnecting of heart and mind.
Today, for example, I remembered that I first learned 'Catch a falling star' when my mother used to hold me in her arms and sing it to me, with such intense love in her eyes. I had painted myself a different, more practical and less hopeful reality based on words that have filled the years between. I had completely forgotten that moment of pure connection, and sitting in the matrix (in the alpha bridge) I was able to perfectly recall it. And I cried. And my world changed. And my knowledge of my mother, of myself, of my role in life, of my value, of the capacity for the sun to shine and the birds to sing, all these changed too. In five minutes.