There’s a scene in “The Astronaut’s Wife” when an electric current (hello toaster + flooded kitchen) electrocutes the character who has been host to a mysterious alien force. It bounces around the room and, in a Rosemary’s Baby-esque twist, finds a new body to inhabit.
I had a session with Brigette today, and it felt like I was holding the toaster. Energy ricocheted around my body as I struggled both to let it out and hold it in.
It was the most uncomfortable session I’ve had, which is saying something, though I don’t know exactly what– it certainly points out how resistance is the hardest thing. Harder than love or grief or loss, I think.
But I do trust the process, even when I don’t leave feeling rosy-cheeked and glowing. (More like sweaty and scowling, and apprehensive about my assignments). I’m thankful for that– for all the ways I can hang out in an uncomfortable space without knowing what to DO, how to FIX IT NOW.
I got into bed with my notebook tonight, and started the scary thing, because, I find, you are more willing to try scary things when aliens are attempting to possess your body.
And… I had had it all backwards. The worst part was the best part. The loneliest part was the most loved and whole. The thing that I have avoided for most of my life… seems to be the source of all joy.
I write all of this with some stunned incredulity, but with the evidence both on the page and in my muscles, nerves, and bones: I’m not being body snatched. I’m not being damned even temporarily to purgatory. It seems that maybe all I had to do all along was let go of the toaster…