Saturday, November 17, 2007
The Sufi acupuncturist has me drinking the most heinous tea as a part of the healing trajectory I'm in the midst of. Usually when I need acupuncture, it's the needles and especially the moxa that I dread. This time around, I sought out an herbalist because my intuition told me I needed some assistance from the green world. Sure enough, it's the herbs that are working on me. I'm fascinated and repelled by that truly awful taste first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Funny that the needles aren't really bothering me so much. Go figure.
I asked him this week how something that tastes so bad can be healing. How does murky, bitter, obnoxious tea reweave my life force? As he explained, the tea isn't meant to re-weave. It's a pattern breaker. This particular tea is supposed to break the solidity of an ongoing heartbreak I can't seem to shake off. I've never thought of heartbreak as solid. Apparently what happened is that my heart shattered, then froze. My liver has been on fire ever since, angry and hot, perhaps in an effort to melt the ice. Isn't that idea evocative? Wow. No wonder my stomach hurts!
Some people love pathological diagnoses, i.e. Ms. Mellicker what you have is acute and chronic stomachitis. In order to deal with this condition, we will put you through a series of incredibly expensive, dehumanizing, uncomfortable and probably unnecessary tests that will frighten you but help protect us from litigation later on. Next we will prescribe some serious drugs that you'll probably take for the rest of your life. In addition, you will need to take other medications to deal with the "side effects" of the drugs we prescribe. Your emotional state of being is not connected in any way with your sour stomach.
The officiousness of the people who deliver western medical diagnoses might make some people feel safe - I guess. I find this approach to healing impossible to understand. No wonder I have no confidence in these people to help me feel better.
But the poetry of Chinese medicine, especially as interpreted by the Sufi acupuncturist, makes perfect sense to me. It's a revelation, imagining my broken heart, suspended as if frozen, caught in a moment I can't get out of, as Bono would say.
So you see, that's why I'm drinking this awful tea, lying on the table every week while he "listens" to my pulses and jabs me with needles. Every week I cry like a baby, imagining the ice around my heart melting. I'm eating carefully, getting enough sleep, doing everything I can to further the process.
Healing from anything is such a dynamic process, but healing from heartbreak? Yikes.