Needles and Pins: What Acupuncture Has Done for Me

Wherever we go, there we are.

I was having a conversation one day with the director of the Bellefonte Art Museum, Pat House, and we were talking about health. Toward the end of 2015, the year my daughter died, I found myself struggling with pneumonia for several weeks, and Pat mentioned that sometimes pneumonia can be related to grief. "Ask your doctor about it," she suggested.

So of course when I got home I searched on the internet, and was very surprised to find tons of information on pneumonia as it relates to grief, and along with that I discovered that the ancient practice of acupuncture has specific meridians associated with grief therapy. Wow, who knew?

Mannequin showing acupuncture meridians

I had seen my conventional primary practitioner, who prescribed antibiotics and turned me over to a pulminary specialist. Went through a bunch of tests with the pulminary specialist who gave me more antibiotics and turned me over to a thoracic surgery specialist. Went through a bunch more tests and got yet more antibiotics, which were working, but very slowly. All tests came out well - the x-rays and CT scans and PET scans confirmed that my lungs were full of infection from the pneumonia. I'd never been so sick in my life. After 4 rounds of antibiotics I still felt pretty lousy, with very low energy and residual congestion. "You'll be spitting out all kinds of junk in all kinds of colors for a couple more months," said the docs, "No worries."

So when I discovered this new insight about pneumonia being related to grief AND there being other, ancient ways of bringing the body back into balance I decided to see if I could find a good acupuncturist.

Balance feels good.

Our bodies are composed of several different types of energy, and when we get a big "knock" in life, it can throw us off balance. With the death of my daughter, I had to restore all the different aspects of myself, including my emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual bodies. 

Time is a great healer for the mental body, and I think that's the one that recovered the fastest for me - my ability to focus on work and to continue to function by handling necessary, sort of factual or active things (computer work, laundry, house chores, etc.) returned the quickest. 

Psychological therapy is great to help the emotional body recover. Connie Powell at Centre Psychology had real tools and exercises she shared with me over a period of time so I could direct my emotional body, not by denying grief, but by integrating the emotions surrounding it into my life in healthy ways.

The spiritual part of myself has always been strong, and it upheld me through the hardest parts of the first year of recovery. Keeping our spiritual connections strong helps tremendously, though of course it doesn't "remove" the pain and other emotions associated with deep grief.

We are so much more than just our physical bodies.

But the poor little physical part of myself was still quite askew, regardless of the antibiotics to relieve the "symptoms." There was more work to be done to restore health to my physical vehicle. It was just exhausted on very deep levels.

Sometimes we need help to get back to health so we can dance again.

And that's where Dr. Heather Ferlitch, of Fusion Chiropractic and Acupuncture, came in. After talking with her on the phone, I made my first appointment. And wow, it was powerful. 

When you walk into her office, it's almost like entering another world. You open the door, and you can feel your troubles rolling off your back as you enter a place of quiet, soft, flowing energy and peace. A small water fountain welcomes you, along with inspirational plaques and gorgeous stained glass torchiere lamps. These lamps have dragonflies on them, a fairly archetypal symbol for transmutation/breaking the illusion. The view outside the windows is calming, and the waiting room is full of light. You can flip through a copy of Humans of New York while you're waiting - it's the perfect book because the wait is never long. And her right-hand person, Eileen is friendly and always willing to pop out and chat.

We can blossom again.

During my first appointment Heather spent time talking with me to ascertain where my struggles were and how she could help. While we were talking, she made me feel like I was the only person in the universe and she had as much time as needed to get a clear picture. 

After we'd talked I got to experience my first session. She led me to a small treatment room, my little sanctuary, where she proceeded to insert about 27 needles, in various parts of my body. It did not hurt, and she explained to me that when a doctor gives us a shot with a large needle, it punctures the skin, but when an acupuncturist inserts these tiny, restorative needles, they "part" the skin. They really are tiny, like a hair, and I don't feel them while they're in. She uses new needles each time, so I know they're sterile, which I like.

After all my needles were inserted, she gave me some tissues, ("Do people cry sometimes?" I asked, and she replied that sometimes they do as they release emotion), and a little bell I could ring if I wanted anything. Then she left the room. 

I was reclining on one of the wonderful tables she has - this is the one that has heat radiating from it under your back. It felt so relaxing to my overtaxed lungs and helped to loosen the congestion. It felt so comforting. She also directed soft waves of heat onto my feet by turning on a little machine I'd never seen before, it looks like a lamp but emits heat instead of light. I wiggled my toes and stretched into relaxation.  I listened to the quiet sounds of another little machine that makes "white noise." 

There I was on the table alone, with my Self front and center. I was scared for a minute - as the traumatic images of cleaning out my beautiful daughter's home trooped through my mind, and the ceremonies scattering her ashes, and a million other events we'd been through. I wasn't sure I could lie there and let them come, I wasn't sure I could feel the emotions behind them yet again. 

But I took a deep breath and decided to let the needles do their work. Took another deep breath and relaxed, and that's when the colors and swirling energies and shapes started to appear on my internal movie screen. As I relaxed into a trancelike state while the needles did their work, I began to see beautiful magenta and purple colors and geometric shapes (mostly hexagonal) and softly swirling energies on the "movie screen" behind my forehead. It was very much like meditation, though I didn't consciously guide myself into that. I felt the vastness of the universe and the peace of eternal unity and love. I felt a "part of something much larger than myself." I did not feel all alone. It was like the "bad" emotions were being drawn out of me and into a distance the likes of which I'd never even imagined - like they were being absorbed into some vast source that knew how to transmute them. Globs of lime green and brown waves of something like energy just swished their way up my body and out into the ethers and it felt really good.

When Heather came back 40 minutes later, with a soft knock on the door, she asked how I was doing and I told her I'd never felt so relaxed in my life! It was rather a miracle in itself that this was the first time I'd been able to be alone without a book or the TV or some distracting thing streaming into or out of (journaling) my mind. 

Sure, I'd cried, and used the soft tissues to mop up the tears. I wished I could do this marvelous acupuncture experience for and with my daughter, she'd have loved it. I missed her. But what I found when I arrived back home was that instead of going to sit on my little couch and read or watch TV, I wanted to do some beadwork, so I did. And later that week, when I worked on the laundry, which is downstairs in our basement area, I noticed that my knees didn't hurt when I came back up the stairs. Hm, that acupuncture had unblocked something and not only did I feel better physically, but emotionally I did not feel it necessary to "shut down" my feelings. 

So several weeks and sessions later (I'm not giving them up any time soon, I LOVE them) I'm able to listen to all kinds of music again. After my daughter died, I could only listen to instrumental music like jazz or big band or Native American or David Arkenstone because music with words sent me into emotional tailspins and made me cry.  My productivity levels have increased tremendously, and I can enjoy beadwork as well as painting. I had been fairly unable to paint for many months because there's a lot of emotion in that and I couldn't go there. But now I can, comfortably. I haven't needed any additional antibiotics and the residual congestion from the pneumonia has departed. My energy levels are much better too. 

So I'm not exactly sure how this works, but I know that it has worked amazing magic on my system. We've graduated from targeting "grief therapy" to general overall well-being, working on digestion, and keeping the overall system calm and fluid. And pretty soon we'll focus on quitting smoking. Yep, acupuncture can target that too.

I wanted to write about my experiences with acupuncture because though we sometimes need the intervention of conventional medicine, it isn't always enough, and can be greatly enhanced by alternative methods of healing. I have a lot of respect for ancient systems of healing that have been effective for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Each individual's experience of an acupuncture session is as unique as they are - and what I've found is that though I experience the benefits of acupuncture each time, my own sessions are often different, always relaxing, but "different" from each other in various ways. The only way to really find out is to try it.

Thanks Dr. Ferlitch for your wonderful skills and talents! I'll see you next week.

Note - all images courtesy of Pixabay.com

Namaste,
Jen

Receiving Jessica's Spirit - Painting is done

Detail of Jessica in Spirit

In order to celebrate my daughter's beautiful life and commemorate her passing, we invited a group of her friends, her Lovies, I call them, to hike up to a beautiful place she had enjoyed hiking to called Elowah Falls. We took a photograph of the falls after we'd scattered her precious ashes, shown below.

The Three Spirits in the waterfall foam.

As I looked at the photo later, I loved the way the spray from the waterfall rose up in the form of three women. It was as if they were welcoming Jessie's spirit. So I decided to do a watercolor painting depicting this.

Welcoming Jessica's Spirit

This is what came about.

During the ceremony, the Lovies released baloons that they'd written messages on, so I included them.

Loving messages to accompany Jess on her new journeys.

They also brought flowers and each person tossed one into the water along with blessings and prayers. So I included some flowers on the rock near Jess's spirit feet.

Beautiful flower gifts.

The Spirit Women in the waterfall foam seemed to welcome her, so I included them.

The Three Spirit Women

The Landscape along the stretch where Elowah Falls is, is mountainous, filled with beautiful pine trees, and many waterfalls throughout the terrain, so I painted them.

The beautiful landscape of Portland's mountains.

Jess has sprouted beautiful wings, and she's ready to go. 

Heading into new territory.

Happy new journeys my Love.

Healing is beginning.

My little painting is done xo

Namaste

My Philosophy as an Artist

Dancing with Destiny

I remember sitting in the car next to my sister when I was very young while my mother took us to pick up my father from work. My sister and I were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I remember thinking I want to be free. I don't know if I said this out loud, I think I did not. I was probably a little short of 10 years old at that time. Freedom was my mantra all through my childhood and adolescence. I grew up in the era where women were just starting to get out into the workforce in great numbers.

Two Worlds

The first memory I have of the arrival of art into my personal life is of a Christmas when I was given by my parents a box full of art supplies. I cried when I opened it, and the feeling in my heart was like coming home. The beautiful pristine white paper, the colors waiting to become magical visions through my heart and my hands.

We'd spent our early childhood exploring museums all over the world with my mother, since we travelled a lot, living in various countries for the first 10 years of my life (Malaysia, Japan, Italy, England). I was awed by the fact that a human being can make something of beauty, tell a visual story that touches others, and this image can last for hundreds of years. 

Seeing the paintings in the museums was like looking at fingerprints of the artists who made them, taking me back in time, taking me to see the world through their eyes, though they were long gone. And the images were beautiful. Beauty made my heart sing.

Birth of Creativity

So, having fallen in love with beauty and the ability to communicate with it, my passion became art. In childhood, I graduated from Barbie dolls to shining white paper and colors, and spent hours and hours drawing little people, each standing on their own planet, the colors of their clothing coordinated with the colors of their home planet. Each person on top of their world. I was about 11 years old at this time.

I decided that I wanted to be able to draw the person with more realism, and I wanted to be able to do this without needing models or pictures so I studied anatomy. I wanted my images to be truly beautiful, depicting magical beings of human and animal form. And I found as I grew older that I loved depicting emotion. A little boy, trapped, his hand pressing against the window, or a setting sun, just a pinpoint of light surrounded by darkness. 

Death of Grandfather

To me, art was life, it was the godforce or creative source channeling through me like an elixer. I forgot the whole world when I was drawing and my soul felt alive when I was imagining an image I could express. I did not hear anything, think anything, forgot all bodily urges, and lost myself in the process of creativity each time I sat in the attic where I chose to live in my adolescence in order to have the quiet and privacy I needed to go to this magical place in my mind and heart.

As I grew older I continued to draw and paint and play with pastels and colored pencils and markers and watercolors and oil paints and ink pens and anything I could make a mark with. But I encountered resistance when I told my parents, who insisted I go to college, that I wanted to attend Pratt or Parsons, in order to learn from the best. 

They didn't tell me they couldn't afford it or that I hadn't enough talent; my father told me art was not a stable career and he would not allow me to go to art school so I had to choose a liberal arts college. Unfortunately, while there, I encountered the nightmare of a serial murderer, so I dropped out and ran off to California with a man I had met a few months after I came home from the year of the killings.

My Twelve-Tailed Dragon

While working, I drew and drew and painted and pored through catalogs of gorgeous art images no bigger than a postage stamp to keep my dreams alive. I worked in a specialized art store as the assistant manager, loving my customers, teaching my staff about tools, and making good use of my discount to buy supplies and how-to art books.

Take a chance.

I tried to keep a foot in both worlds - the world of working and bringing in money, and the very private world of creation that came from my mind and heart and muse. I spent time going to museums as much as possible. I counted the shades on the old masters' paintings - five colors from dark to light. I stored as much as possible in my mind as I grew older and started raising my little family - two children and a husband who continued to live life as a single man. Eventually we divorced and I had to choose out of my talents, which one would be the most supportive with the least amount of overhead, which was writing. 

Are we puppets?

So I worked two jobs for many years while my children were growing, writing for newspapers and doing freelance editing for university departments. I eventually landed a much coveted position with a university back on the East Coast, which included going back to school and earning credentials as a professional editor and subsequently, a distance education specialist. I worked at the university happily for 16 years while I raised my children, and was grateful the work was not repetitive, but dynamic and meaningful. 

Let's get serious.

During those years I found my way to the museums in the tiny town we lived in, and occasionally had a chance to get to the big city museums in New York, Washington, Chicago and Philadelphia. Still keeping that dream alive.

Towards the end of my career as an instructional designer I went part-time and started working with beads because it was something I could pick up and put down no matter the interruption, and with four teenagers and a second marriage plus career, I had to spread myself pretty thin to cover all the demands on my time.

Beloved Madonna and Child

I was able to dance with my bead-loving muse for several years, and even able to sell my bead creations through an online Etsy shop, as well as to my many colleagues. And fortune smiled upon me when one of my customers recommended me to a local museum and I was asked to do a show. I was able to mount two shows, garnering exciting sales that I split with the museum. Meeting and talking with the people who purchased my creations was very special and fun, and I loved the feeling of helping to support the museum.

I became the manager of the museum library, which filled my hours with more "keeping the dream alive." I met many artists, and I found that their lives were filled with all kinds of activities and friends, despite the vast need in each of us for the privacy and quiet time to do the artistic work that we do, and despite the introversion that type of dedication takes. 

Little Phoenix

I was chugging along, building my bead business and very quietly starting to build a body of visual work when I got blindsided by tragedy as my daughter was stricken with an illness that lasted a year and a half, eventually taking her life - and my heart and my will for life as well. 

My muse slept as I wept, though occasionally I could work with the beads and occasionally I could express myself on paper, but I had lost the confidence and magic and happiness bubble of my experience of life, nevermind the serenity and wonder and trust it took to allow myself to imagine anything, to feel any pleasure, to seek the higher realms. 

Birth

I learned at the ever-loving age of 56 that a person could cry every single day/night for a year and a half, and I had never been any kind of a cryer. I felt that I was totally vulnerable and there existed no safety anywhere. How could I tear my mind and heart away from the guardianship that mothers maintain? Grief seemed all consuming for a very long, exhausting time. 

Little Angel

But like a butterfly to nectar, I spent time in the local museum where I felt a sense of belonging, up in the attic logging in books by the hundreds, author, title, publisher, publication date, for each one. I was soothed by the history of the building I worked in, built in 1810, with a secret room that had been part of the underground railroad, facilitating urgent journeys of escaping slaves to freedom. 

Would this also be my road to freedom at last? My pathway back to life? My connection to others of like mind? The eventual exposure of my heart and soul, right there on the walls for all to see? 

Fate

Yes. It was my lifeline.

Many times I drove there after my daughter died, not being able to see the road, my vision blurry from anxiety and tears. The time in-between I forgot the world, I listened to the other artist elders, those of like mind, I soaked this connection up like water to a man coming off the desert. And the drive home was always more beautiful, the colors of the landscape, brighter. The swooping hawks, my sky friends.

And I began to feel my heart and soul sparkle slowly awake with the fire that comes from within.

Destiny

My philosophy?

Art is essential to my life. It sustains me through the very hardest, cruelest, most shocking and isolating and vulnerability creating times of my life. All through the years it has been a haven. I love art and art has loved me back. My muse is there when I turn to her. In fact I wonder if I have several different muses, depending on which style of expression wants to come out. I love them all and they love me back. 

With my art I want to make the heart sing. 

Magic

I finish an image and it no longer belongs to me, it belongs to the viewer who will make of it whatever they will. The art that I create that pleases me most is the images that are most beautiful, soft, unworldly, balanced, with beautiful color and line. Sometimes they tell a story, which I hope to go deeper with as I grow back into my ability to express beauty and emotion.

Trickster

In a way, I'm glad that I didn't go to college specifically for art. Though I studied, and continue to learn from others, my art has a freedom that appeals to my sense of exploration. I can begin with a plan in mind, but the images soon take me into uncharted territory, so that by the time they're done, I feel I've been on a journey of discovery.

Commitment

I consider my love affair with art a gift, and I now have time to devote to its proper development, which has been a long time coming. I learn each time I work on a new image and the learning starts to show as I allow myself to grow in baby steps. And the dance continues to evolve. I hope, as I grow, that the singing of my heart while working will be visible and sharable with those who view my work.  

Namaste

Death: Letting Go vs. Loss

Freedom

I have been pondering the difference between letting go and loss, as a result of reorganizing my everything after the death of my beloved daughter, Jessica, at the tender age of 26, last year. 

Everyone speaks to us of loss when someone close to us dies. "I'm sorry for your loss," they say. And for a while, it seems valid and sensible and somewhat comforting to hear that. Not only do we seem to "lose" our loved one(s) to death, but we also may lose part or most of ourselves in the process, and have to work hard to redefine and pull ourselves back together, depending on how close they were and how much an active part of our daily lives, or depending on the complexity of the relationship.

Cycles are natural and good.

In my process of recovery, I've found there's something going on inside myself that KNOWS. When I cry my stomach and shoulders heave and tears pour out of my eyes and drench everything and I go through more tissues than all the previous years of my life added together, but the thought runs through my mind, and I hear myself saying out loud, "What are you crying for? It's okay, it's okay." 

And that something that runs underneath my ego KNOWS it's okay. That's why the crying eventually settles into little sniffs and I don't run into the street screaming and beating my chest and keening forever. I go clean something. I go pet the puppies. I go start a creative project. I go. Something inside of me, and I would guess, all of us, just KNOWS.

Resting in peace

Listening

That something, I define as the spiritual part of myself - half of the bonded body/soul, here in this physical world. All I have to do to connect with it is be still and listen.

This is the part that has inspired me to examine the meaning of letting go. To let go is "to allow someone or something to escape or go free"; "to relinquish one's grip on someone or something." Source - https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=let%20go%20definition

Each of us can pull up anchor and sail on.

And the spirit part of me also inspired me to examine the meaning of loss, or losing. To lose is "to be deprived of or cease to have or retain"; to become unable to find (something or someone). https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=lose+definition

Sometimes I need a little direction to find what I'm seeking.

I love the definition of letting go - and in the context of my daughter's passing, I envision it as her gaining her freedom without having to ask for the car keys. The spiritual part of me is thrilled that she's no longer "anchored" by sickness. The spiritual part of me knows she is not, and never will be "lost to me." Why she's right here in my heart, in my memories, in my DNA, in the very time and space that existed while she was here, and will always exist, and has always existed, when I think of my understanding of time and space, which are simultaneous except for here on our Earth plane of existence, and the love between us.  We were, we are, and we will always "be." 

Life in partnership

I like the idea that we lived the time we had together in partnership, and after she moved on, I honored our partnership by taking care of her things and keeping some of her things to hold close and celebrate her life and accomplishments and membership in our family. I feel that though she's changed form, and is now the combination of all of her lives on Earth and elsewhere, as well as closer to the central force of energy which I call our Creative Source, of which I believe we all are made, and with which we belong at all times whether we know it or not - I feel soothed in the knowledge that I too will undergo the very same process of changing form. How exciting, really, though I have much to do and other relationships here to honor before I get to do that.

Gigglepuss wears a woodland headband I decorated her with.

A life well-lived is worth much celebration. Much gratitude for our participation in it. A life well-lived, to me, is one in which we get to experience all kinds of things. And Jess did. And she shared so very well.

I am so very proud of her.

She followed her heart to experience life and love.

Happy travels!

And I think she is still following her heart, as we will all have the chance to do. 

And sometimes it leads her back to us, where she peeks in, and I look at the clock and it's 4:44, or 2:22, or 5:55, or 3:33, or 10:10. And I notice that the video she created to send for her brother's wedding is exactly 1:11 minutes/seconds long. So many little signs to let us know she loves us. So much love wafting up from us to her in her new worlds.

So these are the thoughts I have around letting go vs. loss. We have lost nothing, and I am so very wowed by what we have created between us. It's lovely. It's enduring. And I'm okay with letting go, since it's very freeing for Jess, and for us as well. 

We will meet on the same plane again, whether here or there, and until then, I listen and blow kisses when she sends her signs.

I should probably mention that it's still pretty good to hear "I'm sorry for your loss," since that's how we express ourselves when we perceive physical anguish around "the missing" feelings. 

It's okay, it's okay.

Namaste,
Jen

Flipped Thinking XXX - This is one of the hard parts I mentioned a while back

Beauty in Nature

So when I looked through my daughter, Jessica, the photographer's photos, of course I found some that she had taken of herself in a very special place. Sauvie Island, in Portland is an ancient place, full of Native American/First Peoples history, a place she would naturally be drawn to. She was drawn to it for many reasons.

As I read her journal entries I discovered to my distress that she had been severely depressed for several years. She never let it show, except with a couple of very close friends who understood and listened and stayed true to her.

She developed an unfortunately all to common symptom of trouble within the self, which is called "self-injury," and it involves a fascination with knives and sharp objects which are used to cut the skin. Many young people under too much pressure suffer this these days. We don't hear much about it.

She didn't like the idea of doing that to herself and in order to ameliorate it she started going to a nudist beach at Sauvie Island. We were close, and she told me lots of things, so I knew about Sauvie Island. She told me stories on the phone of the people she hung out with - elders who watched over her, told her the safe spots to spend time, people who'd play frisbee and walk and talk and be comfortable in their own skins without any sexual overtones. No drinking, no wild parties, no carrying on, just peaceful encounters in beautiful Nature. But she never told me why she went there.

She never told me about her depression. She never told me about the time she started carving on her skin with fingernail clippers or the times she would look at knives and want to use them against herself. I read about it in her journal entries when I inherited her computer. It was very hard to read about when it was too late to do anything to help her.

She only told me about going to Sauvie Island.

I worried like a mother does and trusted her to keep herself safe. And after she died of the sickness that stole all the strength from her body, losing 60 lbs she couldn't afford to lose, losing the strength in her legs so that I took care of her in a wheelchair and helped her do everything personal for the time I had her with me, when I came upon these photos I understood. This was her grace. This was her sanctuary. This was her safe place.

The sickness she had, Guillian Barré, probably triggered by Lyme gone undiagnosed or treated for several years, often kicks in severe depression.

When I discovered these photos in her collection it made my heart sing to see her so strong, and it flipped my thinking. In her journal entries she wrote that she chose to go to Sauvie Island so that she would not cut herself because she didn't want her friends there to see the marks. So in her view, it was a place of refuge and safety, from the biggest demons we ever face, which are those within.

Beauty and tranquility.

The message here is that what I saw/thought/felt as a mother got flipped after what I learned after her passing - what I worried about was not the thing to worry about. She had found a way to safety through sweet people who are close to nature and hanging it loose, hey it was Portland.

What I learned is NOT to judge, ever. Not to place my own fears and concerns onto another person because I do not know their perspective. Not even my own daughter who was so close with me (ah, such a teacher she was), but she was also her own independent, grown-up person, and she protected me to a great extent from what she knew I'd worry about. The deeper things. Things she feared I'd step in to try to correct. She found her way and her body was unmarred.

Peace and safety.

My little bird soaring in her power. So beautiful.

Determination.

I do not know if she knew she was dying when she had these photos done. But I'm so glad she had them done. They are too beautiful not to share. They are the celebration of natural beauty and life itself in the face of adversity.

Fly. 

She is gone now. And I feel she would want me to share her message.

Celebrate yourself. Fly. Don't let the bastards get you down.

I am sssssooooo glad she had these moments.

I have asked for her permission to share these very personal photos and insights. She will glitch the computer if she doesn't want them to be shared. xo

For anyone who has this trouble, self-injury, try some really good counseling, or if that's not for you, try a nudist beach. Most of them are generally a whole lot more wholesome than one would imagine, especially in France.

I will also mention that I have a close friend whose daughter had this problem - I hope it's resolved now, I haven't heard from her more about it. It is more common than you would imagine, and happens in the very best of families. Be kind, be kind.

Namaste,
Jen