Guided Imagery

Had an interesting experience in counseling today.

First she asked me to define the center of my mandala- career? relationships? a kind of energy?

Settled on the last one. The front-of-the-rollercoaster phenomenon- that energy.

Then we did a guided meditation and I had to go to a place of peace and safety. Ended up at this dinky suburban park I grew up near. I tried to get into the ocean, or at least sit on the shore, but no. My mind put me at Springfield Park, in its tiny strip of forest sitting on a rotting log, overlooking the piddly excuse of a creek bed. I felt perfectly at home. And innocent. LeeAnn and I used to climb trees here in the twilight of my childhood.

Then I had to see a figure in a screen and step into it with them. Again, some other part of my mind took hold and it was my namesake, Grandma Margaret. I couldn't make it anyone else. I never met her and only know her from stories and photographs. But I could smell her hair (like mine after three days not washing) and see the paperiness of her aging arms.

She's a legend, a heroin in my family. Proof of a giving, solid soul- the epitome of integrity. She left my grandfather when she found out he was cheating. No announcement- just packed up the kids one morning and drove from Missouri to Pennsylvania to live with her mother and brother- gave the rest of her life to the family. Never married again, or even dated so far as I know. And always kept a sense of humor, a lightness of heart and a giving nature. Then I had to step inside her, turn around, and look at myself on that log. I saw myself wearing dark blue and red, sitting with hands between knees, leaning forward, staring off into the tree tops.

She felt compassion for me, mostly. Thinking over my attempts at success and particularly earlier life stuff, connected with that area and my upbringing. Then she thought about the times I was kind to people and she felt proud. (I know this sounds self-indulgent and it probably was. But guided meditation has this odd way of taking control like a dream). She told me this should be the center of my mandala. Or at least a part of it. That I should surround my life with people like this, and choose a partner who also feels joy in kindness. And someone who brings it out in me. And if I can't find that person, I better not choose at all.

Then I had to step out of her and say goodbye. I started crying- not quite sure why. I don't do goodbyes. But the counselor, knowing this already, held me here for a few minutes. I took Grandma's hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back. My family's got this funny view of the supernatural. It's not so much what really exists- it's more what *could* and how it would feel if it did. Catholics. We all, including my father the stanch atheist, sort of see Margaret as a guardian angel. I thanked her for that and for this time. Stepped out of the screen and sat down in my body on the log.

The world started spinning madly in a clockwise direction. I put my right foot out to stop it but it only slowed. It stayed that way until I opened my eyes.

I stepped out of the office with a lightness different from the kind I get from boxing. My counselor suggested this exercise as a way to "supplement" my "frontal lobe" and to create an experience that's not so cognitive. I like living in my frontal lobe. It's safe. But it was good to open other doors too and see what's lurking behind, quietly powering my rollercoaster.