Rainbow Warriors, Chapter 5

"The first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes within the souls of people when they realize their relationship, their oneness with the universe and all its powers, and when they realize that at the center of the universe dwells the Great Spirit, and that this center is really everywhere, it is within each of us."
Black Elk
Sioux Holy Man

Rainbow Warriors

Chapter 5

My maternal grandmother turned ninety-seven in February 2009. I spent a most lovely and loving afternoon with her a day or two before her birthday. She mentioned several times how surprised she was to see me until finally she said "no! actually I'm shocked. I hadn't meant to shock her but we hadn't seen each other for three years. I'd moved a long ways away and had also been travelling during that time. I was the prodigal returned, but she knew exactly who I was, immediately.

The women on both sides of my family are long lived. I see myself living a long life on this beautiful planet, probably teaching yoga until I'm well into my hundreds. I have a vision, a knowing that I will be alive to witness the full flowering of the age of peace foretold in countless prophecies. I see how it will manifest. It has already begun, evidence is all around.

About five years ago, I re-read a little book called Warriors of the Rainbow, Strange and Prophetic Dreams of the Indian Peoples, by William Willoya and Vinson Brown. It had little impact on me the first time I read it years ago, but the second time, realization struck with force. Much of what I recount in this chapter is paraphrased or quoted directly from its pages.

Many traditions tell of a coming age of peace, unity and healing. The Hopi, which means peaceful people, are the holders of prophecies that have been handed down for generations. Long ago the Great Spirit told the Hopi that after many hardships and hard times, a reawakening would come from the east in the form of the "true white brother". He would wear a red cloak or a red hat that was shaped like a long scarf. " The True White Brother, the Hopi Believe, would bring with him two great, intelligent and powerful helpers. The two helpers are spoken of as if they were large 'populations' of people. The helpers of the Great prophet can also be thought of as large groups of pure-hearted people who are spreading love, harmony and understanding between all races and all religions, humbly and without fanaticism." They "would show the people of the earth a great new life plan to help all lead better lives and transform the world".

When Black Elk, an Oglala Sioux holy man, was nine years old and very ill in the summer of 1872, a vision came to him. He was told in a dream that the message that would awaken and help his people would come from the east, from a man painted or clothed in bright red. This man had long flowing hair but was unlike the white man or the (North American) Indian in appearance. Black Elk saw that when the people received this message, when they understood it, they would become like licks of flame in a prairie wildfire, igniting others and spreading peace over the world. In the same dream Black Elk saw people going through a time of peril in the form of a great storm which turned into a gentle rain with a rainbow flaming in the ease, a symbol of the Warriors of the rainbow "who shall unite all the colors of the races into one harmonious whole".

Prophecies recounted by Eyes of Fire, an old Cree wise woman, told of a great and powerful light which would come from the east. A light of understanding and unity (the word "yoga" means "to unite") that would enter the hearts of many and spread love between all races and religions. She said the rainbow is a symbol from "that which is in all things, and is a sign of the union of all peoples like one big family". Warriors of the Rainbow were prophesied to come and spread their great message of unity the world over. They would be born in great numbers , heralding the fifth world of peace. Born and raised within a race and culture, but drawn irresistibly to the teachings, and ways of another, the Rainbow warriors create a rainbow bridge, linking peoples and cultures.

I am a Rainbow Warrior, often misunderstood and sometimes ridiculed by those closest to me who cannot understand my love for, and immersion into, all things yoga. I don't blame them, I don't understand it myself. Baptized Roman Catholic, schooled by nuns and priests, how could I fall suddenly, deeply in love with Shiva? Why would Hanuman call to me? When I returned home after my first ashram stay, altered, singing Sanskrit chants, it freaked my family out. I believe they thought I'd had my brain washed and rinsed. The music I was playing, the chants I was singing, all felt so familiar to me, but irritated, and I think frightened, them.

"Understanding the role of peace in the fifth world on which we are embarking, we must first seek to establish inner peace. In the modern world, we often look at peace as the absence of war, but peace is a way of acting, knowing, creating, listening, speaking, living, being. It is not something that can be weighed or measured but if it were it would be measured by the hearts capacity to remain open, serene, and unafraid."

Jamie Sams
Sacred Path Cards-The Discovery of Self Through Native Teachings

Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, Quetzacoatl, all foretold their return, bearing their message of peace and healing. Krishna, who may have lived a thousand years before Christ, told Prince Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita, that "whenever there is decay of righteousness, then I myself come forward; for the protection of the good. I am born from age to age".

Buddha said, "I am not the first Buddha who has come upon the earth, nor shall I be the last, in due time another Buddha will arise in the world". Buddha prophesied his return in the form of Maitreya, commonly translated as world uniter, and said "as the night is darkest before dawn, just when the world seems hopeless and beyond repair, teachers will appear in all corners of the world. People will be drawn to the teachings and the true meaning of the word teacher will be remembered." Yoga teachers of old were called gurus. In Sanskrit gu means darkness and ru means light, the true meaning of the word guru, is one who leads from darkness to light.

The bible tells of the return of Jesus as "coming in the clouds", interpreted by many as the manifestation of Christ consciousness within the hearts and minds of humankind, Could it be that Krishna, Buddha, Quetzalcoatl will, or have already returned as Krishna, Buddha, Quetzalcoatl, "nature"?

"Those who do not understand, think that when their Messiah comes he will do their work for them. The Warriors of the Rainbow will be happy to find that there are now millions of people all over the earth ready and eager to rise and join them in conquering all barriers that bar the way to a new and glorious world."

William Willoya, co-author of Warriors of the Rainbow, was born in 1939, into an oral tradition in Alaska. He learned the stories told to him by his grandmother and other wise elders. They said "that 1912 had been a year of special significance in dreams. The elders saw in their dreams a man with a flowing white beard and long flowing hair who would come from the east. He wore a special kind of hat with cloth wrapped around and around. This was not the great prophet but one who came from Him, who came to America as his messenger." How many Yogis have come from east to west, fitting the prophetic description of long flowing hair, red robes, wearing a special kind of cloth hat "wrapped around and around"? Willoya was taught as a child, by the old ones, that the message of the new prophet "would purify the souls, illumine the hearts and guide all people to love one another". Willoya's book, Warriors of the Rainbow, was first published in 1962, long before the world wide explosion of yoga we are witness to today.

"The purpose of yoga is to facilitate the profound inner relaxation that accompanies fearlessness. The release from fear is what finally precipitates the full flowering of love. In this state you will love what you see in others, and others will love you for having been seen. This is the softened perception of the world that yoga promotes".

Erich Schiffmann

The Spirit and Practice of Moving into Stillness

Yoga is so much more than Hatha yoga which comprises, only two of the eight limbs which make up the Raja yoga tree, asana (postures) and pranayama (breath). Raja yoga is only one of the four paths of yoga. Jnana, the yoga of wisdom, Bhakti, the yoga of devotion, and Karma, the yoga of selfless service, are the other three. Many, myself included, originally come to yoga for the exercise, but whether we know it or not, all yoga is sadhana, spiritual practice.

Like my first teacher always says "Yoga should never be called exercise, it should be called innercise". She also claims that "yoga brings out the beauty in people". Through its practice we learn to cultivate love and acceptance of ourselves which opens us to our capacity for love and acceptance of others. Inner peace is found through balancing the self. World peace begins within the heart of each individual.

According to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of Transcendental Meditation, the Vedic theory of consciousness states that all of manifest creation emerges from a single unified field of pure intelligence. Consciousness is an infinite, invisible field of intelligence, which manifest, underlies all the diversity in the physical universe. This fundamental unified field can be seen as the most basic level of the organizing intelligence of nature. From Carl Jung's theory of the collective unconscious to the story of the One-Hundredth Monkey, central is the idea that when enough individuals in a population adopt a new idea, behavior, or way of being, this new awareness spontaneously becomes common knowledge among the entire population.

Yoga has been growing exponentially since its introduction to the west. Now "like a prairie wildfire" it has exploded and covers the globe.

The bible says that the meek shall inherit the earth. In our time meek has come to mean "timid but originally the word meant "peaceful". We are on the cusp of peace. Signs are everywhere. When enough individuals realize peace within themselves, the scales of the collective consciousness of mankind will tip, and peace will occur withing the span of a heartbeat, the world over.

May the whole world attain peace and harmony.

May the whole world attain peace and happiness.

May that peace begin within my heart.

Om Shanti

Chapter 4, Part 3

I once took a workshop from a senior Iyengar yoga instructor who shared what her teacher, B.K.S. Iyengar, had told her about yoga. He said that "when you know something this powerful, it is your duty to share it". I am meant to speak out, as compelled to share my story as I am compelled to share yoga. Yoga is the alchemy which transforms pain to pleasure, harm to healing, bad to good. What is the highest aspiration of the yogi after all but to be good and do good.

Breaking the cycle of sexual abuse through the liberating power of speech is ahimsa, non violence, in action. Speaking out breaks the taboo of secrecy and paves the way for others to do the same. To tell is to heal. We tell our stories so that we no longer hold, inside, terrible secrets for those who take advantage of the innocent and helpless. Telling, shifts a burden of shame from shoulders where it does not belong. Telling creates awareness, enabling everyone to better protect all children.

According to the Public Health Agency of Canada, "child sexual abuse is largely a hidden crime so is difficult to estimate the numbers". I don't think I am unique in the way that my body/psyche buried the trauma of sexual abuse. There may be millions or billions of walking wounded, sufferers of depression, anxiety, anger, phobia... with absolutely no inkling of the root cause. It is an epidemic, a pandemic, a secret plague, a crime against the hope of humankind, children. Ending the sexual abuse of children is an imperative step forward on the peace path. Victims are speaking out now in record numbers, a good sign and a necessary step. Perpetrators, it's time to own your actions, another step in healing this scourge.

My dharma, my path, duty and joy, is to share my knowledge and in so doing help others to heal from the deleterious effects of sexual trauma. Now finally, I feel like I'm living the life that was intended for me rather than the one that was forced upon me. Each moment becoming more aware of my voice, my power, my potential, and the joy that simply being alive contains.

I feel as though I am in possession of something huge, powerful and beautiful in its perfection. The knowledge that yoga heals.

Chapter 4, Part 2

Is there more? I really don't know. In case, I've been asking my body, the universe, angels, life... for grace and ease. I still have discomfort in my back between my shoulder blades, but it's nothing like it was. It can be tender but no longer feels so vulnerable. I have a slight scoliosis there, the reminder/remainder of an injury that occurred young and went deep.

Now more than ever, I am in awe of the beautiful perfection that is yoga. The longer we practice, the deeper it goes. Over time as we work our way inward, we work our way backward through old traumas and injuries. Returning, as close as we are able, to our pre-injured state. As I eked my way into the places in my body that harbored pain, yoga showed me what was inside. But only once I'd acquired the strength and healing necessary for the truth to be liberating.

I'd been scarred with the deeply implanted message that my life was worthless. How could it be otherwise. This wasn't a notion I was ever cognizant of until now, in retrospect. I was almost fifty before I fully realized that I do have a place, a purpose, and a right to be alive. Until then, my life had filtered through the unconscious assumption that I didn't.

My first and dearest yoga teacher, has a friend who reads palms. I kept hearing wonderful things about this woman. So, for fun and armed with a tape recorder, I decided to have my palms read. I arrived sceptical and tight-lipped, I didn't want to give her any clues, but I was taken aback by her accuracy. A few years later I went to see her again and at the end of the session she asked, in her thick Romanian accent, if I had any questions. So I asked, "what can you tell me about my childhood?"

She was quiet for several minutes while she studied my hands. "I see you have some disturbing happening when you were very little. There was some kind of accident... or you almost lost your life... you know? and it affected... Some people remember childhood like it was the best thing that happened in their life but I don't see that in your hand. You had actually quite difficult childhood... that's why you are such a doer... you are driven. You try very hard to succeed. You want to do things so you have that strength... from where it comes I don't know. But we all do remember childhood... that it was ideal... like it was always easier in the life. But something happened in your childhood that was not easy, that was pretty hard for you."

I asked "I'm curious if you can see at what age that might have happened." "Okay" she said, "I see about the age of seven you came close to losing your life and it's very interesting because it's like you came back from there. Like you came so close to dying... you know? that you almost... like you understood something... or that we usually... people they don't..." English was not her first language and on occasion she grasped for words, and me I'm a chronic interrupter and interjected "like a near death experience?" She said "Ya! Ya! something like that, and that's why you don't trust yourself. It stems from very early period of your life and you think that you are not good enough... or you don't have enough qualities. But also it gave you something... even with that negative thing that you had in childhood, you recognize something. You have some gift with that time... or something that you learned...you know? Something very important that you will be using later on in your life."

This isn't proof of anything, I can't imagine a palm reading being admissible as evidence in court. But I find it interesting and, maybe it is pathetic but, validating, in a situation where victims are rarely validated and usually called liars. I spent the winter of 2005 living and working at an ashram. One evening, I found myself at supper seated across from a man who read faces. He spontaneously read mine with terrifying accuracy and I bought his book. The reason I mention him and face reading, has to do with admissibility, and court. This man was a lawyer, had been for some time if I remember correctly. He decided to take a face reading course, thinking it might help him with jury selection and eventually left law and went into face reading. Another small validation.

Yoga definitely salvaged, and may possibly have saved, my life. I am grateful to all of my teachers for the tools they shared which have enabled me to work/play, with/for/on, myself. I'm proud of myself for using those tools, generating healing, with the gentle, peaceful, powerful, compassionate, joyful... way that is yoga.

First, yoga awakened those places in my body that were asleep and numb to the pain that existed there. Eventually but inevitably I was, and continue to be, released from that pain. First, yoga gave me the self awareness to notice my constant companions, fear and self-loathing, shame and guilt, all the while transforming those weaknesses into strengths. Through yoga, I became aware of my inability to trust, how my first reaction always, always was "no", how much and how often I allowed fear to hold me back. Through yoga, my growing self awareness showed me how anxious, undeserving, out of place I felt almost all the time, but wakened me inevitably to deserving, belonging.

Chapter 4, Dharma

"Always we hope someone else has the answer. Some other place will be better, some other time it will turn out. This is it. No other place will be better, and it has already turned out."

Lao-Tzu

Chapter 4

Dharma

One morning, a week or two after the remembering, I was in a particularly agitated state after a long and sleepless night. It was early and I'd been in my yoga studio tentatively practicing viparita karani, known to be one of the most restorative asanas, in an attempt to ease the state of intense anxiety I was in.

I love yoga, yet found myself afraid of doing it. Every time a pose took me to pain in my body, especially that sore place beneath my shoulder blades, my anxiety would intensify, making it had for me to breathe. I was afraid that yoga would trigger another shell shock like episode, and that was pissing me off, making me angry. Those two had robbed me of so much and at that moment it felt as though they'd even stolen yoga from me. I don't know how many times I got up off my mat, walked to the kitchen, picked up the phone, started to dial, only to hang up and head back to my mat.

Finally I just dialed, the phone rang and my father answered. I could tell I woke him up. I identified myself and said "I just want you to know that I know what you did. I know what you did to me when I was a baby. I know what you did to me when I was a kid. I know". He never said a word, no denial, no admission. After a moment I hung up.

Then I dialed the number of the other male relative. I got his answering machine and couldn't have been happier. I didn't care who heard the message. I said basically the same thing, "I know what you did to me when I was a little girl and I just want you to know that I know". He called me back to tell me that I was "sick". Thank God I was seeing a psychologist at the time. When I told her what he'd said she just nodded and told me that they all say that.

If I'd been experiencing fear before, now I was scared shitless. They knew that I knew. Although my logical mind told me that my fear was irrational, only cowards prey on children, I was terrified that they, but the male relative in particular, would try to kill me. My psychologist reassured me that my feelings, my fears, were compleyely normal and part of the reliving process, reliving the fear I'd experienced as a child. She assured me that it would pass in time and it did, it has.

My father is a pedophile. I don't know how he's got away with what he's done and is most likely still doing. I know, and know of a small army of his victims. I've decided, to keep the identity of my other abuser to myself, for now. I've asked the relatives who will talk to me about this. No one else in my family seems to have had any incident with this man.

I came across information at the Health Canada website stating that "A population survey done for the Badgley Committee on Sexual Offences Against Children, found that almost one third of suspected or know child sex offenders were under the age of twenty-one. That nationally, nearly one quarter of all sexual offences are perpetrated by adolescent males". If I was five at the time of the assault, he would have been seventeen or eighteen. Perhaps he never again attempted to rape anyone after me. He may have thought he killed me when I lost consciousness, maybe it scared him. It doesn't make it right. I would dearly love to shout his name from the rooftop. But I have no evidence and no one else with a similar experience and do not want the stress of that creep filing a law suit against me so for now, I hold my tongue.

In June 2005 I went to the police and filed statements against both men. It was hard but I reccommend going through the process. I was taken seriously and treated with respect, compassion and professionalism. It was a bit of a fiasco at first. I'd been talking with one of my brothers and his stories really fueled my rage. As brutal as our father had been with me, it had been far worse for the boys. My brothers body carries physical evidence of the abuse he suffered as a child, in the form of rectal scarring. I had him convinced that he and I should go to the police. It was tough for him, one of our siblings was dead set against it and putting pressure on us both.

I picked him up one evening after work and we headed to the nearest police station. We explained our situation and the constable informed us that the detachment would be closing in fifteen minutes and that wouldn't be enough time to take our statements. So we went to the twenty-four hour station where we found one lone constable on duty, and he didn't know what to do with us. He was kind and tried to be discreet, making phone calls from behind a thin partition, in his attempts to get some kind of direction. Meanwhile a long lineup was forming behind us. I felt for the officer, he really tried to do something better for us than advise that we come back in the morning, but in the end that was all he could do. My brother changed his mind. The whole exercise had been a waste of time.

A couple weeks later, after another sleepless night, I got up at five a.m. and drove to my local R.C.M.P. detachement. My brother lived in the city so we'd gone to the city police. I lived in the country so my protocol was to go to the R.C.M.P. I'd already written my statement and after a short interview it was decided that video and audio statements would be taken as well. It wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done, I was extremely emotional. But I was so much lighter when we finished, like a burden had been lifted. A burden had been lifted. The file was forwarded to the city, ironically, to the sex crimes unit. A detective contacted me and reiterated what I already knew, I had no evidence and the chances of laying charges were slim to none, but that would not stop them from investigating. He reported back to me that the male relative responded to questioning with righteous indignation and informed the detective that I was crazy and sick. My father said one thing only to the detective "talk to my lawyer".

Had the police required me to lay charges I would have done so without hesitation, but that wasn't my motivation. I wanted the police to have on record the names of my abusers so that if anyone else should come forward, their stories would be corroborated.

Chapter 3, Part 3

We finished our tea and my husband offered to rub my back. It took nothing. He barely touched that sensitive rib behind my heart, and I was once again plunged into panic, unable to breathe, only this time I was choking, something was clogging my throat.

You know the old story? You can go without food for a good long time, a fairly long time without water, but you can't go long without air. It takes no time at all for the body to react when deprived of air.

I was struggling for breath, fighting for my life. My arms and hands flailed uncontrollably, reaching grasping desperately. Although the witnessing presence within knew I was reliving the past, I was truly choking in the here and now. Some sticky mass obstructed my windpipe. I was choking and started retching, I felt like I was going to vomit. I became aware of a tremendous pain in my back, like that rib had been dislocated or damaged again.

Again the body memory was accompanied with a knowing. I knew I was around the age of eleven or twelve. I knew my treatment had been rough, that I'd been injured and terrified. I knew that my struggle had nothing to do my dignity and everything to do with my survival. I knew it was my father and I knew that he raped my mouth. That psychopath, and I'm sure he fits the profile, had suffocated me to satisfy his sadistic pleasure and ejaculated down my throat, leaving me choking, puking and injured.

I was shocked. He had, most likely still has, a well known violent, sadistic streak. And the truth is, he was a child of six, in Germany, when the second world war began. He was a member of the Hitler youth, then lived under French occupation when Germany lost the war. God only know what may have happened to him. Even so, I was shocked by the brutality that my child self had had to endure. I was also shocked that such vivid, horrific events could be held within me but secret from me, for so long.

The reliving experiences were violent precisely because the experiences themselves were. Reliving them was grueling, terrifying, draining and for a while completely unnerving. My confidence evaporated along with any sense of security or safety. I was in a constant state of agitation that ranged from anxiety to terror, for weeks afterward. I was afraid of my own shadow, couldn't walk down a dark hallway in my own home. I was petrified of what was around every corner, afraid to be alone, afraid to be outside. I became obsessed with making sure that all the windows and doors were locked.


I was enraged as well. My emotions swung like a pendulum between fear, rage and sorrow, but also at times I felt oddly elated. Much had been explained. I suddenly knew where my rage had its roots. It was an awakening. I felt liberated after forty-eight years of bondage.

Chapter 3, Part 2

January 2004 I had a violent episode of remembering. My body re-lived two terrifying, traumatizing events from my childhood. The re-living, as an adult, was traumatizing.


My husband and I had been fighting. After patching things up, we had just started to make love. I mean just started, I may have still been wearing an article or two of my clothing. He had one finger inside of me and had begun to stroke gently. He told me later that he didn't think he'd done anything unusual, but for me it felt very different. In fact unlike anything I'd felt before or since. His touch very quickly made me weak from pleasure, weak and helpless to do anything but surrender to it, and it was so immediate.


We were in counseling at the time, both seeing the same psychologist, sometimes together and sometimes separately. Twenty-two years of marriage. Sex was our main issue. One source of contention was the disparity between the amount of time it usually took for each of us to climax. I thought he came too fast and he thought I took too long. Plus, I had never had a vaginal orgasm, but there I was hurtling like a runaway train toward towards one, within moments of his finger entering me. I remember having the fleeting thought that our psychologist, also a medical doctor, must have taught my husband some technique to help him with his performance because this was incredible. I was on the verge of orgasm and opened my mouth to laugh, only to be choked by my own screams.


All the air left my lungs as I screamed and I was unable to take any back in. I couldn't breathe and was instantly catapulted into panic. Frantically, I pushed my husband away. My arms flailed desperately as I struggled for breath. A terrifying eternity seemed to pass before air was able to enter my lungs at which point I collapsed into convulsive sobbing. Then, like being bowled over by an ocean wave, screams would again force the air out of my lungs and again I'd be drowning in panic. As I fought for breath, my arms flailed wildly as though I were submerged under water and they desperately grasped for the surface. My fingers and toes clenched and unclenched rapidly, reflexively while I endured... something. I'd catch my breath long enough to sob only to be engulfed in panic as breath was forced from my lungs, suffocating me again and again, tossed helpless on some weird tide, back and forth between suffocation, terror and short periods of time when I could breathe, but only in convulsive sobs.


Then I became aware of a child's voice, repeating over and over in my head, "I'm so afraid... I'm so afraid... I'm so afraid". As soon as I had the composure to speak, I told my husband. As soon as I said the words "I'm so afraid" out loud, I had the impression of being very young, four or five.


Waves of grief and sobbing followed waves of terror and suffocation. I'm unsure of the time. Perhaps ten minutes passed, maybe longer, before I was able to speak. First I wanted to reassure my husband that he hadn't hurt me. This was something inside of me. But as soon as I tried to talk about what had happened, put it into words, fear and panic once again overwhelmed me. Again, breath was forced out of my body, only this time it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I was even making those barking seal noises as I struggled to take breath in.


I had the presence of mind to know that my body was re-living an excruciating, terrifying, life threatening, experience. Obviously I had survived the living of it, I would survive the re-living. Even so it took every iota of self-control to calm myself enough to enable breathing.


As soon as I could speak, the first words out of my mouth were "I know what happened... I know what happened". And I did. Someone was tickling me, making me weak with laughter. The tickling moved to inside my vagina and all of a sudden I was slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of me. I was held, face down, chest pinned, unable to breathe. I knew from the frantic flailing of my arms, from the spastic, reflexive, rapid, clenching and unclenching of my hands and feet, that my suffocating body was facing death. I believe I lost consciousness. My guess is that when I came to, it was without the slightest idea of what had happened or why I was in pain.


In the here and now though, I was aware of pain, everywhere. The injuries felt deep, structural. My spine, beneath the shoulder blades, hurt, so did my sternum. A back rib behind my heart was so painful, I wondered if it has been cracked or dislocated. My right sacroiliac, right knee and left wrist were also injured in the attack.


Waves of pain, sorrow and panic tossed me in an ebb and flow of intensity. Eventually the experience loosened its grip enough for my husband and me to leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen to make tea. While standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, I became aware of an insistent voice in my head, repeating the name of a male relative, over and over until it was drumming like a throbbing headache. As soon as I told my husband, as soon as I spoke that painful, pounding, name out loud, it stopped. Instantly my head was clear, calm, quiet, and I knew who it was. I know the cruel, selfish, monster who had almost killed me in his attempt to rape me. This was the same disgusting man who'd shoved his tongue down my throat, at a family party, on new years eve, when I was thirteen.


We had our tea and discussed what had just happened. I was grateful for my husband, grateful for his calm, witnessing presence. I was badly shaken, shocked and stunned. How could something so vivid have been held within me, yet withheld from me, and for so long. I was forty-seven years old, three weeks away from my forty-eighth birthday.


Unbelievably, to me anyway, there was more to come.

Chapter 3, Shell Shock

"Truth and unconditional love support each other. To love yourself unconditionally, you must tell yourself the truth. You cannot hear your own truth if you are lying to others. Begin to tell the truth in the smallest things. This brings you wholeness. Tell the truth often and you will be filled with beauty. You will have health. You will walk the beauty way of health/wholeness/holiness/. Your truth will bless all you encounter. You will be blessed. Do not be afraid to reveal your own uniqueness, for that is part of your blessing"

Susun S. Weed

Chapter 3

Shell Shock

The night terrors continued, but a subtle shift was taking place. I still had random episodes of screaming in the night but now, sometimes, I was being roused by it. Also, sometimes, instead of screams, there were words. I'd started shouting in the night, "what are you doing? what are you doing"?

With my tailbone healed, I was ready to get to work on what I hoped was the last place of chronic pain in my body. There was a tender area between and slightly beneath my shoulder blades. It had been sensitive and painful for as long as I could remember. It was one of the many places where I couldn't stand to be touched. When at its worst, locked and painful, I would have a hard time taking a full breath, and rage would come up and seethe just below my surface.

This was a tough area to touch with yoga. At first it was vulnerable and prone to injury. I had to be very careful. Spinal twists, supine the safest for me, Bow variations, Wheel, Tranquility pose, Shoulder stand, Plow, Fish, all took me to that tender place in my body and became a regular part of my practice. These poses didn't all come easily. I especially struggled with the inversions, but inevitably, over the course of time, with gentle, patient, persistence, there was improvement. Then, out of the blue, another memory surfaced.

These memories didn't come up in the usual way we think of as remembering. I didn't suddenly remember something I'd forgotten. These were body memories, entirely visceral.

In 2002 I took a yoga teacher training course at an ashram in the Bahamas. It is an odd place for an ashram, an austere spiritual community juxtaposed against some pretty hedonistic opulence. There are rules at the ashram, no coffee, tobacco, alchohol, drugs, meat, garlic, onions or sex. There were rules about dress, especially for women, no short shorts and shoulders covered, while next door and sharing the same beach was a Club Med where topless was the norm. Atlantis, a humongous Vegas style hotel/casino/resort is a fifteen minute walk along the beach. Nassau, a popular and busy tourist and cruise ship destination, is across the bay. The night life was twenty-four-seven. Party boats emblazoned with Booze Cruise floated noisily in and out of the bay, at all times of the day and night, music blaring, people hooting, hollering, drinking, dancing and partying as loud and hard as possible.

One night we were sitting for evening meditation in the open air temple. Normally I sat crosslegged on the floor, it was a requirement for those of us in the course, but my back was sore and I was feeling rebellious, so I sat in a chair next to a friend I'd made who was also taking the course. A Booze Cruise boat floated into the bay. The noise was so invasive that for me, meditation was out of the question. I even remember the song they were playing on the boat. It was that "Who let the dogs out" song, very popular, especially in the Bahamas, at the time.

I kept my eyes closed and tried to maintain an inward focus but when they started setting fireworks off from the boat, it was too much. I found the situation hilarious and was shaking from the effort of trying not to laugh out loud. My eyes flew open when my friend, an American, grabbed my hand. He was sobbing. Tears poured from his eyes, sweat trickled from his head, his tee-shirt was drenched. He was trembling and making strange noises, I think from the exertion of trying not to wail or scream.

Tall and solid, he was a large man but I held his hand and wrapped my free arm around his broad back as best I could. After a few minutes he was able to compose himself enough to beat a hasty retreat. I didn't see him for a couple of days. He may have been avoiding me. I got the feeling he was embarrassed. When I did see him, he didn't want to talk about what had happened except to say that "it was a little thing called Vietnam" when he was twenty-one years old. He did tell me though that "when this happens, I'm not remembering what it was like to be there, I am there". His body had been there, in Vietnam, re-living whatever it was that the fireworks had triggered. He'd had an episode of shell-shock.

I was meant to sit beside him in the temple that evening. I was meant to witness his shell-shock. Somehow the universe in its perfection put me there, in that exact place, at that exact time, under those exact circumstances, as a gift. That experience prepared me for something yet to come.