Mouse Cleaning

The great thing about surviving situations that f*ck with your mind, is that you get to know your brain. And the main lesson is, that you can control it.

I was a doubter of brain control for most of my adult life. After years of yoga, I’d never understood how mediation could be useful. For starters, I couldn’t do it. My mind is constantly chatting I could never get it to shut up long enough to relax. And trying to resist the chatter doesn’t work either - in fact, it makes things even more stressful.  So I gave up trying to be ‘still’ and let my mind wander to imaginary conversations with my ex-best friend, or my acceptance speech if I won the Nobel Peace Prize.

It was when I discovered ‘Guided mediation’ that I realized that I could actually take my mind to a different place. I practiced learning it before I was to undergo a 12-hour surgery and was desperate for security. It worked, and it is amazing. Yet, at the some time, it is also a tremendously boring subject for people can’t relate. Like talking about day-care to childless people.  Or hummus, to a carnivore.

My second form of mind control came when I was trying to cleanse my body of any possible bad cells. I’d lie spread eagle on the floor facing the ceiling, and picture a giant paint brush full of white light going slowly up and down my body, sweeping it clean of anything bad. Again, I never discuss that one too much. I practically roll my own eyes when I talk about.

Why have this...

Today I was at the dentist. Since it’s been a while between cleanings, the hygienist used a supersonic high-performance tool with a horrid high-pitched squeal. Even before it was in my mouth, my toes were curling. I didn’t know how I’d last half an hour with this machinery. Then my body switched gears, and surrendered itself to my fabulous brain.

I can’t explain how this happened (insert eye roll here) but it was awesome. Without any conscious effort, a tiny cartoon mouse popped into my head. He was wearing a white lab coat, and wiping my teeth with Windex. That explained the squealy sound. And then there was a second mouse, also in a white coat, wearing aviator glasses and brandishing a tiny hose. Then a third mouse, with an itsy bitsy ice-scraper, scratching away at the tartar. My cartoon mouse cleaning, which lasted almost 15 seconds, was enough to make me relax, and stop resisting the cleaning. It was a delightful surprise, and a reminder of my own super powers.

...when you can have this!

‘So! Any plans for a winter vacation?’ my hygienist asked, as she jammed something n my mouth. And just like that, my mice disappeared, replaced with a supersonic torture tool. ‘Cu-ha’ I told her. She smiled, ‘Oh Cuba! That sounds nice!’

I closed my eyes. I’d been temporarily transported. She asked me where I’d be staying. Seriously? I tried telling her that I couldn’t talk with the drill in my mouth but it came out as ‘ Ikatok cuza  illi ow’. Or, it could have been, ‘I can’t talk cause of little mouse.’

Either way, it had been nice being carried away for a few seconds. A short trip, but sweet, nonetheless.