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.
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| 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.
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| ...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.
