“Get out,” I tell it.
REO Speedwagon’s Time for me to Fly echoes in my mind. “You’re right,” I told the thing inside me that had been clinging to my lower chakras, jerking me awake just when sliding into hypnagogia for more than three years. “It is time for you to get out. So GET OUT.” There were other words, spoken and not. Most so foul-mouthed that Eric Cartman might take notes.
“Now!” the shaman commands. I clutch the two foot long crystal and squeeze. A seizure passes down my right, so strong I fight to remain in contact with the crystal; I clench my belly hard to stay standing. From my spine, through my back, through my hand I first feel a pulse, then a tear, and then the raw tingling of an empty hand even as I grasp the crystal.
She wraps the quartz in cloth and places it in a corner of the room – far away from me.
“Do you feel lighter?” she asks. The shaman is in her 60s, slim and fit, at least three inches shorter than myself.
I do not. I also still feel the energetic hole in my shoulder that has bothered me since 2008. But when I put my hand over that shoulder, all I feel is my own skin – not that second, other-dimension shape that clung to me like something out of Robert Heinlen’s The Puppet Masters. This, unlike the entity itself, maybe Reiki can treat. The familiar dizziness, the weird sideways pull on my energy and sense of balance is also gone. I don’t feel lighter – but I do feel right. It’s just me and my own chickens here now.
There is a follow up, a technique too oft forgotten, to change my energy. She tells me my base chakras are quite closed and yet my heart chakra is quite open. I am to send the trauma into another stone, breath out the memories with a huff. I close my eyes and let my hand drop on the stone that wants to help me. It is flat, thin amazonite, torn in two fragments. It makes sense: I am of two worlds (at least.) We had talked about my family dynamic, thinking that whatever nested in my nerve centers traced back to family – a family that made so much of my “halfness” that I sometimes imagined I felt blood running up and down my body in separate halves, one side Polish, magical, strong, the other side socially acceptable.
I follow her instructions, conjuring a painful memory and huffing it into the stone. The trouble is that there’s just too much. We can change what we need to change to prevent an invasion of an attempted body snatcher again, but there’s no getting out all the damage today. She checks my chakras – they still haven’t opened properly. I huff some more, and then, I start crying. Crying is always in itself a source of shame and embarrassment for me: when I cry, people often act as if I have done something wrong. The tears come despite my socialization, wracking sobs that pull my abdominal muscles hard. It climbs out of me, aggressively. That pain doesn’t want to live there. It wants to river out and be gone. She rests her hands at two trigger points between my head and my neck. She sees the movie that is my life experience. Pain, trauma, rejection, anger… “Grief,” she says. “So much grief.” She can see it. She can probably see the grief I don’t tell her about, the one I’ve been carrying for 23 years. The death where it all begins.
The next test reveals the chakras opened properly, lined up properly. She tells me she wants to do another session to deal with the sheer volume of trauma experienced and ignored.
Afterwards, there’s a fire. There’s some hilarity in building it – I can’t see the fire pit underneath the snow, and getting a fire to start in winter after you’ve repeatedly dropped lighters in the snow is challenging. I finally get it going.
She calls enormous powers – as in “hello being the size of a skyscraper” – and something from the west grabs the thing that was in me out of the crystal. I get a flash of “I was looking for that!” as one of its aspects stalks off into that sky-like dimension.
We are done, and I go home.
I notice one immediate difference – my home is not teeming with spirits. For the last three years I’ve performed the Rose Cross and kicked out as many as possible. Other people’s homes have not had this issue, especially not the homes of the spiritually aware.
While I can physically see pockets of energy here and there in my new home, I don’t feel the pressure that marks a threat. I did yesterday. I have almost daily since late 2009.
What I see today are just business of the household spirits. There’s still one in the stairwell I need to sort out, but I do not see the crowds that used to gather around my bed, for banishing on a nightly basis.
Just in case, I still perform a ceremonial ritual alongside my bedtime ritual. I’ll probably do that for awhile.
But I get through the night without booze. Without valerian, melatonin or kava. When I start to fall asleep, I get there.