the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association
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Tales from <strong>the</strong> O<strong>the</strong>r Side <strong>of</strong> Language 97<br />
my legs, but stops at my knees. I am not alarmed, and feel safe in this large<br />
perspective with <strong>the</strong> planet arrayed below me. Out <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> meditation I know<br />
I’ll be able to manage whatever danger comes to me in <strong>the</strong> ceremony.<br />
I realize also my psychoanalytic perspective helps sturdy me, because<br />
I am not surprised or dismayed anymore by <strong>the</strong> possibilities <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> darker<br />
sides <strong>of</strong> consciousness. In clinical practice I’ve done extensive deep work with<br />
patients with old abuses never before discussed, divorces and relationships<br />
full <strong>of</strong> rage or anger. Some things are not so new. I remember, too, that <strong>the</strong><br />
shaman is <strong>the</strong> center <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> ceremony and holds everything.<br />
It’s early evening and I’m lying face down on a massage table. The small<br />
second floor <strong>of</strong>fice is in an old frame house rearranged for five practitioners.<br />
I’m eager for this bodywork tonight; my day has been too full. The <strong>the</strong>rapist<br />
begins rubbing my scalp and caressing my hair, instant calming, and I fall<br />
into a meditative doze. The welter <strong>of</strong> words melts away like butter. She moves<br />
down my right arm. I feel <strong>the</strong> sensation <strong>of</strong> crow fea<strong>the</strong>rs, my arm becomes a<br />
stretched-out crow wing, coal black and shimmering. She massages my back<br />
and my leg, and <strong>the</strong> right side <strong>of</strong> my body changes into black fea<strong>the</strong>rs and<br />
<strong>the</strong> gray <strong>of</strong> a crow. She moves over to <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r side, and my arm becomes<br />
an eagle wing, with long brown wing fea<strong>the</strong>rs separated at <strong>the</strong> end like wing<br />
fingers, feeling <strong>the</strong> bones <strong>of</strong> flight. My left side becomes an eagle body, with<br />
my leg having <strong>the</strong> fea<strong>the</strong>ry trousers <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> eagle ending at <strong>the</strong> ankles just<br />
above <strong>the</strong> yellow talons <strong>of</strong> feet.<br />
I’ve been massage-sculpted as crow/eagle. My head remains as my own<br />
my white head; I exist as human, crow, and eagle in one, and maybe <strong>the</strong> white<br />
head is also that <strong>of</strong> a bald eagle. I’m drawn into <strong>the</strong>ir spirits, clo<strong>the</strong>d in <strong>the</strong>m,<br />
one with <strong>the</strong>m, like family. I think I want confirmation from <strong>the</strong> shaman, but<br />
I don’t need it. The deep sensations in my body are a reality for me. While<br />
my human body lies on <strong>the</strong> table, my eagle and crow bodies tell me <strong>of</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r<br />
actualities <strong>of</strong> being, <strong>of</strong> flight, <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> experience <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir lives, <strong>of</strong> shifting into<br />
oneness with <strong>the</strong>m—body knowledge.<br />
I have tree roots extending wide and deep into <strong>the</strong> earth, and branches<br />
that touch into <strong>the</strong> spaces between galaxies. I am a dogwood, a Douglas fir,