Lifting Up

Dedicated to the Wandering Pastor

Long time ago I said no more. I will not take the physical abuse and neglect and I shut down. But part of me, the deeper part, the moving, sparkling part was hidden. The forgotten armor became a protection, unconscious, buried. Pain buried does not bury the experience of abuse only the anticipation, the anxiety of waiting for the next abuse. Yes one can stifle some forms of abuse, be stoic, but pain needs to be expressed or the holding, the blocking, like sewage will bring disease. When pain comes I better scream. The emoting, the expression to the abuse allows the Orgone to move through the armor.

Two areas that are difficult: listening to myself, and looking in a mirror. Both have been helpful and troubling. My voice can sound held, reserved, and pinched. The mirror of late is where I am focused. I have begun to see the filling up or the collapsing of posture as the visibility of Orgone. Paying attention to where Orgone is lacking has helped me find a aliveness that brings fear and finally pleasure. 

Waking up Orgone lifts the body. Like the Pastor who brought comfort at work with his welcomed handshake and brought  shared smiles. As he held your hand he would say their will be lifting up. The Pastor would come to peoples work. He would spend some time with everyone. At work little was shared except work.There were no handshakes, or meaningful connections. The Pastor broke through to those stifled, incomplete beings. He reached knowingly to catch a fallen person, to let us all know there was more than what we had. His smile, his being kept us all reaching out.