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Arrived at the Centre at 8.40am, with the weather a wonderful combination of very low temperatures and bright hazy sunshine. There were twelve of us altogether, with some familiar faces from previous workshops. Began the meditation and introduction around 9. l0am, after which we chose our partners. Teresa chose me. At 9.50am, we began the first session, with me breathing first. As per usual I was very nervous, but when Fiona sat with me for a couple of minutes I began to relax a little. Tony also came over for a brief moment. Following my relaxation exercises, I was ready to begin my journey:- "After about ten minutes of breathing, I begin yawning every couple of minutes, then begin to feel the pleasant tingling sensations in my hands and feet. Around half an hour later, I become a distressed young infant, constantly pulling at my fingers, face and back of my hand. This terrible despair lasts for a very long time, with feelings of intense loneliness, abandonment and a terrifying feeling that my cries for help will go unheard forever. At last it appears like someone is feeding me, as I suck greedily on an invisible tit, be it flesh or rubber, I'll never know. I'm feeling sleepy but also needing to shit. I return to the breathing which now takes me back into the birth canal, and once again as always, I'm struggling to get free, my anger building up to exploding point. Rotating my body backwards on the mattress, I scream and kick out until every ounce of energy is drained out of me. Having reached the stage where I can go no further, I just curl up and try to find momentary solace in sleep. Realising that this will not get me anywhere, I again go back into the breathing. Now I'm aware of pushing someone or something off me. My legs are closed but my arms are flying all over the place. I'm not sure how long this distressing stage of the session lasts for. Following a few more breaths, I find myself in a very peaceful place. Slowly running my fingers through my hair, I'm making soothing little sounds and finding the whole thing very funny. As I gently massage my forehead, I'm aware of all the suffering going on around me, but I'm too deep into my own ecstasy to be affected by it. I rest for a while. An overwhelming sadness descends upon me and tears roll down my face as I allow myself sink deeper into my despair. The memory of my adoptive parents telling me that I was adopted is the core of my sadness. I'm remembering the cruel way they spoke about my natural mother, condemning her for my illegitimacy, how I was her punishment for her sins, how God further punished her by making her hate me so much that she wouldn't even look at me the moment I was born. The agonising list is endless. There is so much anger in there too, as I recall how, at least once a week throughout the early, and even adolescent years of my life, I was repeatedly reminded of my mother's sin and that t should never, ever, admit to anyone that I was adopted, as people would consider me a bastard, and therefore would refuse to have anything to do with me. What deepens my sadness is the insight, that the pain I'm going through now, is the pain I should have experienced on that first day when, at six years of age, I was so ruthlessly informed of my adoption. But how could I respond, when, in order to survive, I'd shut down all my emotions, probably from the day I was born. At one point, while really sobbing my guts out, I suddenly choke on my tears and become terrified as I cannot catch my breath. Images of saying my final farewells to my adoptive mother, as her body lay in the hospital chapel, now become very clear. I cry for the love that we'd never been able to express for each other. I scream in anger, remembering all the humiliating beatings I received from her in public, and cry while tenderly remembering the few occasions when, in her right mind, she would briefly have little conversations with me and appear to be on my side when things got bad between me and my adoptive father. Still crying straight from my guts, I turn over onto my side and curl up into my protective ball. Some time later I'm aware of Fiona kneeling beside me and it's a long time before I can tell her what's bothering me. She is so patient. Eventually, I gradually describe my experience and as I'm doing so, she's gently caressing my head and back. There is no end to this grief. It's as if I'm mourning my own death which came about while still in my mother's womb. Fiona covers me up and leaves me to rest for a while. I remain on the mattress for ages, quietly sobbing and refusing all offers of comfort from my partner. By 1.40pm I'm ready to leave the room". Feeling totally shattered, I retreated into the small room off the session room where I drew my Mandala. This one portrayed a small distressed baby, a red ball of anger, a little girl with outstretched arms and a large black ball of sadness with a smaller red ball of anger in its centre. I then went down to the kitchen where I just about managed to have some rice cakes and fennel tea. I wasn't very talkative so returned to the small room for some peace and quiet. The afternoon session got underway at 2.40pm. Teresa, my partner, needed a lot of help from me with her breathing. For most of her session I was fine, then as the music became more sombre, I started to go back into my own pain again. Everything was OK until Teresa moved right off the mattress. I went blank and couldn't prevent her from almost rolling into the dangerous path of another breather's flaying feet. Inside, I went to pieces. Fiona came to my rescue (and Teresa's) and reassured me that everything was fine and that there was nothing I could have done once Teresa had moved off the mattress. It didn't make me feel any better. Towards the end of the session, when Teresa was resting peacefully, Tony came over and sat beside me. I just turned to him and completely went to bits, telling him how guilty I was feeling about what had just happened and how sad I was still feeling. He was very supportive and also reassured me that everything was fine. I'd managed to stop crying just as Teresa was ready to sit up. We were the last to leave the room at around 6.30pm. At about 7.15pm we returned to the session room for our brief meditation and discussion. I still felt very emotional, not wanting to talk very much with anyone. When it was my turn to describe my experience, I found it very difficult to raise my voice much above a whisper and started to cry a little when Fiona commented on how she felt my experience was for me. I was too distressed to help tidy up, so I just got my things together and was offered a lift home from Teresa. We left at 8.30pm. During the journey, I developed a dreadful cramp in my stomach. When I arrived home at 8.45pm, getting to the loo as quickly as possible took precedence over everything else, as I knew I was in for a bad dose of the runs. Afterwards I definitely didn't feel like discussing my day with anyone, so I just had something light to eat and a cup of Camomile tea. At around 10.00pm, my gut erupted again. Completely exhausted and feeling totally miserable, 1 went to bed shortly before 11.00pm.
17th Nov,'96: The horrendous sadness that I felt during the session was actually the feelings I should have felt when I was told by my adoptive parents, at six years of age, about my adoption when I was two and a half years old. Because I had completely shut down my feelings from a very early age, I could no longer react to this terrible horror story. Today was the first time in thirty eight years that I could allow myself to feel the pain. Also, the incident involving my partner moving off her mattress, triggered the same feelings of guilt and inadequacy I felt, but again never expressed, when I witnessed my adoptive mother trying to kill herself at the top of our stairs when I was only about seven or eight years old. 18th Nov, '96: Returned to bed around 9.00am. When waking at 12.20pm, suddenly realised that my imaginary friends didn't really exist and that I'd have to eventually let go of them. That realisation was both physically painful and terrifying. 19th Nov, '96: During my therapy session, while discussing above insight (18/11), felt that Sunday's session has in some way blasted my personality to pieces, liking it to the beginning of the world, the Big Bang. Could this be the BEGINNING of the REAL ME - all the shattered pieces falling together to form my true self? Also, my fear of thick cables in tunnels, could it be a memory of seeing my umbilical cord while in my mother's womb? (i.e sunlight shining through the womb might enable the baby to see a hazy image of the cord).
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