The deep cranial work Sasha did freed up some old, fancy-pants demons. This bright morning, fresh from shared coffee and laughter and conversation rich with metaphor, when I hugged my pal goodbye, my loosened neck muscles clamped down and I had shooting nerves like skyrockets and a mean little cloud descended upon me. Or maybe ascended from me. At any rate, no matter how many shamanic techniques I tried today, I couldn’t shake the pain or the edge of aggression seething from my skin.
This afternoon, I called Sasha to ask her about it. Before this work of reclaiming my worth that I started in the fall with my abundance circle, I would not have called. It wouldn’t have occurred to me. I believed with a steely and unnamed certainty that my lot in life was to struggle and suffer. Unquestioningly.
I called Sasha and we talked it through. She listened. She held space. She talked about the weight of the energy she released last night, the density of it, the ancientness of it. I knew immediately that this was heavy-duty old-school protective armor that I donned at some young and green time when things just weren’t safe.
Today I just needed to move through it. And to rest. Sasha suggested ice and a gentle self-massage performed by the tips of my fingers under the weight of my naturally-resting skull. Just a gentle working. Just a releasing. And some tears to melt away those old barnacles of my emotional callouses.
And now I sleep.