Good Grief

by OneTaste Living Library  May 21, 2012

nnBy Carol K. nnI’ve come to conclude that orgasm includes everything. Even grief. For the past two months I’ve been holding my breath—both literally and figuratively. My dear friend (and lover) of four years was dying from stomach cancer and I had walking pneumonia. I was only able to breathe shallow breaths—deep ones inspired a painful, rattling cough which made my lungs feel like they might pop. Chinese medicine informed me that the emotion associated with the lung meridian is grief. Of course. My unwillingness to feel the anguish of my impending loss was making me sick. In my desperation, I became willing to evict the beast which inhabited my body, it had invited some of its most noxious friends (depression and anxiety) and taken over the joint. I felt obliged to confront them and show them the door.nnMy OM practice teaches me to trust my body and its messages. To simply FEEL what arises and to put judgment on the shelf. One evening I resolved to mourn. I set up a different sort of nest with plenty of pillows—P’s photograph and tissues nearby. I was ready. Unclenching my heart for the first time in over a year, I focused on his condition. Let myself really see it, feel it. I started with my familiar habit of choking back tears followed by a long, injured-animal sounding moan that I didn’t recognize as my voice. The moan turned to a wail. For hours I primal-screamed, sobbed, whimpered and wept. There was nothing dignified about my process. Fluid spilled forth, unladylike, from all three orifices of my face. Purging, I knelt on the ground with snot in my hair, drool dripping from my mouth onto the floor between my knees…a puddle of pain and regret. Guilt arose and I apologized to the sky. I was sorry for everything I had done and failed to do. Sinking deeply into the swamp of despondency, my pleas of “Please!” and “Have mercy!” turned unexpectedly into “Thank you,” and “Yes,” then back around to “I’m so, so sorry.”nnThe word “Fuck” flowed freely from my lips what seemed like hundreds of times over. It began as an expletive and transmuted itself into an offer or a promise. “Fuck this!” “Fuck!” “Just FUCK!” “FUCK!…fuck…fuuuuuck…” It became sexual. Death and sex overlapped. Tears converted to come. I felt my desire for him so strongly—remembered what he smelled like. My approval and permission of everything that surfaced allowed surges of grief to alchemize into waves of orgasm—sexual healing. It was all the same stuff. I allowed it all. Approved of it all. Emptied out, I cried myself to sleep.nnWhen I awoke the next morning, my lungs were miraculously clear. I breathed deeply with no physical pain for the first time in months. He died 6 days later—relief at long last—for both of us. I believe he would have loved how good he made my body feel one last time, even in sorrow. Thank you, OM.nn nnOrgasmic Meditation is a practice that will benefit every area of your life whether you want it to or not. Conversation, addictions, relating with family and friends, expressing your self, loving your self, acceptance of difficult situations, and yes grief. It is a practice that expands your ability to feel higher levels of sensation and emotion that could normally be perceived as uncomfortable or unbearable, and eventually even find pleasure in them. The world takes on a different flavor when you know you can find pleasure within even the darkest corners of your life.