I am Napoleon Blown-apart ~ on trying and failing to maintain psychic cohesion
On Thursday morning we came down to a certain amount of devastation. High winds had wreaked havoc all over Britain but for once, we had not escaped unscathed. A number of panes of glass had blown in or blown out in our small conservatory and it and the garden were covered in shards of glass. Other panes, including the door, were cracked and much of the day was spent sorting out the problems. Now, everything shored up and awaiting proper repairs in due course, I’ve got a moment to process some of my reactions.
Seeing empty space where glass was, feeling wind and rain blowing in where none should be, and touching the gaping empty holes where none should be reminded me of how I feel emotionally a frightening amount of time. Those esoterically trained will surely be shaking their heads at my naivety and are ready to offer me a whole host of advice about maintaining my psychic boundaries, strengthening my energy field and shoring up my aura. And indeed, I have a short shelf full of books on such things. I could probably write a book on psychic self defence and related matters, and I don’t deny that some of it works. You might (if you are of a more sceptical bent) decide that the placebo effect is at work here: you feel safer, therefore you act safer, therefore you are safer.
I don’t know any more really. Despite having a vast horde of techniques and tricks, not to mention enough crystals to run a shop in Glastonbury for a week or two, nothing really works that well for me. Or at all. Staring at my wrecked conservatory today, I began to wonder why and the skeleton of the building made me think. It’s about a cohesive framework, perhaps, or a body to hang skin from. My conservatory is made with all angles and straight lines, with a few defined curves, and the panes of glass sit neatly in their places. It’s stood up to high winds before, and never lost a pane. The design works because while all the frame and all the panes are in place, they support each other. One pane going out meant the whole thing was at risk; flying debris may well have started it.
But I am so far from wholeness that there are gaps in my framework, there are missing pieces that mean that much of my self defence is a matter of cling-film gaffer-taped over cracks and gaps. It might last for a few days, as long as it isn’t subject to anything too demanding but it is a temporary fix. I’ve been doing this sort of repair as long as I can remember. No wonder then that harsh words and losing friends and the usual buffeting life hurls at us shreds my defences and leaves me raw and naked to the elements.
I’m faced with a choice, really. Using the conservatory as a rough metaphor, I can board over all the gaps, thereby excluding light and sunshine and shutting myself off from the outside world. Each time a piece goes, I can hammer into place great slabs of wood to block out the world. I can leave the temporary fixes till they too fail. Or I can let myself fall into ruins, let the entire outside world, rain, hate, wind and chaos flood into my soul.
There is one final choice: somehow find a way to rebuild my defences so that I allow the optimum balance between protection and sensitivity and involvement in the outside world. For this I need to take time to see what my real shape is. I may have been trying to maintain a form that is not my true form, using straight lines when I needed to use curves, and using a framework that is not the real me.
So: back to the drawing board. Back to trying to fathom who I really am, and trying somehow to nurture that person rather than punish her.