zenjones

I have a touch of agoraphobia. There is a part of me that wants to stay in my pajamas all day, lock the doors, not answer the phone. I do this once in a while and it’s almost like tasting the forbidden fruit. This could become my life.

Many years ago, it was my life. I didn’t leave the house for six months. I could not make myself leave—it was very frightening. In fact, I lived submersed in the quick-sand of fear. I have had short—2-day, maybe—relapses. Ever since then, though, when I feel it coming on, I head it off.

Yesterday, my practice period awareness task was to “Be aware of anxiety around leaving.” It was pretty interesting. When my little alarm went off, I’d notice that my shoulders had crept up toward my ears. I’d settle them back down where they belonged. And then the next time the alarm went off, there they’d be, all hunched up. It made me smile.

But today is not so fun. Today has a turbulent tummy and a little bit of shortness of breath. And this fragmented feeling, where I’m having a hard time concentrating on any one thing. Feeling like I should be doing something, but really, there’s no something there, so I’d like to make something up. And unable to concentrate long enough to actually do the things I should. But there really aren’t many of those things. So should I make some things up?

While I sat this morning, I just planned about work. Then, 20 minutes into my time on the cushion, I realized that I don’t sit on Wednesday mornings. I sit Wednesday evenings with the group.

I’m going to go workout, see if I can use up some of the adrenalin. And then I’m going to call my Zen teacher.

But really? I’m experiencing this in my body. And I’m labeling my thoughts. And then I’m not.