Healing Box

I’m sweating profusely, cross legged in my Infrared healing box. When did I lose sight of myself and how did it happen?

My eyelids are barely touching. I’m using my breath to syphon the energy of creation through me. I’m tapped deep in the Earth funneling its pristine energy into the bowl of my belly. I let it glow in there-encouraging the light to dissolve my undigested moments. I inhale the light into the chamber of my heart so I can see what’s in there. I’m deeply present and open to receive insight. I’m letting go of what is not serving me… letting it spill over the contours of my naked body.

I teleport…

Cocooned inside my mother’s womb I am safe and weightless… I float in my dark, cozy, universe with the constant companion of her heartbeat. Suddenly, light smashes in and I’m ripped out of her belly. I’m out of my element, thrashing the weight of my body against gravity…I can’t hear the assuring sound of her heartbeat…The glue that was supposed to stick us together is beginning to dry. 3 days pass… She’s finally holding me…trying to piece us together but we are not fitting .

Mama was preparing Osechi-ryori, a traditional Japanese New Year’s meal when I set things in motion a month early. She laboured for 3 torturous days until finally surrendering to the knife. She said that all the running around in preparation for New Year had made me come early. Experiencing my birth in my healing box I understood otherwise. My Soul chose to come early because how I was born set the trajectory for the lessons I agreed to learn in this lifetime. The very driver of how I pushed through life seeking for approval, acceptance and love all began with my landing. It was the contract I signed before I got here.

Mama came from a wealthy, traditional, Japanese family. My grandfather was an established architect and my grandmother was an esteemed nurse. Being the black sheep of the family Mama left Japan as soon as she was old enough to break free. She liberated herself from the constraints of what was expected of her. My grandparents had high hopes to arrange her marriage to a prevalent Japanese doctor or lawyer. Instead, Mama brought home a Scottish hippie from her travels and pronounced that they were to be married.

My grandparents’ status took a dive bomb when both their daughters married penniless Scotsmen. My Aunt married my Da’s best friend and between the two sisters the Aichi bloodline was tainted by six half breed grandchildren.

My relationship with Jichan (grandfather) has always been on “alert” status. I developed the keen sense to be acutely aware of the smell of sake on him. My caution around him varied depending on the intensity of his smell.

The room reeks of sake… Jichan is pinning Bachan to the ground trying to burn her face with a cigarette. Mama’s piercing scream immobilizes me. I’m frozen to the spot where I’m hiding…my only movable parts are my eyes daring to look. Bachan’s crying face is gripped between his fingers- her anguished face trying to retreat from the hot end of the cigarette. Mama is prying his arm back-her long, raven, hair is whipping wildly about. They look like fighting animals scrapping in a heap. Jichans red, spiteful, face burns into me...

I am experiencing my own story from a new vantage point. In the next scene, I’m eagerly waiting for Jichan, returning from his trip to America.

Jichan has a fancy, new fedora on- one that he picked up in America. He’s calling my little brothers over to give them souvenirs. They squeal in delight and launched themselves onto his lap. The boys are not cautious because they don’t need to be. They have a biological advantage over me by having an appendage that I do not have. I am patiently waiting to be called over for my gift. My brothers are playing with their new toys. I’m still waiting… Jichan does not acknowledge my presence. Bachan is kneeling on the tatami close by- I catch the pain in her eyes. It dawns on me that there is no piece of America wrapped up for me.

If I had happy memories with Jichan they are buried somewhere beneath the heavy ones. He reinforced the lessons my Soul chose to learn. He was not a bad man, he came in with his own contract. He showed his love by accepting our “out of ordinary” status.

I attended Japanese public school and stuck out like a sore thumb. Everything about my demeanor was Japanese but there was no way to disguise the look of the Gaijin-the outsider. I inherited the best traits from both my parents. I accepted being gaped at and openly commented on. “Look at how long her legs are…how curvy her butt is…how tall she is…the red highlights in her hair… look at the size of her feet!…” I kept quiet like a good Japanese girl and let their words push me out to sea.

I am a weeping statue in my box, weaving through memories and following the clues. I’d knocked the first domino tile over. The long winding trail of tiles are collapsing beautifully on top of each other. Each tile is telling a story and connected to the next one…it’s unveiling the secrets of how I came to be. At the end of the line must be my essence…my medicine.


Da and Mama-Wedding Day

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