I'm writing this morning, stiff through the neck and a bit achy through the sides. Caliban--the beast--flung himself around yesterday, as I went deeper into the piece. Deeper. I didn't think that was possible after the day before--maybe intellectually, I thought so, but, really...?
Here's something that's been coming up. It began to emerge two days ago in the long, morning voice/movement session. It's not news, but quite suddenly, it's... time. The long-term, deeply muscular tension I've held through the decades is declaring itself the fruits of the genuine physical abuse I endured as a child and teenager, tension that gets in the way of the work. Why? Because, when you're a kid--or a marine grunt--and you have to keep the eyes open in the back of your head in case someone sneaks up to hit your stupid ass, or yell at you out of nowhere, or order you to do chores that suddenly demand that you can not... play, you learn to be vigilant, in body and mind. You're tensed, ready for fight or flight, muscles ready to clench in the act of running, hiding, or occasionally hitting back. Your mind is a humming alarm, vibrating with awareness of potential threat, and little else. You don't speak much, because then you wouldn't hear them coming.
Caliban was taught language only to have it taken away from him through contempt. Language, through Prospero and Miranda, seduced him from himself enough that he USES it quit well. However, language does not fully transform him from his beginnings as a demon into the vision of a man, which Prospero and Miranda hope for. He rebels when language fails him. As did I.
I 'went to ground' yesterday, literally, on all four, guttering and spewing words that originated in my groin and ass and sputtered furiously in SPECIFIC gesture and verbal attack/pleaing. We were ALL exhausted.
At the end of my work, Keven told me that I am going to work harder than I thought this month, which confused me, since I seem to be working hard now. He told me I'm going to change in ways I don't expect--in addition to all the ways I DO expect--and for the first time in decades, I believed it, that change was in the offing in a very short time. He also said, "you're going to have your heart broken," which terrifies me. Terrifies me more than I have words to express. My heart is torn up now.
Two years ago, I weighed 50 pounds more than I do now. I lost 25 of it, and kept it off, but plenty of protective padding between myself and the world remained. And it got in the way. I lost the other 25. Then, I felt truly vulnerable. Losing the weight was the first act of a genuine physical transformation that I seem to be undergoing. Now, I'm feeling myself... separate my sense of self from the humming, constantly ON alarm system, which seems to be made up of my entire body and much of my mind. I'm relaxing my guard. It's time. The war has long been over.