Suppressing Instinct

Riley Coules
July 18, 2017

Trapped.

 

Bound to a body driven by disorder and sustained by lost hope…

 

Oh wait, I already wrote that 😉 . Let me instead borrow a concept I originally touched on in Coming Back To Life Again.

 

Phosphorus desires to escape the body. I, it seems, desire to escape the body. I’m editing this piece a little later in the healing process, due to which I (alas!) feel significantly more grounded, significantly more secure, and a lot less uneasy about the vesicle whereby I experience physical sentiments of this lifetime; however, for a good duration of my struggle, I irrationally, although somewhat necessarily– at least initially, until I manifested my reality [so many rhymes]– feared the corporeal, that which confined me to a perpetual state of anguish. 

 

I owe my hindered existence in large part to the anxiety surrounding my digestive dysfunction, and consequent cardiovascular malfunction, perhaps even more so than their accompanying, indirect, mental complaints. I may have been able to liberate myself from the confines of my mind by manipulating my outlook, the negativity, melancholia, and frustration that encumbered me, but the sheer condition of my body– the palpitations, the arrhythmias, the constant, oppressive sound of every heartbeat– incited more fret and worry than any other emotional barrier I encountered. I feared to the point of stagnation; I wouldn’t walk, I wouldn’t go out, I wouldn’t live, I wouldn’t love. There wasn’t anyone to love in the isolative arrangement of my (parentless) suburban home. While I had good reason to abide by my body’s wishes– day, after day, after day– I knew if I continued down a path of prevention, of control, I would only feed into my lower self (restrictive, depressive, and indeed, fearful), as well as further the trend of alienation I had initiated when I was well enough to choose whom I associated myself with. Choosing now took more effort, but it was doable, albeit with some limitation, and certainly beneficial to my yearn to wholly feel life, the relishment that had escaped me for far too long. 

 

I could envision it– I wanted it– to just relax, to just be. But subduing my angst seemed nearly impossible when I fell seriously ill, as odd as my alarm may seem; my perceptions lacked a severe sense of normalcy, but so did the condition of my body. A blockage separated my lowly repair from the manifestation of the higher as a result, for which I questioned, how does one cease fearing the heart? The answer became more apparent to me as I regained my strength.

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I have been forced to find it within myself to harmonize my mind and body, indirectly calming the latter through voluntary, often thought-oriented mechanisms of the former, if only to assist in the healing regime instigated by homeopathy (and to preserve my sanity prior to it totally negating my fears). Before I was able to tap into this “intuitive” capability– which is ironically fundamental during times of rationality– I had to conquer the barrier that consistently depressed my vitality throughout the year prior, the nightmarish, reactionary response to my heart abnormalities.

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Most of my mental discontent could be remedied by awakening my consciousness– to the beauty of existence, the mentalities that bring me joy, as well future renditions of prosperity as opposed to the temporary, extrinsic coercion of negativity… alleviating my physical anxiety followed a similar formula, although feeling necessarily followed cerebration. I couldn’t pay attention to my body for too long without panic quelling any hope of recovery, so mere meditation wasn’t an option; I had to first rationalize my fear in a greater context, from which I could imbue the corporeal with as great of a sense of serenity as I could possibly manage. Intellectualizing my fears allowed me to stop limiting myself to innate mindsets, those I had previously treated as fixed and unchangeable, such as my yearn for control; oddly enough, I found I could determine the course of my existence, the physical and emotional states that characterized it, by losing control. I just had to focus on healing, on listening, on simply being first. Essentially, I needed to face my fears.

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The unknown had always played a role in my pursuit of regimentation, both prior to and after succumbing to digestive distress, a phenomena exemplified by the direction we so vehemently seek in America. We constantly fill the void of self-discovery with external sources, distractive sources, instead of allowing it to just be, as it must be temporarily, for we dually fear the truths of our own company. Spending time with just us, and no goals or plans but to learn us, can prove quite daunting, especially during times of heavy physical turmoil; the depths of our minds hold mechanisms of self-destruction we’d rather not acknowledge. But learning to embrace temporary lapses in judgment (mental, and physical too), as well as the disorder and confusion they incite, permits momentary relishment– that is, relishment of the self– for relying only on what lies within as opposed to what might come permits the survival of any current, or future, blockage.

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We may not always where we’re going or how to get there, but we have ourselves in the meantime. This familiarity will guide us into regeneration.

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I had been oppressed for far too long; I yearned so dearly to feel grounded. I knew I needed to stop distracting, I had to stop fearing, but my angst seemed so real, my body all the more concrete. My inability to just listen arose out of escapism, a tendency I knew I could negate in any facet of my life if I just recognized the source of it… I scoured for answers, ultimately coming to inquire: what incites such a strong response to my arrhythmias and palpitations, the awry within, when no pain can be felt?

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My thought: instinct.

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I instinctively feared the physical angst associated with my condition because it alluded to that fact that something was wrong, that dysfunction had compelled my body into a state of distress– and naturally, I feared anything that could potentially cease my time spent on earth, even as my mind recognized that suffering desists in realms beyond. (It is the body that in part compels us to live, even when we have faith in the other-worldly.) If I only feared my physical discomfort because it arose out of bodily malfunction, however, which may eventually culminate into death, then the real source of my despair must have been the termination of my existence. But I’m not afraid of dying, for I know it will not entail discontinuation of me; this life constitutes one of many in my quest to obtain all the wisdom that can be obtained, that which allows me to fully embody the light within at any given moment.

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The moment, Riley, is when you heal.

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If I was to overcome the oppression of the physical, I had to stop reacting– to abnormalities in my heart’s rhythm, to the question of when my anguish would cease (or if it would cease at all), or if I’d ever feel like myself again. After I recognized my distress for what is was- instinctive and therefore within my control so long as I’m willing to relinquish control- I zeroed in on my panic, focusing in on each palpitation, on each perturbation, catching my reaction before it could become me. I impressed my mental state of fearlessness upon the condition of my body, harmonizing serenity within, choosing, like every other skill I have adopted throughout the last year, to suppress instinct, as instinct is merely a facet of survival– and if I intend to negate suffering above all else (of both myself and others), to elevate despite all external sources of woe [external to the soul], then instinct no longer applies, even if the minimization of misfortune presupposes survival.