Category: Healing meditation

Healing, Healing meditation, Trauma, Trauma recovery

FEAR, COMPASSION, & COURAGE

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

“For they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Mark 6:50 NRSV (similar to Matthew 14:27)

Reflection

In the aftermath of trauma, the disciples felt fear. The cross’ terror pounded through their bodies. Causing them to hide from the world. Live inside locked doors. Stay on guard. Peek out with wary eyes.

Jesus’ reassurance consoled the disciples. Settled their activated nervous systems. Gave them a sense of relief. The space to see and hear.

These words, “do not be afraid,” may also console us now. Remind us to breathe into our racing thoughts. Breathe into our protruding visions of what happened. The ones breaking into our everyday moments. Victimizing our survivorship. Directing our words and actions. In harm-filled ways.

Yet there may be days in which these words, “do not be afraid,” just hurt. Illicit curses like WTF, Jesus! And questions such as how? How can I not be troubled or worried or afraid? Jesus’ words working not as reassurances. But as platitudes. No better than “God has a plan,” or “God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle.” Making our whole bodies, even our toes shout into our socks and shoes, “bullshit!”

Because we are afraid. Fear brought us to this place in trauma’s afterlife. Life threatening fear still lives within us. Refusing to be calmed by four words.

Healing Practice: Take Heart

Breathe into your fear-filled heart. Just breathe into it. Allow your fears their space in your heart. Know that this action takes courage.

Picture your heart. Breathe into your troubled heart. Breathe deeper and wider. Know that this action takes compassion.

Picture those who weigh heavy on your heart. Loved ones’ suffering. Joining you on your heart. Breathe into your troubled heart. Breathe deeper and wider.

Expand your breathe until it dances with your fearing heart. Its wind weaving in, around, and out of heart’s pumping action.

Keep breathing. Allowing your breath’s wind to dance with all who are on your heart this day. Allowing your breath to bring all of you together in one big dance.

Prayer

God of troubled hearts, worried minds, and fearful bodies, show us what Jesus meant when he said, “do not be afraid.” For his disciples then. For us now. Help Jesus’ words break into our fear. Acknowledging it. Grow our compassion for self. Give us courage. Amen.

Image by Annette Meyer from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Trauma recovery

Trembling: A Healing Practice

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

“Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations also of the mountains trembled
and quaked…” Psalm 18: 7

A Practice

Lie down. Pick a point within your body where you feel pain, discomfort, or crap. Close your eyes. Breathe in for five counts filling up your lungs from bottom to top. Send your breath into your pain. Surrounding it. Now breathe out for five counts. Sending some of your pain into God or the universe. Notice you may tremble on the exhale. Allow tremblings their say. Repeat for as long as you receive comfort in doing this kind of breathing. Then breathe in again. Breathe out. Speak these words (or words like it) to your pain:

Pain, agitation, anxiety, whatever your name is, I walk toward you. Because if I walk toward you, you cannot control me. If I walk away, you dominate my body. So I move toward you. With my breath. Breath receiving the emotions you hold captive. I walk toward you naming my emotions as holy.

A Prayer

God, creator of all human emotions, hold me. Assure me of healthy relief. Coming soon. Already traveling toward me. Send courage in my waiting, my trembling, my healing. Amen.

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A Note from Jennifer: You may opt in or opt out of any practice at any time. Not every practice is for every body.

Image by Laura Otýpková from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Hope, Trauma, Trauma recovery

Affliction

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

“My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, “Gone is my glory, and all that I had hoped for from God.” The thought of my affliction and my homelessness is wormwood and gall! My soul continually thinks of it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of God never ceases…” Lamentations 3:17-22

Reflection

Bitter thoughts. Stewing from down below. Gurgling with stomach acids. Bubbling up. Burning the esophagus. Causing throat and breath to sour.

The writer of Lamentations uses strong metaphors. Wormwood, a plant smelling and tasting bitter. Gall, another name for bile. Words filling the air and us with pain’s felt presence in and out of our bodies.

But in the midst of severe affliction this writer dares to hope? What is it that this writer “call(s) to mind?” Surrounded by smells so intense, so permeating the writer curls. Caves in. What glimmers enough amidst affliction to speak of “steadfast love”?

Healing Practice: Glimmers

What gives you even a small glimmer of hope? A pin head of possibility? A fleeting thought of future?

What or who steadies you right now? Your therapist? The mail carrier showing up every day at the same time? The noon time factory whistle or downtown church bells?

Name these. Write them down. Even the smallest of the small. The writer of Lamentations puts hope in God. Maybe you do too. Maybe you don’t. Or maybe God is a glimmer of what can be.

Prayer

God of what can be, bring breezes filled with fresh air. Blow away bitterness’ smell. Settle my stomach. Give relief to my soured throat. Spark my imagination. Fill my thoughts with hope’s tiny glimmers. Amen.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Liturgy, Trauma, Trauma recovery

Distress

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez

When in pain, we often curl up. Shut others out. Protect ourselves. Needing time to think or feel or rest. Isolating too long however works against us. We cease to cry out. We cease to connect.

The writer of this psalm laments, words reaching out of isolation.

“Hear my prayer, Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress, I call to you…” Psalm 86: 6-7a (NIV)

We can practice reaching out. Even if we do not want to now. We can prepare for the time when isolation becomes harmful. Like the psalmist we can cry out to God or others in our suffering. With a loud voice. With shaking hands or clenched fists. Asking God or the universe to hear our cries. Witness our distress. Answer our calls.

Today, use your own words or the prayer below.

God, I call you. Hear me.

God, I call you. See me.

God, I call you. Listen to me.

God, I call you. Give mercy to my distress,

My cries,

My prayers.

God, I call you.

Amen. 

Image by Satyaban Sahoo from Pixabay

Healing meditation, Hope, Trauma recovery

Unseen Seeds of Hope

Jennifer Ohman-Rodriguez
“…What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.”
1 Corinthians 15:36 

Keep a list today. On a small piece of paper. One you can fold up. Fit in your pocket. Carry with you wherever you go. Unfold and flatten for remembering moments, even fleeting ones, scribbled down perhaps with a stubby pencil.

Collect the glimmers. The moments when hope settles on your heart for a passing second. Delivered in a realization, discovery, or an opening into what’s possible. Name each of these bits of unexpected joys and mercies in an act of gathering and sowing for your future. Continue this act of prayer for as long as it feels good to do so.

God, witness in me this day what I cannot see. Witness the tiny seeds of healing and hope I sow in my own fallowness. Witness in me my life-force still living. Witness in me my surprise in discovering unexpected joys. Receive my thanks for what I do not know will bless me today and tomorrow and in this wintered season of my own healing. Amen.  

Image by Adi Purnanto from Pixabay