Sitting with Discomfort

Writing as a Healing Meditation

Sitting with Discomfort

Writing as a Healing Meditation

The body hurts. And there is nothing I can do about it right now.

I can’t decide which is worse, the physical pain or the emotional toll of feeling so helpless.

Living with chronic pain is like having an abusive prison guard as a roommate. Some days they will mostly mind their own business as you attempt to get through the day, occasionally harassing you, but the discomfort is manageable. Other days, they are on a rampage, beating you down at every step and all you can do is lay on the ground, surrender and let go of trying to control the situation.

And so here I sit, the prison guard of this body leering at me from the shadows of this dimly lit room.

We’ve been living together for enough years now for me to recognize that if I make the body the enemy, I suffer.

The body hurts. And so I write.

The empty page is an open inviting space for the pain to express itself. It’s a healing salve for the trauma, repressed emotions, scary thoughts, hurtful memories and intense sensations in the body. The page welcomes this prison guard without judgement. It is in fact a place for redemption.

The body hurts.

“Hello hurt. Hello stabbing pain. Hello discomfort. Hello tension. Hello contraction.”

“To be quite honest, I feel afraid of you but I’m willing to sit and listen again.”

And so I sit and listen.

…

The tears come.

The body only wanted to be treated with kindness and tenderness.

This tormenting pain, that seems to dominate my waking life, speaks yet again in it’s own mysterious language.

The prison guard transforms into the wise sage, offering guidance in ways I never could have imagined, in a manner that transcends my mental constructs - a teaching shared through silence.

The pain was simply the barrier of my attachments blocking the silent communion with the present moment.

…

The pain remains but the resistance has subsided. What is pain if you remove the word “pain”? Is the idea of pain the real source of suffering? Observing the body without concepts, it appears mysterious, moves beyond comprehension, becomes something to ponder rather than fight against.

The noise of my mind becomes still, there is a return to that sacred silence of being with what is, without needing to think about it.

The page yet again has offered a healing space to process the challenges of life.