Beneath the arch in Women's Park
I recently participated in a Holotropic Breathwork™ workshop. Pioneered by Stanislav and Christina Grof to attain an altered state, the work has evolved over time to replace attainment of an altered state with deep fast breathing rather than using drugs. LSD, drug of choice in the 60s and 70s, was thought to provide the greatest insight into exploration, investigation, and healing of the psyche.
What is an altered state? I liken it to a place beyond the logical mind, logic being that realm where one’s sense of reality is filtered according to education and systematic application of reasoning skills handed down by society with choice largely determined by the belief system in the family and community unit.
To leave the rational world in an altered state is to walk on water, to transverse the Universe(s), to find HOME - that place which incubates the soul until spirit reinvests in a physical body, there subject to the rules of gravity, hunger, thirst, elimination. While the human side nests and explores, searches for love, pro-creates, advancing the protocol of civilization in the process, the unbiddened portion – which I think of as the psyche – seeks to evolve under the umbrella of unparalleled experiential wisdom.
To take leave of one’s physical accoutrements and accept an invitation into the unknown is especially appealing in this kind of work because there is a guardian…one who serves as the Sitter – protector and holder of sacred space for the Breather – the one cocooned in blankets and pillows on a floor mat. Beginning with a guided meditation that culminates with deep quickened breathing, the Breather finds him/herself on a launch pad. Ignition is provided by an acoustical selection that catapults the voyager beyond all bonds physical.
My experience remains sacred, meaning I have no desire to divulge what some might write off as a creative and vivid imagination. That I returned with a larger perspective of the world and my place in it is a personal assessment. What propels me to write about this, however, is the experience from the viewpoint of my physical body. Friday night of the workshop, my partner and I tossed a coin. During the morning, she’d “breathe,” I’d “sit.” During the afternoon session, we’d reverse the roles. And while I deeply respected the individual who had brought this opportunity to our community, I was dubious as to whether or not I’d be able to participate. To begin, I am extremely sound sensitive. At its worst (or best), I hear normal conversations in the next room, sometimes across the street if I happen to be outdoors. As this condition manifested over a period of months, it culminated in late 2005, forcing termination of a career as a voice teacher and player of the piano. After I quit, it took a good month before my hearing returned to a more normal range. Even so, to attend a movie in a public theatre could be an excruciating experience without earplugs. There are times when this is still the case.
To compensate, I not only wore earplugs, I brought along my pilot’s headset, one of the better ones for handling noise abatement. The moment the music began, I quickly adjusted the headset thinking it must have slipped off. Having been cued I could take a break away from the sound, one of the presenters stood in my place while I went downstairs. I kept my headset on because it seemed just as intense on the lower level. Prior to my third exit, I began to ask myself questions. How could the sound penetrate the protective devices at this level? Even before we started, as the facilitators walked around to check on everyone, I observed others removing the earplugs to participate in the dialogue. I’d put my earplugs in almost immediately, had no need to remove them to hear what others were saying and hadn’t missed a thing. Standing at the foot of where my partner lay on the mat, deeply engaged in her experience, I explored the sensation of sound by turning a slow circle. Could I tell, with my eyes closed, where the sound came from? No. It seemed to be everywhere. I concluded that my entire skull had become a receiver. Also, the soft palate seemed to move of its own accord, as it would if I were singing. Knowing what I know about producing sound in the resonators of the human body, my entire being, from the physical to the mental/emotional body, to the spiritual was being played by the music…a realization I would not make until hours after the session ended. So, by the time I’d made my third exit to the lower level, I was convinced I must leave, that for whatever reason, I was not meant to participate in this event. One of the presenters came downstairs at that moment and said she and the other facilitators thought I might be going into “process;” in other words, being drawn and invited into an altered state. “There are enough of us to sit if you’d like to see if this is what’s happening.”
Not wanting to leave, I accepted. Upstairs, as we were pulling blankets and pillows together, I realized I was entering a process that had been underway for nearly an hour. I made a conscious decision to take five deep breathes once I was on the floor. The moment I became horizontal, the level of sound became bearable. Wrapping around and through, soothing and inviting me, loudness faded into irrelevance. I felt weightless. Like counting backwards for the anesthesiologist prior to surgery, I found myself in a non-ordinary state before the third breath. In other words, I was out there.
At the end, Sitters brought tea and water to Breathers, drawing boards and chalk. Leaning comfortably against a pillow wedged between me and the wall, I felt my sense of spatial orientation tuning into the familiar and weight returning to my body. I beheld a sense of wonderment at the experience and stared at the large blank sheet of white paper in my lap. Not owning an ounce of drawing or sketching or painting ability, I longed for a pen or pencil though my mind whirled about a wordless void. Choosing a color, I laid the chalk on edge and began with swirls. Another color, more swirls, a third, same thing. Drawn into the two-dimensional drawing, it appeared open and welcoming. Initially, I had no memory of what I experienced. The drawing represented that of which my logical mind had no reference. The drawing…a connection on a conscious level…resulted in the formation of tears. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, hoping to remain unnoticed but also felt an immense sense of relief as arms slipped around and held me. I was grateful there was music loud enough to mask private acknowledgement that while on this journey, I had been validated. Words came and I sat up to write in the spaces not filled in with color, Home is this way… Observing the words, a bridge between the rational and altered state brought more tears and a sense of homesickness that has followed me through life like a faithful puppy dog.
The facilitators advised I wasn’t yet done processing and if I chose, could also be a Breather in the afternoon session. This was good, because the initial music and rhythm in the afternoon, which I’d desparately tried to block in the morning, greeted me as Tribal in nature, actually grounding me to this world and earth, this time and space. Even though I danced and ran and explored the ethers beyond the physical body, there precluded this second experience a wisdom desiring that I first connect with Home, as I had in the morning. Interesting to note that I breathed through most of the session without my headset, without the earplugs.
Again offered paper and chalk and this time undaunted by my lack of artistic ability, I chose similar colors. This time, the drawing, still invisible, invited me to make it visible, swirling first one direction and then the next in a particular location on the paper. Much like the eye of the camera capturing faces in nature I don’t see with my own eyes, I saw identifiable outlines of treasured spirit friends. These I accented; faces, ears, wings, eyes…
In searching for a reference point for you, the reader, two favorite films come to mind. First is Director Julie Taymor’s, Across The Universe, in which the brilliant mastery of cinematography facilitates a 3,000 mile cross-country psychedelic entourage that begins with LSD-laced punch consumed at a New York party for Dr. Robert. Dr. Robert advises guests to transcend the world of B.S. and convincingly makes his case with John Lennon’s, I am the Walrus. Taymor’s brainstorm and resultant script evolved entirely from Beatle music written during the 60s and Vietnam era. Lennon’s lyrics weave together real-life experiences, nursery rhymes, acid trips, and potshots at traditionalists, especially those who set out to analyze his music. The lyrics were placed over contrary chords including every note in the musical scale. I’m telling you this because it’s a feeble left-brain attempt to introduce you to what I experienced as a Breather. In other words, next to impossible.
The day following the workshop, I was reminded of the movie, Contact, in which Jodi Foster plays Dr. Ellie Arroway. Pursuing a life-long interest in sending and receiving messages to and from other star systems, Arroway enters a pod that is then dropped into a larger framework of three spinning circular structures. It’s supposed that the blueprints, which are received at the world’s largest radio telescope, Arecibo, in Puerto Rico, have come from another part of the Universe and will deliver Arroway to this location. The script is not without relevance here, having first appeared as a novel by the same name. The author? Carl Sagan, astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist.
Had the “machine” been built in present realty, it would have cost, “billions and billions” of dollars. The authenticity of Dr. Arroway’s 18 hours of recorded static proves nothing, yet, she insists an alien intelligence used information in her brain to recreate a world on her journey that she would feel comfortable in. The alien she encountered appeared as her deceased father. The alien describes humans as an “interesting species that are capable of such wonderful dreams and such horrible nightmares.” He concludes by saying that, in all their searching, the only thing that makes the emptiness of the universe bearable is the company of each other.
And so it was for me, returning from the first altered state where I experienced a haunting sense of trust, acceptance, and security to a reality where I find trust, acceptance, and security severely lacking or mankind wouldn’t be so judiciously exploring all the avenues of consciousness with such a relentless nature. Returning from the first exploration, I found myself between two Sitters, one on each side. A facilitator…a woman I’d only met that morning…pulled me into her arms to comfort without a word and accept that which often accompanies the birthing process: tears, sobs, and the messy afterbirth – in my case, a snotty, drippy, runny nose. As midwife, present at many such births, she knew I’d just come through the channel and brought with me, my own truths intact.
For a day or two after, I felt much like I do after a transcontinental flight; disoriented by time and temperature changes, culture shock, languages I don’t understand, unfamiliar horizons, atmospheric pressure altercations. It’s not all that different. The comparison shifts when I admit there are no photos to share, no names, no places you’d recognize. The benefit lies in the fact I’m no longer a child; no one can write or talk away what seems to them a very creative mind with, It’s just your imagination. I’ve lived on the earth long enough, walked enough paths, explored endless rabbit holes to recognize familiarity when it resonates in my body.
Fresh from this experience, I remember feeling this strong sense of self assurance as a child. I grew up in a household of adults and siblings about to exit their teens. Privy to reams of solitude, I felt very connected to something out there. After my education began at the tender age of six, first grade, I volunteered to shuttle away the creative side of my brain in exchange for a grading system that prized rote memory and regurgitation of that which I read in the textbooks. I lost track of a sense of purpose and possibility. I accepted that I wasn’t worthy, beat my fist over my heart proclaiming this to be true, and buried much of me to become like others, to fit in and not stand out.
Now that I’m on the opposite end of the pendulum and swinging toward the exit from the physical body, I’m comforted by what I’ve experienced and what I remember and how those two states of consciousness exemplify a state of trust and compassion toward myself and others. And I, like Ellie Alloway relaying the alien message, agree the most important truth anyone could possibly need in the moment is to know that whatever emptiness any of us is experiencing becomes bearable in the company of another who also believes that what we call “reality” is mutable and subject to change, if we only believe.
©Sarah Louise Hannah
More Info on Holotropic Breathwork™
For information about the next workshop in Helena: jay@dufrechoulaw.com
Credits:
Nothing on Helena, Montana’s downtown Walking Mall has warmed my heart more than to weave in and out of throngs of lickers-of-ice-cream—all ages mind you. From my silver-haired, hand-holding generation for whom conversation is unnecessary when there’s a sugar cone beneath this frozen delicacy, to gravity-defying toddlers tipping cones any which way but up, to their more experienced counterparts able to twirl and lick at the same time, to their parents seated about this impromptu circle of entertainment, licking, of course, to the casual teen and college youth interspersed amongst the savvy suit and tie crowd, all standing in a line twenty deep…outside the door…to those I met blocks from the shop who were down to their last two bites of crispy cone, licking their fingers with cat-like satisfaction…well, there you have it…in one paragraph…proof
