Here we go again.

If you’ve been reading this for a while, you know that I have long conversations with my stucknesses. I meditate a lot. I talk to walls.

And I occasionally let you eavesdrop on my internal dialogue.

This is because I have no boundaries secretly hope that you’ll be able to benefit from some of my crazy insights without having to go through all the hard stuff.

I also secretly hope that you’ll be so intrigued by this whole working-on-your-stuff process of learning about your patterns and how to change them that you’ll start building your life around this learning, instead of around resenting your patterns for being there.

But enough talking about my secret mission. And more about this gigantic block of mine, and the extremely weird things that happened when I took a look at it.

The wall of resistance.

Encountering the wall.

At the moment, I’m dealing with a considerable amount of physical pain. And my body has been pretty clear about the fact that it is not ready to go through the process of healing yet.

So the whole point of yesterday’s meditation-thing was to get some more information about that resistance. About the stuck.

And yet again, my block was a wall. A gigantic wall of resistance. It circled my body. It was just high enough that I could see over it if I stood on tiptoe.

Not that there was anything to see since everything else was pitch black.

And it was at least a foot or so thick. Gooey and gummy in consistency.

Darkness all around. Darkness and this never-ending Nothingness. Like a wall in the middle of outer space. Composed entirely of resistance and struggling-with-the-way-things-are.

When I tried to touch the wall, it was slimy and pulsating, with this zappy, almost electric energy. It was unpleasant being by my wall.

Letting the wall be the wall.

It was hard to figure out anything about the wall when the darkness around it was so thick and overpowering.

I said, “Let’s have some light here.”

The light came. It was just the right amount of light. Not harsh or intrusive, but not too soft or ethereal either. It was a sensible sort of light.

The wall tried to hide from the light. It was not liking the light. It couldn’t hide so it got all writhe-ey and wiggly.

I said, very firmly, “Wall. Listen to me. I am not trying to destroy you. I am trying to find out about you. No one is going to make you disappear. You are allowed to be here. We will even help you stay grounded for now, but we need to shed some light on this.”

The wall was still wiggling, but much more half-heartedly. More like a kid shifting back and forth on his feet than a full-on fidget.

Me: “Wall, you are safe. Here is what is going to happen. We are going to ground you and I am going to look at you. You can stay for as long as you need to stay. I will not try to hurt you.”

And then I had chords of light stream down from above to center it, and come up from below to hold it in place.

(This is not my style at all, but it’s a technique I learned from Hiro Boga, who does astonishingly powerful work, so I’ve been experimenting with expanding my repertoire of wacky.)

Seeing the wall for what it was.

Now that I could really see the wall without all the distractions of the darkness and the zappy, pulsating, fidgeting stuff, I discovered something.

I realized that my wall was translucent.

Beyond a dirty, grainy outer film, it was almost clear. And with all the light coming down now, you could see right inside of it.

You could see what was inside of it.

Because right there, trapped inside of the wall, was an enormous clock. I knew that clock too. I knew what it meant.

Oh. Stupid symbolism.

“Oh, wall,” I said.

The wall didn’t say anything. It kind of shrugged.

“Oh, wall! This is how you keep me safe. You have frozen time for me so that the bad things that are sure to happen won’t come.”

The wall stopped pulsing. It waited.

I said, “Wall, do you know what’s really happened as a result of your trying — which I appreciate — to keep me safe?”

The wall looked suspicious.

I said, “Wall, I also want to be safe. Here’s the thing though. Time doesn’t work for me. Time has become so constricted and constrained for me that I feel as though I never have enough. This wall is keeping me from what I need to accomplish.”

The wall was very still.

I said, “Wall, are you sure we need to wall it off from me like this? What if we didn’t have to stop time? What if there were another way of protecting me from things that might go wrong?”

And that’s when the weird stuff started.

The wall began to shift and soften — just in that one spot — as though molecules were scooting around in new formations.

And then the clock popped out of the top of the wall and came to rest in a new little indentation that hadn’t been there before, clicking and whirring happily and then POW!

The clock exploded and its little pieces went everywhere.

I was (forgive me for the awful pun I am about to make but I crack myself up) alarmed. No, it was scary. But only for about a second.

Because then there were these tiny, pretty golden flecks everywhere. Little fragments of time.

And I remembered that there will always be enough for me.

My whole body softened. I could breathe easily again. The wall didn’t seem as high. The dark wasn’t as dark. The light wasn’t something I had called upon. It was just there, lighting up the wall so I could see all of it.

And the wall itself seemed friendlier. Now that it had released the clock, it wanted to show me everything that it was hiding. It pulled me along to different parts, pointing out the stuck bits and revealing what was there.

A lot of stuck.

Next was the bag. The guilt/shame/money bag that taught me that collecting and saving are things you have to be ashamed of.

Once I’d looked at the bag, the wall released it. I said, there is enough. And breathed that enoughness into my body.

Next the pool cue that taught me that trying new things is bad. I cried. It came out of the wall. It split into pieces and disappeared.

Next a picture of a box. A cardboard box taped together and crumbling. It was underneath the bed of my ex. A reminder of broken-heartedness. Of hurt. The wall let it go.

And then there was nothing left inside the wall. And the wall opened up and made a space and a little round room appeared there. Like a room in a tower. A tiny little house within the wall.

I went in.

A place to breathe and learn.

At first I didn’t like being in there. There was too much pressure from my wall of resistance on either side and I was afraid it might accidentally crush this new space.

But I said, “Wall, you are hurting me. I need protection that doesn’t come with pain.” And it stopped.

I sat in this new space (on a red cushion, yes, I told you it was weird) and I said, this is where I will be able to learn about time, money, space and love. And about trying new things.

I said, this will be our new protection. Our safe space to be curious about these things. And this safe space will be there until it is no longer needed.

And then the wall was gone. It had somehow drained into the space below it … and all the resistance was cleared away.

The only thing left was this little Häuschen. This mini-sanctuary. Rotating in the orbit that was once the wall that surrounds me.

And I watched my sanctuary pod spinning in its place. Until I was done watching.

A note about comments:

These posts about my meditations and my talking-to-stucknesses are a way for me to let you to hang out in my process-thing. They are not an invitation to tell me what you think I “should” be doing to work through my stuff. They are a way for me to model one possible version of how someone might interact with their stuck.

You’re more than welcome to leave comments about your reactions and about your own stuff and about whatever else comes to mind. Please remember though that this is a highly personal experience that I’m sharing, and that I’m not looking for advice or how-to-ishness. Thanks.

The Fluent Self