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After I pulled the double shot of espresso the hairs on the top of my eyebrows left holes in my skin. My hairs were stiff needles. I shivered goosebumps from my toes to the back of my throat. Each hair felt as fine as a coarse fiber of metal. The sweat underneath my arms lit me hot to my fingers. I was hot as hell. The heat on my cheeks swooned my eyes to the back of my head, then I felt my head meet a wall. It sounded as a hammer misses a nail. Behind my eyes I saw colors. Some indigo, some forest, some ruby, and other colors as rich as any pit of tar. It was black. When I awoke I was most irritated by the amount of people around me—asking me if I was okay.
I was not okay.
The following day, after hours of sleep, I went to the Emergency Room. Scans showed mild brain swelling and Bradycardia—a slower than expected heart rate. Though, that morning I was stressed. I woke up to the scream of a mouse caught on my glue trap. The closer I got the louder she screamed for her life. Her fur was shiny and face quite beautiful. I mustered up the shame to pick her up and found that she injured her head trying to free herself. She gave up and laid there, still, watching me. I couldn’t throw her away. Why did I let my roommate convince me that a glue trap was a good idea? I asked for a miracle and she closed her eyes. A part of us died that day. I sat her by the river that morning. After weeks of regaining my sense of sensations from injury without fracture I flourished a fond for miracles. How did that mouse die when I asked? Where did I go while I was on the floor? I was sure I was dead. How did my neck protect itself? I began to notice subtle things about being in my body that were not significant such as the feel of my nose on my face, the breath that sits on top of my lip, the breath expanding and exhaling in my lungs, my heart beat, how my eyes move, the feel of different shapes and spaces inside me. Each day a part of me recovered becoming something-other as the others withered away like they hadn’t ever existed. One day, after a usual disagreement with my partner, the sound of my head hitting a wall came to me. I came to think of the way that I had left my mind to enter my body, to summon that miracle, to bother the force that awakened me from injury, the blessed force that let that mouse go, but didn’t quite care why or how anymore. I came to understand that I was guided by a new sense. As I entered this space I couldn’t hear a word coming out of my partners mouth, only his lips were moving.
I saw three windows open to a wood floor. I was sitting in a doorway watching lines of sunlight enter the room before me.
What was I doing?
By this time I feel better. My headaches had gone away, my relationship had gotten worse, and I was wading in debt. I was working in customer service for over forty hours a week. In those days I made dinner every night. I was learning a new language. I was planning a future. I ate alone. I jogged. I let food get cold. I walked. I didn’t pay my bills. I cleaned religiously everyday. I spent a good time alone. My head space exhausted to sleep deprivation, from minimum wage and heartbreak. My scalp responded with Cradle Cap and my heartbreak grew a haunting. Every day, I corralled with suspicion, fatigue, self-esteem, and disorder. That day, I went into the shower to cry. The hot water splashing on my neck was warm enough to send me back to those hot flashes the day I hit my head. That same dark space within my body was made available, so I stepped in to ask for a miracle. That month my marriage ended. My Cradle Cap dissolved and I followed an ad to the Cortiva Institute.
I saw myself sitting at a park listening to birds song, watching butterflies frolic, writing behind an aroma of arugula and greenery.
What was I doing? What are these daydreams?
When I opened the door it was locked. I waved in the window until she noticed me. She was all smiles, chewing gum, and hair swooped under a left part. “Have a seat.” She’d ask if I had received a professional massage. Was I sure if I wanted to dedicate my time, money, focus to being a student of massage? To which I replied yes, despite being unsure and having no money. School as an institution was challenging for me. Doused with kinesiology, styles of technique new to me: Myofascial, Trigger Point Therapy; ethics, law, and business in a short of 7 months I was struggling to pass my classes per usual. Months passed, we missed rent payments, I continued to over work myself, and my skin began to rash. On the first week of August my classmates that took the state exam came back with stories that alarmed me. For a moment, I made myself believe I’d invited myself to foolery, to believe I could pass the state exam. At that moment, I reflected on my entire year with remorse: my grades, my relationship, my finances, my health. All I’d heard about the state exam was of trial, anxiety, and triumph. That Saturday morning, the lights that sat overhead haloing the gal standing before me didn’t threaten me. Why were my classmates terrified of this woman? She smiled to ask, “Are you here for the mBLEX? Did you bring your ID?” Yes, Yes, I did. She walked me into the computer lab. When I sat at the computer I read the exams opening. In an instant I was transported to the space of miraculous happenings. I knew I was going to pass this exam with ease. In gratitude I grew a humble heart and began. There were anatomy diagrams to be labeled and scenarios that needed an applicable approach. My exam did not show more than a question or two in kinesiology, law, business, ethics, and history. I was in awe. I was bliss. I passed my exam to become a licensed massage therapist. That day my body taught my mind to hold a space for my own miracles: a cauldron of mystery welcomed in faith, question, courage, and reception.
A year later,
This morning, I woke up to three windows shining light into my bedroom closet, touching my roses, ivy, pothos, and wood floors. Today, I am at the park with a backdrop of lilac, gentle wind, and song writing to myself awaiting the next wave of miracles.