Welcome, My Scabrous Friend!

A tram stop at Dabrowskiego Square in Łódź, Poland is blossoming with dried flowers, giving pedestrians and commuters a fresh view on the intersection of their natural and built environments. The project, titled “Nostalgia”, was designed by local art student Dominika Cebula, and pays homage to the long tradition of flower selling at Dabrowskiego Square. To create the floating floral installation, the shelter’s walls were replaced by resin-covered flowers embedded in 36 different clear panels. link

I have been dealing with an ulcerative colitis flare-up.  As it has lasted multiple weeks, I'm changing diet, activities, increasing medication in order to tame it.  I pulled out my Muse biofeedback device.  My calmness level was in fact terrible.  I did 3 5-minute sessions, which began to tame it on day 1.  On day 2, the house was empty after school, I did 3 more sessions, one lasting for 20+ minutes.  Afterwards, my mental state was noticeably altered.  I was calm, motivated NOT to do anything (trying to say that right:  I was not, as I usually am, motivated to check the next item off the list).  I sat by the back window, appreciating the late afternoon, the cooler autumn temps.  Then I began writing the following in my iPhone Notes app.  The second half of the notes are remembering a voice that I heard distinctly during my meditation, which I recognized as one of the voices of myself and wondered/worried that it was the voice of some deep self, my essential self.

1. Late afternoon/ early evening. Sounds of frogs I think. When was the last time I heard a cicada?
2. Sunset in 1 minute. A time of exhaling. What else can I let go of today?
3. Now the maple leaves have collected into a pile on the driveway. Before it was just a few fallen leaves. 
4. Just wait for autumn. Everything will feel different. Well here we are. Sleepy frogs sing. What else can I let go of today?
5. The sunset happens without fanfare in the cal overcast. Just less light by degrees. The patio lights just a little brighter. 
6. During meditation. Eyes closed. Ears plugged. A light began shining on my eyelids. From left to right. Like someone had a penlight and was trying to see if I had perished. 
7. I heard a voice and it was me or someone who sounded like me. I don’t know what the context was. I could understand the words, but not the import. And I sounded aggrieved. Cheated. A little less than bitter. Alkaline. Just by the timbre of my words. Can I let go of that?  Can I let that be?  
8. As though there are plenty of fish in the well and some of those things are gnarled and not appetizing. Prehistoric, smoky demons, controlled by the medulla the reptilian brain. 
9. Or is my job to love even that? To open myself and to say: yes, and that scabrous fellow, creaking and sore at the world, having a row with the world: welcome. There is space for you here on the couch. 
10. And when you say welcome, my scabrous friend, how does he react?  Who me? Pig pen dust surrounding him. Acne scars still visible. Does he relent uncoil look up from his gripe his rant.. and snap his teeth? Or blink and say.... "who? me?"
11. And what just happened in your own coiled innards when you welcome him, when you invite, when he looks over not in anger but surprise?  
12. Just ask. Just say so. The couch has lots of room. He has something to help you with. 
13. Then I tried to unclenched my coiled belly. To bring some space there. And lower, in the basement, the coils inside the pelvic girdle.