Buried Terror

Buried Terror

I knew the large group of boisterous, fun loving local Hawaiians were watching me, concerned and curious. My whole body was trembling so badly my teeth were clattering together, I couldn't speak, couldn't stop the tears flooding from my eyes, couldn't stop the sick feeling in my stomach, or the sobs coming from so deep within I was choking as I gasped for air.

My friend, Jenny, with wisps of her long, silky, chestnut hair blowing in her face, was trying to talk to me. Looking into those chocolate eyes I missed the usual warmth and love that radiated from them and saw only panic. Frantically, Jenny put her hands on my tense shoulders and squeezed tightly as she yelled in my face. I focused on her desperate words, "What should I do, what is wrong?" I could not breath, certainly could not talk.

We were both terrified. For the last six months we had been training in a type of stress-relief technique, which used several different healing modalities. When we had time, Jenny and I still practiced on each other. On Saturdays we worked with our instructors at a free clinic helping anyone that came to let go of stress. Hundreds of individuals come to these clinics. Never, had either of us experienced anything like this, nor had we even heard of it.

I could not think, much less speak, but I could see Jenny knew that I too, did not know what was happening or what to do. She started reciting the steps which are utilized to allow past experiences to release from a persons body memory. Counting with her fingers she ticked off each one she had used with me. Suddenly, with a spark of hope in her haunted eyes, she turned to me. Putting one hand on my forehead and the other at the back of my neck, Jenny was almost begging as she whispered in a nervous voice, "Pat, Pat, this is a gentle release, there is no reason for you to feel anything now. Everything you are releasing was in the past and you have no pain now."

Immediately, the sobs stopped and as I gulped in much needed balmy air, the intense trembling inside and out quieted into a profound calmness. It all seemed like magic. The watchful Hawaiians nodded to me as if acknowledging all was now well.

Jenny looked at my tear-streaked face. She saw in my eyes the serenity I felt. She looked confused, then her beautiful face crinkled up and she cried as if her heart was broken. It was my turn to hold her and reassure her that I was OK.

It was our habit to have an idea of what we wanted to release in our practice sessions together. I had not really thought about any "issues" that I wanted to release, so that when Jenny inquired as to what I wanted to release in our practice, I offhandedly said, "Oh, I think I'll release childhood sexual abuse." I was surprised that this came up without my having thought about it before our meeting. Jenny made no comment and I went on to say, "When you are muscle testing to find the time of stress, you can skip from birth to five because I know it happened when I was about 6 yrs. old."

Now, as we sat on the hard picnic bench, dried tears on our cheeks, Jenny and I felt exhausted. We discussed what had occurred and tried to understand why. It took only a few minutes for us to work out what had probably caused the turmoil I had just gone through.

First, I had obviously experienced something traumatic in the past that my body had a cellular memory of and that I did not consciously know about. Second, during the session, when Jenny asked that my body release any negative emotional charge caused by sexual abuse, I had started to feel the pain I’d experienced when the abuse took place. Normally, this would not happen.

Jenny and I were appalled and speculated that this issue had wanted releasing badly and had come up so powerfully that it somehow overrode the body’s normal protective devices, I didn’t feel like I wanted to know anything more about the experience right then and considering the state we were in Jenny readily agreed. The only thing Jenny requested was that we find out the, "time of cause," that is, when the abuse occurred. She wanted to find out why it was not in my conscious memory.

Jenny "muscle tested" me starting with my day of birth and proceeded to ask at 6 month intervals the time of the abuse. My muscles tested that this sexual abuse occurred when I was two years old. No wonder, when my body was releasing this memory pain I could not say anything. A two year old doesn’t talk that well and also would only be aware of the pain and fear.

I wanted to go HOME.

As we left the park, the happy Hawaiians waved and gave us the friendly Shaka hand sign. I returned their wave but my heart was not in it. I wondered if I would ever have a whole heart again