Time Travel
About this time last year, I met with a neurologist.
For about six months, I'd been experiencing periodic blurring of my left eye, often combined with intense headaches. When my mom was about my age, she died of brain cancer, so it made sense to get baseline imaging, just in case.
Up to this point, I'd been fortunate to never have need for an MRI. I didn't quite know what to expect, but I understood that claustrophobia could be a bit of an issue. To alleviate this challenge, my doctor ordered a scan at a "wider" machine location.
Confined spaces can truly present a problem for me, so I discussed this with the doctor (who suggested I meditate), the scheduler (who suggested I take soothing medication before the test), the check-in nurse (who assured me, we could always reschedule, if I had a problem), and finally the technicians (who really didn't know what to do with me!). I prefer not to take drugs, if possible. Meditation seemed the best and most natural option, given that it's a regular practice for me. And, what I knew deep in my bones was this: if I left that day without completing the test, I'd never go back.
Medical technology amazes me.
The miracle of science is brilliant, and yet, the discomfort required to avail myself of these miracles...ugh. After getting scanned to be sure my belly button ring (which I cannot remove myself) would not get ripped from my body by the magnet (it was my head needing the MRI...so that was weird, right?), there I was, naked, but for two gowns, my socks, an IV port, and a face mask to prevent covid.
I asked for an outline of what to expect, since I'd never done this before. The woman graciously explained that, for many, the noise is the hardest part, as there would be a series of many loud clicks and sounds very close to my ears. Also, after a variety of images were taken, the IV port would be used to inject contrast dye for a final series of photos.
With guidance, I climbed onto the table of the machine. So far, so good. Aware of the cool temperature in the room, the radiographer offered me a blanket, which I gratefully accepted. Next, soft blocks were placed between my ears and a base piece of equipment. These would help to keep my head still, while also dulling the disturbing noises. I really believed I was good to go. And then they placed a huge, helmet like thing (at least that's what it felt like from inside) over my head. There was a small opening for me to see out of, but I freaked.
Off came the helmet!
I knew there was NO WAY for me to do this with my mask on. Even writing this, the sensation of not being able to breathe clouds my brain. Whew! Okay, mask off. Blanket off. Eyes closed (this is a long ago learned trick - if I can't see that there's no space, I could be anywhere). Helmet back on. Breathing...breathing...doing okay. Phew.
They warned me the table was going to move a bit. No problem. I resided in my inner cocoon. UNTIL I noticed it was suddenly darker. I made the mistake of opening my eyes and saw I was totally trapped inside a tube with a cage around my head. No, NO, NO!! Out I came and off with the helmet - again.
I recognized several things:
I needed to be my own advocate.
No one was going to know better what would work for me, than me, provided I'd been given enough information.
My willingness, to ask for what I wanted and needed, was an essential ingredient - even if it annoyed the people I was asking.
The technicians possible discomfort/impatience was their business. My business: to attend to myself in a self-respecting, self-loving way.
So, I asked for a few minutes to breathe and come down from my panic state. Then, I requested the lights in the room be turned off, because the change from brightness to dimness - even through my closed eyelids - provided a trigger. They accommodated. Once I settled back into my body - eyes closed, lights off, breathing deeply, I explained I was ready for the helmet. Again, they warned me about the moving table. I gave a thumbs up.
Slowly the table moved...
It did get a bit darker, but I stayed with my breath. Without the stark contrast from light to dark, I did fine. UNTIL my arms got smooshed, and I freaked out again. Back out of the tube, out of the helmet, and breathing again.
At this point, the two women responsible for getting this little project done were encouraging me to come back another day, after taking some drugs. I was not ready to give up, convinced I'd never get myself back in, if I didn't stay with it now. Ill prepared to bail on myself, I requested more time to reset. Then, I asked a couple of questions: Was there a bigger machine that wouldn't make me feel like a sardine in a can? (No.) Was I allowed to reposition my arms - from beside by torso to rest on my belly - avoiding the sensation of being squeezed through a toothpaste tube? (Yes, but with caution for the port site.)
After several long moments of breathing in my new position, and with the lights still off, I gave the okay for the helmet. I followed up with a thumbs up to enter the machine. I continued my breathing. They checked on how I was doing - with eyes closed and unwilling to make a sound in the chamber, I Fonzi'd them again (yes, you need to be of a certain age to get that reference).
Moments later the noise began.
In it, I could hear the backbeat of the Maroon 5 song "Harder to Breathe" (the irony is not lost on me). I stayed with my breath, I asked spirit for help, and I was transported from one tangible memory to another.
I physically felt myself on a lounge chair, at the pool of the South Beach Marriot. I could feel the warmth, and perceived the angle of the sun, while shadows of palm trees swished in the breeze, and the ocean sang in the background.
From there I travelled to the Dominican Republic, where fine, wet grains of sand supported my feet on the most beautiful, deserted, calm Caribbean ocean beach - the water a perfect temperature. With a flash, I found myself in Costa Rica - surrounded by the jungle I love, with the howler monkeys populating the trees above. Through all of this, the soundtrack kept changing, as the machine did its job. Occasionally, a tech would check in, and I'd raise my thumb - wishing only to keep surfing the wave of this time travel journey.
There was a brief interruption, when the contrast solution was injected.
I elected to stay silent, to maintain my wild ride of experiences. I next found myself in South Africa, with my soul mate cheetah's rough fur beneath my fingers, as Shaka purred his deep, baritone. In real time, Shaka died years before, but in my altered state, he was right with me.
Again and again, from one extraordinary encounter to another. These had all been real at one time. So, one could say I just dredged up some good memories to get me through. That would be analogous to flipping the channels on television until I found something I liked.
Except, I didn't choose where to go next. I would not have even considered several of the situations worth remembering, and yet, I was THERE! All of my senses told me, while a part of me was holed up in a tube in Winchester during a pandemic quarantine, another part of me visited each of these lovely places, complete with the tactile, aromatic, and auditory sensations true to the experience. Sensations I was probably not wholly conscious of in the original moment of creation...well, maybe Shaka's fur and purr, but the others?
A handful of years ago, I participated in a Past Life Regression Intensive Training, with Dr. Brian Weiss.
Long before this workshop, a series of experiences led me to believe: time is not real. Time is not linear. We live in these bodies, and yet, the full complexity of our soul journey cannot be fully comprehended with the limited language we have here. I concluded, if there is such a thing as "past lives" they weren't truly in the past. They are all happening at the same time, even as they may seem to be of another chronological time. During that week with Brian, I was gifted a vision of what this complexity looked like. I can see it now, as I share this story with you, but it's not so easily explained with words. Plus, I have no desire to convince you of what I believe to be true. There's no sales pitch here.
Instead, I wonder...how many times have you had the feeling of déjà vu? Or maybe you have dreams in which you do not look like as you do now, instead you appear as a different gender or in vastly different clothing. Perhaps you've visited the Mayan ruins or the Roman Coliseum, found yourself deep in the jungle or in the vast quiet of the desert, and you experience a sort of familiarity - almost a memory. Or, maybe like me, under a particular set of conditions, a part of your being IS someplace else, even as you know you are also right here.
I have always been fascinated with the notion of time travel, well, until I realized - time isn't real, it's relative (that's Einstein's wisdom, not just mine).
What if, I am in all of the places I have ever been or will ever be, even as I am here now? If so, imagine if I chose to spend all of my days in this life worrying about what will happen next. Or maybe deciding to numb my own feelings and experiences, rather than be with the pain and the joy. What kind of life will this be to visit, when it's time for karmic clean up? I feel so grateful to have been granted the gift of time travel during my MRI. For something, born of fear, to yield such joy, peace, love and gratitude...Ahhhh...I give a big breath of thanks.
With love and encouragement,
Joanne