Grounding the Zaps

One of the things we are is an electrical system; if we were houses, we'd have white wires strung through holes drilled in our studs, connected at various points for diversion to various outlets, which then would power such intricacies as coffee pots, computers, perhaps old-fashioned vibrators.  Our nervous systems perform pretty much like those wires, conducting our physical, mental or psychic impulses to the appropriate activator, walking to the garage for a new roll of paper towels, kicking the car's tires while we're there, pouring soup from a can into a pot, just generally getting our business done, or whiling away our free time in the pursuit of happiness or at least quelling boredom.

Continuing the metaphor, if we were houses, we'd have our electrical power strung in from the gods in the form of PG&E or ConEd or some such, through a box that counts its increments and contains it, but before it does either of those things, it Grounds the Power.  If it didn't, we'd blow up all of our favorite devices, and, of course, ourselves.  Ungrounded electricity is pretty wild and woolly, searching everywhere (like lightning) for some ground but in such a way that when it finds what it's looking for, it blows it up or burns it down.  (There's a second lovely metaphor here, all about being careful what we wish for, self-destruction, sabotaging relationships and so forth, but that's a whole 'nother blog, isn't it?)

Now we know perfectly well what it feels like to be an ungrounded yet sensate creature: dizzy, a little frantic, clumsy, afflicted with free-floating anxiety, fretful, snappish, almost seasick, right?  It's not pleasant, and it absolutely doesn't serve the creative or even the productive impulse.  Everything starts with being well grounded, and if we're not, nothing gets done and people start avoiding us; we'd avoid ourselves if we could, in fact that's what we're trying to do because lack of ground erodes or obliterates any self-esteem we might have built up in our solid states, and we just don't like ourselves much at all.  So, well, ick.... Gotta get grounded.

I was born lucky in this respect, because I am almost always grounded.  I am so grounded that it is difficult, even painful, for me to elevate my thoughts, my spirits, my attitude; my default psychic tripwire is depression, and it frightens me more than I care to admit.  For this reason, I really can't say from my own experience how to GET ground when none seems available.  I do know from observation, however, and I've been told by my more lofty-minded or giddier friends that the very first thing to do when the ground is slipping away is to stop.

JUST STOP.  That increasingly mindless, hamster-wheel racing of the left brain is the most common form of giving up the ground, and there's no way we're going to get back to ground if the sound of our own wheels is exactly what's making us crazy.  (Thank you, Jackson Browne and Glen Frey -- clearly they knew what I'm talking about.)  When we finally grind to a halt, we can begin to hear and see again; life stops whipping past us in that frightening, colorless blur, and things clear up a bit.  We can even feel our own breath, which is where everything lives.

BREATHE.  In, out, repeat.  We're doing it anyway, so we might as well be deliberate about it, and count it.  I found a trick (on the old Oprah show, where a surprising number of enlightening processes were revealed to anybody paying attention) about breathing, and that is to count out a series of breaths, like so: 

• First, breathe in to a count of four: this is distinctly not a deep breath, it's a short one, but it brings in enough oxygen to sustain us for the rest of the exercise.  
• Second, hold that short breath for a count of seven: holding the air still and quiet allows it to collect from within our system all manner of toxic gases that our fearful, angry, frenetic pace has created.  (There are always biological consequences to crazy thoughts and acts, and this is one of them.)
• Third, breathe out slowly and evenly to a count of eight; on eight, give a little puff to expel that last bit of the air: breathing out more than we breathed in at the beginning gets rid of all those toxins, ridding the system of the remaining yuck that crazed us in the first place.
• Fourth, repeat those three steps four times, to steady and cleanse the system.
• Fifth, just breathe.  Breathe normally, evenly, and listen to its rhythm.  Pay it very close attention for just a few minutes, and thereby find some peace.  

My father, one of the funniest people I've ever known, would yell, "I just want a little goddamned peace around here!"  Obviously, he didn't get it with this tactic, but he craved it, as did we all, living with old Mt. Vesuvius as we did, as do we all today in this time of madness.  Grounding brings us peace, even if only for a little while, and when we know it and claim it, we can start over, yes?

Of course yes.