Some observations regarding breathwork, imagery and a COEX

A COEX reveals itself in the process of self-discovery during a holotropic state, depicting continuities of emotional self-experience over the course of life, symbolized through dream-like imagery. 

After a number of breathwork sessions, I find myself on a cross, crucified by the side of a well-traveled road in an unclear time and place, perhaps now, or perhaps during Roman times along the Appian Way. I look outward and downward from my position on the cross, powerless, immobilized, bound and nailed in position, with physical numbness in the chest area, over my heart, as well as a feeling of profound shame and utter aloneness. People pass by me. As a social entity I am a cautionary tale for onlookers to ignore or stare at, a bleak spectacle of punishment and torture, an awful warning to anyone who might think of touching or speaking to me. No one does this; people continue to pass me by, living their lives as they watch mine ending. There is nothing to do about it, and no way out, no strength to escape the fixation by the nailing of my hands and feet. Still, I seek to escape while knowing it is futile, not yet fully resigned to being immobilized until death. I have an additional, similar experience in a later breathwork session, during which I take the posture in trance, with arms unconsciously lifting, outstretched to the sides, looking down at those looking at me as they walk past, feeling the numbness in my heart. If anything, the perceptual clarity is more defined, vivid and persistent, lasting for hours until the anguish becomes unbearable: “I can’t go on like this”.

The morning following the breathwork session, as I lay in my bed half-asleep, I become aware: “You put yourself there,” presented objectively and dispassionately, as in a life review during a near-death experience. I feel a curious shift in my sense of perspective during the ensuing months, as I review my life circumstances. The more I consider it, the more the truth of the latter awareness seems undeniable. I see in the image of crucifixion a culmination of choices and avoidances, a self-narrative played out and depicted in moments and instances over many years. As I accept this, I can feel myself understanding myself more clearly, more deeply; I start to develop a feeling of compassion for myself. I’m comforted by the thought of the sacred heart of Jesus. I buy a book: The 5 Regrets of the Dying. I don’t want to be like that–dying and regretful–certainly not both, not now or anytime soon, or ever again for the regretful part. As a cross-person I’ve known too much of that already.

One sunny day, I’m feeling joyful the whole day, for no reason whatever. I’m smiling, happy, really enjoying myself as the day unfolds, joyful just for being me, feeling the feeling of being a part of everything on such a glorious day. The energy in me makes me want to dance, something I never do. Feeling the sun on my skin and smelling the clean air as I walk the dog is so delightful. Drawing a breath is a great thing, a real gift to appreciate. My heart is bursting with happiness, and I feel a strong desire to share it; of course, there is a doubt that people will think I’m using substances or out of my mind.  Yet I have a new sense of possibility, despite the self-doubt. Some days later, in a moment of quiet reflection, possibly in bed before falling asleep, or when first waking up, an awareness arises in my consciousness: “Where is love?” Not on the cross, that is for certain. I ask Duke my bulldog, “Where is it? Where is love?” as he licks my face. Right here, right now, at home in the fullness of this moment, not searching somewhere, for something, or someone else.