Set free from the prison of pain

What is time? A Body out of Rhythm

During my stay in Los Angeles, my dear friend Marcia and I would frequently ask ourselves and each other, What is time? Is it a direction? A dimension? A dialogue? On some days, my body would experience three time zones, and on the hour, I would look at the clock in the car to find I had jumped into the future—only to be in the past two hours later.

Since returning to Scotland, my circadian rhythms—my internal clock, have been chaotic in their sweet attempts to return me to homeostasis. This has felt like a pinball machine or a casino floor full of flashing lights and alarm bells. There has been vertigo and dizziness, faintness, dropping everything, falling asleep on myself as I speak, no hand-eye coordination—rendering me utterly useless. One might say I have achieved the baby brain: that unified state where all is one, and there is no sense of separation or polarity between internal and external. On this occasion, alas, it has not been accompanied by heightened awareness or intelligence.

When the clocks within chime: Melatonin & Homeostasis

I bump into a neighbouring angel who gave me a week’s dose of melatonin, that delightful hormone we produce when we close our eyes. Within days, my mind-body connection feels clearer as my chronoception re-syncs and no longer are there trillions of clock cells chiming to different rhythms inside my body.

Living with Chronic Pain: Lessons from Kronos

For two months, I have been experiencing chronic pain in my shoulder, arm, and hand, caused by slipped cervical discs which are pinching my vagus nerve. Its expression ranges from pins and needles and the sensation of my nerves being eaten by rats to alarm bells screaming inside of me. Even with my high tolerance, this has been excruciating, disturbing every part of my day and night. Sometimes, I go to bed holding crystals in my affected hand, praying to them to help me heal. It exhausts me. This baby brain is now distressed and cannot be soothed. Painkillers create inflammation in my gut, and any food hurts. Writing this, I recognise the circular nature of this process. My emotions are like an unattended carousel, and all I can accomplish are Netflix binges on the sofa with an electric blanket and many pillows.

Peripheral pain shifts to centralised pain, and now my head, neck, and gut are in on the pain party. This is not the grand return to Scotland I had been dreaming of. One year ago, something similar happened, and the pain lasted for four months before ebbing away. Once again, I ponder whether this experience is circular in nature. The root of the word chronic comes from Kronos in Greek, meaning time, and I'm curious what lesson there is for me here—what needs to be repeated again and again until I take heed?

Transcending Pain: innerdance, Tony Robbins, and the Alchemy of Emotion

In October, I attend a Tony Robbins four-day event in Anaheim. I fill myself up on painkillers, leaping out of my comfort zone as I jump endlessly, filling the stadium with my dreams and voice. I transcend pain, pumping my arm in the air for hours, shouting NOW I AM THE VOICE!—experiencing innerdance on my feet, that heightened state of increased adrenaline with a reduction in cortisol. In innerdance speak, we would say we are feeling fear without being scared, harnessing its power as fuel for transformation. This is healing through pain in real time.

There were also many times over those four days in the dimension called Tony Time when I was moved to tears, and the wise one inside of me whispered that I shouldn’t waste a drop—that I needed to learn how to alchemise the energy within my tears. So, as my eyes moistened, I pulled the emotion inward and guided the energy towards my inner fire so I could jump some more. It was a fascinating process, and not one I would have entertained before, as my old perception would have classified it as a form of suppression—when, in fact, it can be a conscious creation.

The Dickens Process: Meeting the Prison of My Mind

The level of pain became unbearable, and I was escorted to see Tony’s physiotherapist, who took some time with me to guide me through exercises. He noted that my head was two inches too far forward. There was work to be done, but not when Tony was on centre stage. Tony entrained us into a peak experience called the Dickens Process, where you associate the pain of the past with the pain of the future, thus breaking cycles and patterns that are unhelpful. Alongside 10,000 people screaming, I actively imagined and embodied the fullness of pain from the worst moments of my life, amplified over thirty years.

To my surprise, it felt like an average day for me. (Did I mention I have fibromyalgia? —largely under control since innerdance became my way of life) Throngs of people were shrieking their unendurable pain, and here I was realising that my normal is a completely unacceptable level for anyone else in the vicinity. My “wow” moment was that I have been accepting unbearable conditions for decades without considering there might be alternatives or solutions. It turns out that the prison of my mind is pain.

From Pain to Power: Conversations with Eckhart Tolle and Rumi

I began attending sessions with a phenomenal physiotherapist who informed me that I have a slipped cervical disc. I was given exercises to do, and for the last few weeks, I have been actively making choices to reduce my pain levels, to honour my energy levels, and to grant myself some grace during my recovery period.

I listen to a speech by Eckhart Tolle on transforming pain into power, and he spoke about relating to my pain as if I had chosen it. By shifting my perception of pain, I can move from suffering to curiosity, and within that movement, I can create internal freedom. So, as Rumi suggests on how to run a successful guest house, I invited pain to sit at the dinner table with me, and we looked each other in the eye. Together, we reflected on what pain brings to this table.

Firstly, I am forced to slow down—to a stop. I cannot simply jump back into a matrix I have outgrown. My diary pages have endless clear days ahead, and I can choose to accept this spaciousness without panic or a compulsive need to fill them up. Secondly, I have to pace myself and honour the rhythms of my energy. At the moment, I cannot achieve endless lists of tasks; if I complete one small thing, I am exhausted.

One night, I wake up at 2 a.m. in the worst pain of my life. I go through to the living room, gently moving my writhing arm, attempting breathwork and exercise. The pain is screaming at me. I sit down on the sofa and feel the pain magnify and swell. I can actually see the energy fill the whole room and push against the ceiling, trying to break through. There is not enough space here to contain it and all I can do is surrender.

Learning to Listen: The Body’s Song of Healing

Third, I realise my capacity to hold pain is greater than ever before. My time with men and women in American prisons has increased how much I can bear. This pain is no longer heavy—it is rising up. Eckhart speaks of pain as the initiation to ego death, and I wonder if this is what I am witnessing within me? My bristly edges are softening. I am telling beloveds how much they mean to me with more frequency, and I am freed from the old constraints of pushing and workaholic overachieving. My trapped vagus nerve is singing a melancholic tune, and as I pause to listen, I realise how long I have been ignoring the song of my soul.

Pain as Initiation and Renewal

This pain has deep roots. It has a chthonic function—one that invites initiation into the underworld, that dimension where one can fall asleep to oneself by the river Lethe, becoming lethargic, or one where I can perceive this as an invitation: an awakening to myself as I am now.

Perhaps pain is my ego death and my integration. It isn’t pretty; it isn’t my preference. But I can welcome it as if I chose it to be here. From choice comes freedom, and from pain comes purpose renewed.