The One with the Screen
copyright: Giphy.com
On my never-ending search to find an instant solution for internal happiness and a blissful life, I began to research options for micro-dosing psilocybin retreats. The business model is brilliant: You spend five days with like-minded people in a fancy Dutch retreat center. Trained psilocybin trainers guide you through multiple ceremonies. Mediation, vegan food, and breath work is all-inclusive. Due to Corona all the retreats are cancelled. Psychedelic transformation is now offered via online breath work sessions. I decide to book one of those. I want to get a sense of the micro-dosing crowd. My breath session is scheduled 7-8:30pm on a Thursday night. The day of the workshop is filled with back-to-back online conference work meetings. The kids are at home. They are bored. The hamster is running around. My daughter decides to play ball in front of the laptop. By 7pm I am a Zoom zombie. Still I feel obliged to get something out of my suggested 20 Dollar donation. I sign myself into the breath workshop. The teacher is a friendly Dutch woman. Her profession is breath consultant. Eight other women join the workshop. Apparently, the group consists of regulars. Nonetheless the teacher wants to start with an introduction round. She encourages us to share our intentions for joining in today: I learn about a British woman’s demanding brothers. She cries in memory of twenty unjust years spent with her family. I meet a Dutch mother of three who finally wants to take care of herself. There is a survivor of the 1990s Balkan conflict. I listen to an American girl sobbing about her abusive childhood and her fantastic results after the last 10day psilocybin retreat. I don’t see her. She is scared of Zoom’s data politics. At 8 pm it is my turn. I stumble quickly. “I want to become the successful creator of my own life.” I get emoji applause. Maybe the applause is addressed to my daughter. She holds the hamster into the camera. The teacher decides that it is time for a break. We re-start at 8:15 pm with the actual breath work. As told, I lay down on my bed. I have a pillow nearby, to scream into, as needed. The instructions are simple: Breath in through the mouth. Breath deep into the belly. Flop the belly. Breath out through the mouth. Colin walks by with a shopping bag. He looks skeptically at my set up. I position the screen. The teacher wants to see my belly flop. She turns on relaxation music. “Breathe out with a tone.” “Breathe in with a tone.” I want to get something out of my money. I breath deep. I make tones. I must be a chest breather. Breathing deep is hard. “More tone.” I sigh. I grunt. I grumble. I scream into my pillow. Flop goes my belly. Colin comes back home with the shopping. He looks at me and the screen. This time he looks bewildered. I give everything. Scream. Flop. Belly. In my imagination I give vaginal birth to both of my kids at the same time. I release a c-section-trauma I never knew I had. I connect to a deep feeling of trust. I feel it. I peek at the other bellies on zoom. “30 more minutes”. I check the time: 9pm. I decide to end my screen time for the day. I sneak out of the meeting. “Sorry for the overtime,” screams the teacher. “Next time please donate less.” The next day I feel my tummy muscles. Colin and I take the dog for a walk. I tell Colin about my newly found deep connections with the universe. I rave about happiness that comes through the belly. I never go back to the Zoom breathing classes.
Also published on Medium: https://dorotheeking.medium.com/the-one-with-the-screen-62644d684b90