molly.com
Thursday 22 June 2006
Cellular Memory
I know a man, a friend for life, who reads this blog regularly and who has long been present though we’ve not seen each other for some 15 years.
My friend was a U.S. navy medic who became a prisoner of war in Cambodia. I have heard many stories from my friend, things that horrified me when I met him so many years ago.
Have you ever noticed how one day, one minute even, shared between people can change you? Anger, harm, enrage and humble you?
I witnessed a moment with my friend that I cannot explain. I was sitting on the couch in a bad apartment where a little girl’s murder had gone unsolved and I watched a guy get shot in the foot.
So my friend’s sitting there on that couch, that filthy old red couch that some folks who remember me from back then will recall. Faux red suede, sucked up stains until saturation point.
Something started to happen to my friend, he became unable to speak and became very flushed, breathing rapidly, very confused.
There’s nothing like witnessing a man’s past appear on his flesh in the form of welts from the lashings of the whips that beat him. My friend began to recount what was happening to him, and with each wound he described, the welts on his flesh became deeper and more profound.
I was terribly confused. How is this possible? He’s telling me about a story that happened twenty years prior and his wounds are now reappearing in front of me. I rush to find ice, towels, anything. I whisper words of comfort and my own fears flee in the face of this strange and never-seen before phenomenon.
Cellular memory, is what they tell me now.
Cellular memory, the idea that what happens to us is so deeply imprinted upon our psyches that when we relive those memories, the actual, real physical responses reappear.
I know a man, a friend for life. He reads my blog regularly and though I have not seen him for at least 15 years, I remember always because of him.
I remember, and I always shall, how live cells bear witness, and whisper their secrets until they finally find a place for the truth to rest.
Filed under: faith(less), poetry & fiction
Posted by: Molly | 18:59 | Comments (22)
Know the guy, remember the couch.
Similar to using message for therapy of repressed memory since (lessee if i recall correctly) muscles can retain emotional memories.
I know a Lady, a freind for life
Who knows the dark night of the soul too well
She has and will survive by her own inner strength
Sometimes just forgetting it is there always
the mind may fail, but heart and spirit remember
it was a lifetime ago, it seems
a Navy Corpsman with the ROK Marines instead
waiting for the storms to come this night
distant thunder
I know a Lady, a friend for life
Knowing Her made The Difference always
Woah. You write good Molly.
Deep
Dean I agree Molly is one of the webs best writers and I am tickled pink she posts all these great shortcuts she has probably saved me a week already on css hacks.
Lee: Yeah, I know.
Sometimes Lost: Always.
Dean: You write good too.
Ara: Very.
Kim: Oh, sweet. Thanks!
Just as I feel unable to comment on the techie posts as I can’t add anything to the discussion because you do such a great job with that stuff..
I feel unable to comment on this post because I think you’ve said all that needs said.
Be strong.
I found this site by mistake. Molly you know your words. The power of just simple but deep words that rip thru your mind. To become one thought that actually does make a difference at the end of the day.
Interesting. From my reading, I’ve come to understand that energy is the key, everytime I see a story or scientific research like this I think back to the book ‘The Field’ by Lynn McTaggart (that looks like a plug, but I’m not connected to her, just bowled over by her theories), it’s definately given me some perspective on events like this and might help you as well.
Funny thing is, I came here looking for web stuff – which is also interesting, thanks
Wow, nice writing there. I was searching Google for something completely different and now I’m browsing your site for more stories. Thanks, Molly!
a great webkatalog site
Boot Yacht Webkatalog
ok
I had a similar experience while I was completing a yoga class. I had heard of cellular memories in my studies about addiction, and it was fascinating, but what I felt was beyod words. I was laying in dead mans pose, on my back, with my eyes closed. The yoga session had wrung me out like a towel and up comes this feeling of sadness and the knowledge that it was for my brother, who died when I was one. He died in childbirth and I have no conscious memories of the event and I rarely thought about it. All I know is that the forgotten memories from long ago were released during that session. I now have problems with fibromyalgia and wonder if other events from my past that were traumatic are locked in my body.
ok i must say ur blog is better than mine :/ my blog Webkatalog looks like a noob
thanks
thankyou ..
thanksss
the endss thankss
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ppşp,i
Wow, nice writing there. I was searching Google for something completely different and now I’m browsing your site for more stories. Thanks, Molly!