I hit the bag with what feels like pillows on my hands. Every massive swing does not generate the thud that I am looking for. Searching for feeling somewhere in my trunk.
Looking for access, for the flood gates to open. Each time I step up to this defenseless bag hanging from the rafters, I think I have it. More emptiness. No relation, no understanding and a complete lack of power.
I imagine the sublime yet reality sets into the true disconnection. I try again and again to feel effective.
There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen- Rumi
Stepping up again to the menacing bag, I turn on the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar and begin to let go. The pillows emerge- I keep going undeterred….not looking for an explanation or definitions. The pillows become knuckles and I feel them for the first time. The music a connection from my youth driving, unlocking the conflict with in.
Sweat fills my shirt, the moisture inching its way down while some spills on to the floor. Puddles of my past released and gasping their last breaths of existence. Knuckles become anvils and hips turn to drive every bit of understanding into my inanimate foe.
Some people seek emotional conflict because they can’t face the conflict within themselves- @Unknown Philosopher
I am tired of the tornados and hurricanes that I stir up. Weary from avoidance. I step up to the bag, hit play on the soundtrack and start punching. My eyes sweat profusely within 3 minutes and I begin to sob, guttural heaving, clenching the heavy bag to keep me upright. The tiredness becomes relief……I am finding the conflict within so I can address myself……to take responsibility for all that I am, all that I have and all that I want.
Boxing will always give you access to the conflict within.