Part 14: My Body Electric

The nervous system works in mysterious ways...

What it felt like to visualize light and healing - a pre-stroke happy time

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While you're reading these words, become aware of the tiny movements your eyes are making as they take in this text. Notice the air moving in and out of your lungs. Feel the way your body is holding itself. What are your shoulders doing? Are your feet cold or warm? Can you feel the blood pulsing in your fingertips? 

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Months after my stroke, I was encouraged by the progress I was making and more determined than ever to see how much feeling and function I could recover. Now that I was no longer going to outpatient physical therapy, I called upon my love of creativity that had fueled my desire to write plays and be involved in the film business to find new ways to heal.

Most mornings, an observer would have seen me sitting very still on the couch with my eyes closed. I was visualizing light streaming into every bend, curve, organ, and limb, clearing away stagnation. I imagined myself running, walking, jumping, doing gymnastics, swimming, all with ease.

I would open my eyes and observe my right hand and arm as they moved. There it was, that feeling of wonder that used to arise in childhood when I’d look at my hands every morning, curious about their fascinating, jointed parts.

After processing all the information from my right side, I’d close my eyes again and imagine transferring all of that graceful flow into my left side. Doing these practices was an intuitive strategy that I felt drawn to doing even though I couldn’t explain why.

Time for music. My refuge, my drug. It had the power to motivate me like nothing else. My nervous system still held an imprint of dancing freely, and those memories urged my body into motion. Even though I was limited and awkward, I followed the familiar beats the best I could, feeling the melody, harmony, and rhythm play in every part of me.

Sometimes, I simply listened to music without moving, visualizing myself leaving gravity behind as I imagined flying through the air, spinning, dancing with joyful abandon. Through sound, especially virtouso rock guitar, I reached a sensual high that relieved the ever-present stress and sadness locked in my flesh.

The daily reality of being disabled occasionally swamped my desire to keep trying to heal. When I was under the covers or sprawled out on the couch, I could pretend that I was fine. I gave myself over to doing nothing for long stretches just to feel a semblance of normalcy.

But my body had its own agenda. Even in a state of rest, breakthroughs happened. One morning, I was lying in bed listening to the silence of my house. I didn’t want to get up. I just wanted to disappear inside myself, where I was free to imagine that the stroke had never happened.

Trying to figure out how this body works the first time around

I lay on my back, and in the stillness I felt the edge of a presence. It was confusing at first, but then I was reminded of the oceanic, slowly rotating force I’d felt on the verge of death.

Anxiety sprang up for a moment and quickly subsided as I told myself there was nothing to fear. I was fine. There was no danger, but something was coming to the surface. I felt I had to prevent my vigilant, analytical mind from grabbing control, or the revolving tide would dissipate.

Images of complex poses arose in my mind along with physical urges that wanted to be followed. My left arm was the first to move. I was astounded by the contortions it went through as it stretched out in many directions, then whipped around like a crazed snake.

My arm twisted and turned in ways I couldn’t consciously imitate, reaching in front, to the side, over my head. I had to breathe like I was in labor to stand the pain. It felt as though the arm was being manipulated by a zealous bodyworker. Finally, blessed release came and the gyrations subsided into stillness. The relief was tremendous as my chronically contracted muscles fully relaxed for the first time in months.

Then my hand began its own strange dance. The stiff claw came alive with tiny pulsations that blinked through each finger and inwardly massaged the palm. The feeling was euphoric as the tight muscles loosened. Somehow, my hand was remembering fine, dexterous movement as it twitched and waved in the air.

After my hand, my left leg started to writhe and kick. I remained on my back so my limb could complete its unwinding. Again, just as I thought my tendons and bones couldn’t stand the strain, the pressure let up. My body seemed to know exactly how far it could go in its paroxysms without injuring itself.

The sense that someone else was guiding my movements was incredibly strong. I had my eyes closed and more than once I seemed to feel hands supporting, pulling, massaging, and twisting my limbs. Even though I obviously knew I was alone in the room, the feeling grew so uncanny I had to open my eyes to make sure.

After that strange, intense session I was much more connected to my affected side. When I finally got out of bed, I could move more freely. The improvement lasted for hours before contraction took over my left side again.

Fortunately, I discovered that I was able to recreate that experience at will as long as I lay down and entered a state of mind akin to daydreaming or meditation. It became one of my most powerful healing tools.

At that point in my recovery, I was experimenting and exploring letting my body and curiosity guide me. I had no framework to explain what I was doing or what I was experiencing.

In the early 1990’s, the scientific consensus was that damage to the brain and nervous system was permanent with just a very small window for any healing to take place after stroke or brain injury.

It’s now known that the brain can “rewire” itself, although exactly how this occurs is still debated. This fundamental ability, called neuroplasticity, means that the brain reorganizes itself through our entire lifespan as we interact with the environment. The way we live, the things we do, the skills we master, even the way we feel dynamically alters our brain and nervous system.

So much progress has been made in neuroscience since the early nineties, including the integration of music therapy and visualization, that I can now frame my personal rehabilitation practices within a scientific framework.

When I was intuitively drawn to using my right side to retrain my left, it was effective because my consistent, focused, gentle, repetitive approach helped my damaged brain grow new connections. Through trial and error, I’d unknowingly applied the principles of neuroplasticity to rewire my nervous system and heal myself.

Looking back, I think the strange sessions of involuntary unwinding, extreme stretching, and fine motor control that helped me so much were caused by my nervous system sending signals through the damaged pathways in order to recalibrate itself. While it was happening, however, the feelings I experienced were otherworldly and mystical.

Whatever the explanation, those sessions were immensely helpful and I still occasionally do these “resets” to this day.

The healing power of music…

To read the whole whole series start here:

Part 1: The Bleed - June 1990