This Pain in My Neck
I’ve had it for months now. It starts behind my right shoulder blade and travels up the side of my neck to the base of my skull. Some days it bothers me more than others, but it’s pretty much always there.
It’s the first time in my life I’ve had to deal with chronic pain. There are lots of practical reasons that explain what might be causing the outward symptoms, such as playing my guitar and bass for three hour shows several times a week, looking down at my phone, reading, or talking to the dogs. Actually, when I think about it, most everything I do requires looking down. But aside from the external causes of this pain, I think there is a deeper message my body is trying to tell me, one of resistance.
As I was thinking about this, I remembered something I learned many years ago working with horses. It had to do with the softening of a horse’s neck. When a horse’s neck is soft it is a sign of trust, a willingness to bend and let go of resistance. At first, I thought it was strange for this memory to pop up from out of the blue, but then I realized it made perfect sense. My stiff neck might have something to do with my own unwillingness to soften, to speak, to release control, and to feel.
As I let my mind dive into my past experience with horses, I remembered a horse training clinic I attended that was taught by well-known horse whisperer Ray Hunt. He talked about how a horse is so sensitive that it can feel a fly land on its back. Yet, as humans we think we need to use a heavy hand and harsh equipment for the horse to bend to our will. In the same way, I push my body to do what I think it should, instead of being gentle, trusting it to feel and then acting accordingly.
“It takes a lifetime to learn how to live a lifetime.” Ray Hunt
In searching for the root cause of my stiff neck, I have been asking my heart to show me what I might be resisting. Well let’s just say that asking that question opened a can of worms. And of course the people closest to me are the perfect messengers.
Last week, after our show, my husband smiled, then partly joking, but mostly out of frustration, he said to me, “You’re waiting for me to tell you what to do, because I’m good at it. Just stop strumming, and feel the song.” Before I continue, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I haven’t always been so receptive to his unsolicited advice. Usually, I get my feathers ruffled and immediately defend my position. But this time, something was different. I knew he was right. He was speaking the truth. I had assumed a lesser role, conditioning myself to hold back, to wait, and then react. For the first time in the twenty years of our relationship I understood. He needed me to rise, to feel, and embody the song. When I do that, he is free to do the same.
This moment of truth opened my eyes to patterns of behavior that I have repeated over and over again, in every relationship. Creating lasting change will require unraveling a lifetime of my stiff-necked efforts to get everything right — the right notes, the right words, the right speed, the right timing, and so on. It’s going to take some time to soften, to let go, to feel the moment-by-moment process. Of course, there are risks involved, especially when it comes to softening in front of a live audience. But the rewards are far greater than the risks.
“Like the petals of a flower, open gently to the light.”
Dream in my Pocket lyric
Even though, it seems like this epiphany came overnight, in one conversation, I can see now that it has been gradual. Today, I have a whole new appreciation for the pain in my neck. It has become my friend and ally. It reminds me to notice the subtle signs, like the fly on a horse’s back. When I notice, I can soften and trust the feeling. It’s not so much about what I do, but how I do it.
