I have been thinking about panic these last two weeks. It all started with the flowering of rock rose in a neighbours's garden. Not the yellow wild rock rose (used for making the remedy to help in panicky situations), but a cultivated red version. Pink hybrids are also flowering at present.
Then the horrendous Manchester attack happended on 22. May. I wrote in my diary: As bewildered shocked silence slowly gives way to sadness, I realise how numb the terrorist attacks are making me. 'Not again', says my mind as I try to grasp the horrific news. A pop concert. 22 murdered people, 69 injured, countless traumatised, for life. Unimaginable panic and terror and pain. The pointlessness of it all. Wondering about the person who did this, his state of mind. I keep thinking about the panic people must experience when caught up in an attack. There is something sick inside our society that allows such hatred to develop. After days of withdrawal, not wanting to interact with the world, not wanting to let the news enter my mind, I slowly start participating again. Have been taking Water Violet for the withdrawal and White Chestnut, among other things.
A week after the attack I was feeling more balanced again. I was alone at Joe's place, (my partner), he was off on a business trip. On the evening before he left he asked, "are you frightened of spending the night alone in the house?" "No," I answered, which was true although the house is quite out in the country.
On the following morning, I opened the windows upstairs to air the house and went downstairs to work. About an hour later, I emerged and heard someone moving around upstairs, or someTHING: I felt the sting of icey panic crawl down my spine. I knew the front door was locked. Who or what was in the house? With my heart pounding, I went upstairs, towards the noise and heard ... fluttering. A bird had flown into the house and was frantically flying against the kitchen window. I quickly caught it in my cupped hands. I was calm now but could feel the tiny heart beating in panic in my hands. I spoke to it quietly and marvelled at its delicacy. It was a fledgling, just out of the nest, the feathers on the top of its heard had not yet grown. Strangely, its heart calmed while it was in my hand, its panic receeded. I thought perhaps that is how it feels in a nest:close and cosy. Maybe that is why it calmed. After a quick photo I let it go - and it zipped away into the morning.
READ a chapter from One Person's Journey about waking up in a house on fire.
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