Ever Evolving Enumeration of Elixirs

Nourishing nervous systems to widen windows of wellbeing

Pleasure Point poem alchemized into imagery by Michelle Beck. Embrace the original creation here.

“What brings you joy?” the woman asked.

I was seated in a warm Sedona, Arizona, room. Wool socked feet crisscrossed on a deep sofa chair, cozy blanket wrapped to my ears. And I still shivered.

It was a snowy January in 2023. Just a few months after my headfirst dive deep into the unknown. So much so, it was as if I didn’t know myself anymore. And questioned if I ever had.

I shoveled for an answer. And all I found was watching the sun set.

“Over the ocean, specifically,” I finished, surprised at how clear that qualifier was. This felt important. At the time I lived in a landlocked city. I rarely witnessed water swallow up the sun, painting the sky in colors that felt like gratitude for a starvation, satiated.

Joy felt foreign. My nervous system was more familiar with sorrow, sadness, despair, rendering my body fatigued and malnourished. My mind foggy and grey.

So unlike the vibrant hues that a setting sun leaves in its wake.

It was the one thing that cracked the door, if only by a sliver.

I returned to California with one task: to watch the sun set. Every day. Back home, I’d drive to the highest parking structure in the quaint downtown—a whole two stories tall—and wind my way to the open rooftop where I’d watch the blazing ball of fire dip below the Santa Cruz mountains.

A ritual that birthed a move from city to sea, when the unquestionable moment finally came in March 2023, to leave.

In a temporary home in a slow beach town, I resolved to explore what cultivated joy, by committing to trying one new thing a day. It didn’t have to be big. A new recipe, a new song, a new coffee shop, a new conversation.

Just a sprinkling. Just a taste.

Our window

Slow and small exploration was the key to finding emotional homeostasis. Pushing myself only a bit out of my comfort zone where I’d be challenged, but not enough to loose my shit—which can happen with glorious, grand experiences too.

I’d later learn at an Embody Lab conference on somatic healing that we all have a window of tolerance—or wellbeing if you’re fond of alliteration as I am and as you’ve likely gathered by now. The open space within which we feel secure and supported. The feelings we associate with fight or flight throw us up above. Those we relate to freezing or fawning send us down below.

It’s our very own window, with our very own pulley system that only responds to our hands which can tug it open a little wider or close it a little tighter.

Ruminating thoughts. Songs on the radio. Flurries of flashbacks. I couldn’t predict what would send me into a tailspin so spinny, the dizziness prevented me from getting back on my feet without a steady arm to hold.

My window was barely cracked.

They say emotions are information. But my body was so consumed by the sensations, I was unable to take any of it in. Unable to recognize the wisdom they offered.

Those steady arms were attached to teachers who saw the spiral. They offered an antidote navigating me back to that sweet spot, where the breeze might be flowing but it turned gentle. Not a whirly tornado.

A, really, tough, day that March, after the move, inspired a suggestion to submerge my body in the ocean. Three times. Without a wetsuit.

It was fucking, cold. It felt primal. Like someone hit the reset button on my entire being. And I sat in the sand with a new awareness that our body really does keep the score. Logic can’t alone do the solving.

This led to creating a trove of resources. Things I could do to prepare my soma for an event that I knew would typically bust my shudders off their hinges. Or things I could do to help weather the storm I found myself in.

It took time—and still takes time—to make this a practice.

But wow, what a feeling when we go through something and realize the storm wasn’t that bad after all. Because we’ve done all this work reinforcing our window.

> The ritual: Are there times where you experience emotions that completely overtake you? Like you’re drowning in one foot of water? Your mind knows you can just stand up and breathe—but your body’s oblivious. Take a few minutes to jot down what tends to cause this, and how your body and mind respond. We’ll come back to them.

Enumeration of elixirs

Resources, in the therapeutic sense, are practices we do, people we reach out to, beliefs we cultivate, that help us manage stressful events.

Elixirs, in the alchemical sense, are substances with the magical power to transform, or extend life. To cure the problem at hand.

This is Everyday Alchemy, so of course we’re going to talk about elixirs, instead of resources. But know that in this context, they’re one in the same.

One of the first teachers I had is an acupuncturist. A true medicine woman. A one-month bout of debilitating vertigo—left to resolve in time at the advice of traditional ear, nose, and throat doctors—was no match for her needles. After one session, the affected ear purged rich golden wax in amounts I’d not known humanly possible.

Something released, and I was relieved of the disorientation. Until a new kind of disorientation appeared.

A string of divine events led me back to her, when I found myself fresh on the journey of navigating the big life change. She offered a personalized one-on-one mentorship designed to support and nourish both the physical and the spiritual.

I needed all the help I could get.

She taught me how to heal from the inside out and it started with balancing my nervous system in order to balance my being. After tending to the basics—sleeping enough and eating supportive meals—we moved on to creating an enumeration of elixirs that effectively brought me back into my window of wellbeing.

First, I’d check-in with my body for clarity on what I was feeling physically, spiritually, energetically. Then, I’d choose which approach felt right at the time.

The original list looked something like:

• Watching the sun set over the open sea

• Deep, deep, breathing

• Physically flicking away and shaking off grief and sadness

• Meridian tapping (her own version, akin to Emotional Freedom Technique)

• Hiking through mountains to stomp the earth with my feet and throw the dirt with my hands

• Listening to my inner child and giving her what she needed—a hug, words of safety, a dance near the water’s edge

• Chanting mantra, singing songs

• Walking, sitting, or mirror-gazing meditations

• Writing poetry, free-flowing thoughts, gratitude—and not only for the good stuff

• Creating an alter space for ritual and prayer

• Reading the works of women like Pema Chödrön, Cynthia Bourgeault, and Toko-pa Turner

> The ritual: Build out your very own enumeration of elixirs that you can reference any time you’re feeling those overtaking emotions. Focus on things that cultivate your life force rather than mute it through external escapes. I found that as my center solidified, I began including outside input that I could integrate at will. For inspiration, I’ve dropped the evolving list here.

Yeeeeewwwww! (A surfy term for awesome)

On my one-new-thing-a-day list was “take a surf lesson.”

I grew up in a small, Southern California beach town where my idea of a fun beach day was laying out with girlfriends and only putting sunscreen on in curious shapes so when my body burned, it left more than red marks.

I watched surfers, but never felt called to get my bare feet on a board.

For whatever reason, I did now.

It’d been an emotionally tough few days leading up to the group lesson on an early Saturday morning. The sky was clear and the wind was sleeping as was much of Santa Cruz.

I felt muted, but came more alive as we practiced our pop ups and surf stance and safety maneuvers on land.

Something switched when I got on the water.

Belly on the board, hands paddling over a glassy surface, sea salty spray softly licking my lips. This. This felt like joy. And I hadn’t even yet ridden a wave.

I try not to chase the feeling now. I do try to cultivate it. To recognize it. Often in the subtlest moments, like lifting the blinds every new morning to let the light in.

> The ritual: From a teacher I learned a practice where—no matter what I’m doing—I pause and ask if I can make it five percent more pleasurable, joyful. Dim the lights, put a soothing soundless scene on a screen, pick a single flower and place it in a pretty bottle, play some music, sing a song, clear a space, put on some bright pink lipstick, smile in a mirror. This is your invitation to add just an ounce of joy, to anything that you do.

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Pleasure Point

Pleasure is at the point
Where I map the waves
Of peaks
And troughs
Outside my body
And in

Both rocking and holding
Uplifting and unfolding 
Tender patience
Knowing that

In
Divine
Time

Energy will course through a set coming toward me
Electrify the path before me

And I’ll take that ride

Lost in ecstasy
Until and even after
Sweet release

Feet in the sand
Looking out to the sea

“I love you,” I tell her
“I love you,” I tell me

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May your nervous system be nourished, Everyday Alchemist. Until next time, I’d love for you to share a few of your favorite soul soothing elixirs.

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Hi, I’m Amy, your storyteller