3. An interlude: walking into walls

1. Stand in front of a wall, at least two metres away from it.
2. Close your eyes.
3. Walk forwards until you touch the wall.
4. Repeat

Sometimes the best exercises are those that seem to have absolutely no purpose to them for, without purpose, sensation remains. Of course, you'll want to ask why walk into walls? and complain that this has no parallel in your daily life. I agree. It doesn't in mine.

However, if you do it whole-heartedly, you might just find a point.

My eyes are closed. I'm about to step forward, and I know that first step is safe, but I already feel something akin to anxiety. A light hum gathers on the skin of my front, as if the cells there are trying to open their eyes to compensate for my closed eyes.

That's the first sensation. Can you feel it? Is it obvious or subtle? Is it constant, or does it come and go? Is your awareness of it constant, or does your awareness fade from time to time? How would you describe it?

I take a long slow breath up my back, which serves to remind me that I am my own time-keeper, and that this experiment is at my pace. My back lengthens, my shoulders broaden. I step forward. My awareness of my front dissipates.

That happens. For the first while, you might expect your awareness to be more obvious when you are otherwise still, and for movement to scatter the fragments of sensation aside as motion comes to the fore.

It's possible to pause, re-gather, and then continue if you like. It's also possible to continue as you are. Each choice will lead you to a different experience. It's up to you to find the difference between them and discover the lesson.

I almost lean into the shrinking space between me and the wall, as if listening intently to it. Sensations return, but so quietly, so subtly, that I daren't trust myself. Was that a thing, or was it a hint of a shadow of a memory of a thing? Was that a sensation, or was it just a momentary short-circuit in my electrical nervous system?

I have a hunch that our nervous systems have been trying to communicate with us since birth, but some aspects of that communication have been rebuffed for a long time. The nervous system has learned not to offer certain information, because being constantly ignored takes a toll.

Now, in this exercise, I am asking to receive that information. Well, what does my nervous system make of that? Is it a trick? Am I going to slap it down again, or will I really take it seriously?

So, it makes an offer, but it's tentative. It mumbles under its breath. I can barely hear it, and I certainly can't understand it. We have a stand-off.

Again, I step forwards, yearning for feeling to arise, for information about the wall to be delivered before I walk into it nose first. As I edge closer, sensation re-appears, this time stronger, more urgent and insistent, almost jumpy.

With each step, I am re-committing to my nervous system's voice: I want to hear you. As I close in on the wall and show no sign of stopping, my nervous system starts to raise its voice in the only way it knows: more sensation.

My eyelids are fluttering as if they're about to rip themselves open. My fingers are twitching and hot as blood flows into them ready for action. My steps become less sure and my head starts to pull back.

I'm not doing this, but it's happening. I'm just stepping forwards, trying to observe this rising tide of activity. I am feeling very uneasy.

I step into the wall. The touch of my knee against it explodes a billion reactions across my body as if I've been hit. I jerk back and open my eyes.

Wow. Let's do it again.

Or, maybe that wasn't your experience. Maybe you felt nothing; you walked into the wall and felt like a fool – what did you think would happen? What was the point?

Either way, let's do it again. Repetition might persuade the nervous system that we are listening now, if we weren't before. We're doing our best to reassure it that we want to develop a healthier relationship.

Between each round, you might shake off a bit, walk away from the wall to allow the messages to subside. Once your body has quietened down, you can start again.

Like bees protecting their hive as someone walks towards it, sensations buzz louder and louder as we walk closer to the wall. Just like the bees, they take a while to settle down after the intruder has walked away from the hive.

We are both intruder and beekeeper. Unknowingly, we have put on protective overalls, gloves and netted hats. The bees still sting us – not out of anger or hate, but because we've ignored their previous pleas for safety - but the sting rarely makes it through all the layers to our skin. Did you get stung? We say, no we didn't, but that's not the whole truth. We did get stung, but we didn't notice.

As beekeepers approach the hive, they use smoke to pacify the bees. Well, we've been smoking ourselves for a lifetime! And today we want our bees to wake up and communicate with us, so you might see it could take time. We're asking to be stung this time round, but the bees are stupified and we're still wearing protective clothing. Each time we choose to repeat the exercise, we are removing a layer, but it may take time for the offerings of the nervous system to get through.

Be curious. Be sincere.