Tag Archives: Emotion Word Series

Wiggle

In the series of ascribing names to emotions I know no name for, I’d like to discuss ‘wiggle’. Now, wiggle is not a new word, it has been used mainly for wavy physical movement, sometimes with sexual connotations when done with the ass. Yet it fits excellently.

I think that the best way to grasp wiggle is to go out on a sunny day, take your shoes and socks off, sit on the grass with legs straight in front of you, watch your toes, then move them a little. Not too much.

To me, wiggle resides in the heart. It feels a little like a flower that gently opens and unfolds slowly, thereby revealing its colour to itself and the world. But wiggle is more reserved, it has no need to show off. And it literally feels wavy, with slight ups and downs. Yet the base tone is joyful.

What can trigger wiggle? Comfy blankets, cute animals, the arrival of spring, gentle sounds, meeting lovely people. But the state of mind is important here. Wiggle can easily be buried under more intense sensations, and it can be easily spilled. For me it only really unfolds if I’m ready to receive it, give it my attention.

In essence, wiggle has something in common with Outsling, but it is not directed. It is contained. The outside world does not perceive its effects, except perhaps by gentleness or a slight smile. Wiggle is fragile, it has an unstable balance that can easily over stretch. It can be smothered and lost. Instead, when it is cherished, it can turn more subtle.

But even if carefully nourished, wiggle does not last. Sometimes I think it exists as a transition, a subtle unblocking of something that was stuck. Like a refreshing drink that releases its intensity while slowly providing gratification. Tiny sips prolong the joy, but at some point it will end. Still, if I manage to seize wiggle without disturbing it, if I let it seize me, it imprints my state of mind with delicateness. It leaves me in touch with a finespun lineament of the web of life and by that, it changes everything.

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Breathshake

In the series of new names for unspoken emotions, I´d like to discuss breathshake. Breathshake is what it sounds like, a deep shaking of the breath that interferes with the actual breathing. It comes together with a pulsating fear of the loss of life, possibly that fundamental one. In fact, I´d challenge you with the thought that breathshake is a pulsating appearance of life out of a state where it is not. Appearance of emotion too. It´s probably the most terrifying fast emotion I know.

The obvious pathway to the experience of breathshake is running out of air. You can do this by not stopping with breathing out, going very deep into the water or doing sports while breathing far below your natural rhythm. The first option is probably safest. In these cases, my diaphragm starts contracting and I have the sensation of being cut off. The thought “this situation is eternal” forces itself upon me. You could call it fear of death, but I think it is a fear of never getting access to life anymore. While silence is present, a feverish tingly cloud dwells up in my upper body. I feel sweat emerge from several spots. I sense that the feeling could subdue me from the back of my neck and shut off my awareness. It never has.

Lighter forms of breathshake can occur without that I run out of air. An interesting thing that can trigger this for me is the tought of not receiving attention from a person I love. It can also happen in conversations where I feel incapable of standing up for myself the way I think I deserve. It is as if the conversation partner suppresses my self-perceived value and does not recognize my true character, or whatever it is inside me that needs to be appreciated at that moment. The parallel with being cut off from oxygen is interesting, as if human attention also is a substance we need.

The pulsating character of breathshake delivers a remarkable alteration of states of mind which reveals parts of myself to me. Fuelled with panic, short, shallow gulps of breath try to resolve the feeling of sinking away into a swamp. That experience alternates a state of tranquility and acceptance, as if the end is already there. This tranquility eventually takes over and allows my breath to deepen again. All of it happens quite quickly.

Breathshake relativizes my concerns. It can release some tensions, but it also makes me aware of my incapacity to be fully in control of myself. I am aware again that somewhere deep inside me lingers a deep desire for taking part that can become stronger than myself. The thought is humbling, but slightly discomforting too.

Gutwrench

When I make up words for emotions, I look them up to see if they exist already. This one did. Not only is it slang for – apologies for the upcoming graphic in your head – large penis, it also has the meaning of emotional scattering, anxiety and despair, sometimes caused by uncomfortable images. Do take a moment to enjoy this inconvenient homonym for our brothers with whale-sized willies, then let’s move on to the emotion I’d like to discuss, shall we?

I considered deathsqueeze and lossgrip, but gutwrench works better for me, because I don’t think the the word should encompass it’s cause. It’s as if somewhere central below my navel, around the exglow area, an invisible hand grabs my intestines and suddenly wrenches them like a wet towel. It comes together with pulsating pulls at my adam’s apple and uncontrolled crying. Surrounding belly muscles contract as well. It draws my full attention to that inner spot, much like a 220 volt electric shock, if you ever had that.

Some clear triggers for this sensation are the death or the long-term departure of a person close to me, and the breakup of a relationship. In fact, looking closer, the trigger is usually a very specific, self-centered memory, such as that persons expression of appreciation for me, or the image of me staying behind on my own. I believe gutwrench has a lot to do with a turn of attention from something shared to something individual. I oversee the beauty of what is lost, wishing to be able to express that to the person, but I can’t, because he or she is gone. The hole that person left behind is painful and at the same time there’s new freedom. That realisation feels good for me, but it is a type of betrayal too. Everything is intensely happy, yet intensely sad.

Because this experience squeezes my being so tightly, the relaxation afterwards is very deep. As if some weight has truly disappeared, I see the world under a different light: more laid back than usual. I’m open for new things, ready and obliged to dive into new experiences, into new beings. Even though I went through gutwrench, I’m still here, and that knowledge has primordial power.

The word gutwrench existed as something negative. I understand it as a manifestation of a bond. How about you?

 

Outsling

As I mentioned earlier, I’m ascribing names to emotions and sensations I know no name for, in order to be able to talk about them in a more tangible, physical or maybe visual way. Today, I’d like to discuss outsling. It’s a happy day for me, because it means that from now on I can say: “apologies, I have outsling” to justify my behaviour.

I chose this word because of the outward, slingshot-like movement in it. When I have it, it feels as if some force from inside me pushes the mental, witty part ahead. Sometimes it’s as if my face is pressed against that of the person I’m talking with. I get in between myself and the environment without being in relationship with it. It is out of control in the sense that the aware me agrees with this propulsion, even if it is recognizes the risks.

When I have outsling, I will not respect the laws of politeness, nor will I attempt to spare someone’s feelings, even if I’m vaguely aware of them. I don’t mean to disrespect them per se. My actions precede my morale, meaning I feel careless about that aspect of myself. Perhaps my care concerns the wrong things. But even if I’m divided I’m alert, as if a part of me is more blended with the events around me. In outsling, I’d be the first to make a comical or sarcastic remark about superficial things. I think of myself as funny and some people may indeed laugh. I could buy crappy food or drink too much alcohol. Instead of making love, I hammer. If I’d find the button that annihilates the universe during outsling, I could push it to express my disagreement with its designer.

Outsling can be brief, but it could also last for a few hours. Short events are usually triggered by strange names, ideas I find silly or unusual aspects of someones outfit. They feel like a subtle revenge that was called for: excellent filters against people who cling too much to their act.

Longer lasting outslings are mostly caused by exhaustion, high doses of caffeine or simply because it’s that time of the month. They are harder to call back and usually end up in a lack of force. I feel empty and meaningless afterwards, as if most of myself has indeed been shot in all directions and I have to go around to recollect all pieces. The alertness is then completely gone. Such longer lasting ones work against myself in a deeper way. As if I run so far ahead, that I can no longer protect the more delicate me.

Outsling can be lots of fun, but it can also be destructive for myself and people close to me. As I grow older, I learn to control it better. If I can persuade myself to make an effort to halt it, I go clean up the house, walk in a park or do some sports. As if one being has to catch up with the other to be able to calm it down.

Exglow

I’m of the opinion that there are far too few words for the different kinds of feelings, sensations and emotions we go through. Why, for example, is there only one word for emotion, while it contains an entire world with subtle and vigorous differences? It’s weird, because emotions occupy a notable aspect of our existence.  By not naming them, we keep them covered under a surface where they stay until they are dug out by whoever finds the access.

The one I am going to discuss now is probably my favourite. I’ll call it exglow, but if you have a better word, feel free to use that one instead. I think, I hope that everyone experiences it once in a while. It’s a sudden, usually brief, very localized , but also very present sensation right below my belly button. It’s not a pressure, rather a release. It is about the size of a walnut, but with less defined contours.  Sometimes when it happens, it contracts my attention into some kind of light. I can see it, but not in a day-to-day-visual way. It seems, rather, that because the sensation is so strong, it temporarily blurs my sight, while my mind directs at the point it comes from. Very often, it feels like the start of something new. As if a seed  germinates. I don’t always notice a change afterwards, though.

At times, but not always, the feeling radiates through to my eyes, which then release a single tear, sometimes more. Other times, it causes a pressure somewhere above my belly button, could be anywhere. I seem to suppress it then, but I don’t know how. Or it doesn’t give a pressure, but it flows upwards along my chest and nipples towards my shoulders. Those are all effects of the feeling, though, not the feeling itself.

Several things trigger exglow in me. They all have to do with a shift. Films can do it, and more specifically, instances of breakthrough. It could be the infamous declaration of romantic love, but it can also happen during revolutionary breakthroughs, such as in the courtroom during Erin Brokovich or sometimes when I see the ‘I have a dream’ speech. More individual revelations do it too, for example in Blue Jasmine, and, very memorable, Doubt. If you’ve seen them, you’ll know which instants I mean. Revelations. One more side note: I if I watch the films again, I don’t necessarily feel exglow again. The surprise element plays an important role.

For me, exglow also occurs during empathic moments with friends, for some reason mostly with women. Sometimes the trigger is  a change in emotional charge between us, or sometimes either of us went through some personal transition. It can also happen when I’m looking into someone’s eyes, and I feel that person is looking back. I usually can’t invoke it though.

Once, during a dream, I felt it for the longest period I can remember. I was in a courtyard of a ruin and I saw a shiny object hover from the right side to the left. Much like a small star with a glow that was terracotta and green. The whole dream had those colours. I ran towards it, jumped into it and kind of merged with it. As we flew at bit further together, I felt exglow very vividly. It is one of the most beautiful dreams I had.

What I think is very remarkable, is that apparently for this emotion -if that’s what it is- it does not matter if the trigger is real. After all, it happens during films and dreams as lively as during real life events, or even if I just imagine those events, for example when I write. Still, it is a very physical sensation, and it can even motivate me to do certain things or ascribe a certain value to a relationship. Isn’t that interesting?

And it has a scary part too. If I am so easily moved by exglow, all you’d need to do to steer my life in a direction, is to give the suggestion that triggers it in me. Is that why we naturally keep people at a distance? I don’t know, but as I said, I think more openness about this topic wouldn’t hurt.