Sensitivity describes me and my life: my self, my body, my environment, my needs, my dreams. And, most especially, my senses, and how my brain, central nervous system and peripheral nervous system process stimulation, both internal and external.
What is rousing or invigorating for many individuals might be draining for me.
When does stimulation become overstimulation?
Different for each of us, in terms of how we process our thoughts, our lives and our environments. And there can be different overwhelm triggers.
The question might better be: WHERE does stimulation become overstimulation?
A certain place in the human brain, called the Reticular Formation, houses the function of the Reticular Activating System. This screens out background sounds. I’m convinced mine doesn’t work. I hear everything, all the time. After a while, this is draining, and I must retreat to a cave-like environment.
So, why do we live in the city?
Well, we have lived in many different places from islands to mountains to rainforests to deserts. We love the available culture of the urban environment.
But we also need escapes. Simple escapes: we hold our ears in the street, strange homages to passing sirens and garbage trucks. We close windows and doors, run air filters as white noise.
Some escapes are more complex: breath practice, meditation, travel to quieter environments and, for me, writing poetry.
I wrote a poem once in which I tried to capture the exquisite serenity of the early morning, long before dawn:
SILK, AND MILK
Every once in a while,
in the early morning
my butter face
melts to cream
when the earth sighs—
stirs the shadows.
Sometimes, I don’t really know if my practices make me even more sensitive. I do know that I live to consider this more deeply. My exploration is life-long enterprise.
—Cathy Capozzoli
