Category Archives: spiritual gifts

Pioneers of Change

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are not my beautiful words but those of Sophie Bashford; intuitive, spiritual writer and blogger.  

You may find her at her website, Facebook and Twitter

 

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Pioneers of Change

Carving out new ways of being, of living, of loving, of creating, of working – this is what pioneers do.

Pioneers of change are rare because at some point, they always have to stop caring about what others think of them. They have to risk possible disapproval from others, because a part of creating freedom is being free to follow your own inner guidance, regardless of what it brings up for other people.

As you bring in new consciousness, you reach down deep – deeper than you ever believed was possible – and haul out the ancient treasure, the old wisdom, the cosmic truths, the wild and untamed instinct. This may sound easy, but many who have eschewed the familiar, domesticated, soul-restrained, heart-numbed paths will tell you that it is not.

It takes enormous, usually daily or even hourly, courage to stand apart from the herd and assert the newness, the shining fresh-air, the less-understood rhythms of Life and Universe.

Make no mistake, every single pioneer that you look up to, have learned from, take spiritual succour from, recognise as having blazed a trail for you to follow: every single person who changes vibration and consciousness has had to endure sometimes agonising inner and outer transformations and dark nights of the soul.

They wouldn’t be able to hold the energy they do if this was not the case.

If you wish to rise up and grow into your Soul’s Light, realise your spiritual destiny and make a difference here, you must know that the darker times are vital in order to build your sacred muscles.

When you look back on all your times of loneliness and alienation, confusion, insecurity, lostness, and intense fear at bringing the spiritual light of you out to be seen, and used as the Universe desires – you will come to see that this is the process of a pioneer.

When you are waking up to the truth of your destiny, you have to be plunged into the sacred fires of purification and oceanic depths of the Unknown. Many, many people will not understand why you are changing so much, why you are choosing this path, why you are speaking out, and why you have to stand alone in many ways in order to purify yourself from the mass conditioned mind.

True pioneers have to make hard choices about their lives.

No-one else can do it for them.

If this is you, then you have what it takes. You were designed for it. Not everyone will like, or approve of it. In many ways, that is a sign that you are doing it perfectly.

No-one who ever created the New, did so without determination, perseverance, patience, and extreme – though perhaps hidden – levels of courage.

They were all scared. They just carried on and did it in spite of the fear.

They didn’t wait for another day.

They did something that their Souls craved and yearned for – even if it terrified them, especially if it did – they did it today.

And thus they were lifted, deeply supported and touched the hearts and souls of the world.

 

 

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go only as fast as your slowest part feels safe to go…

Nov 14 revised Go Only Cover_Reduced

 

I can’t wait to get my hands on this book.  It’s ordered and on its way.

The full title is  Go Only as Fast as Your Slowest Part Feels Safe To Go: Tales to Kindle Gentleness and Compassion For Our Exhausted Selves written by Robyn L. Posin Ph.D.  If I hadn’t had the enormous good fortune to have crossed paths with Robyn before I knew of her book, the title alone would have been enough to have grabbed my attention. My soul seeks out and especially loves words like this.  Safe. Compassion. Gentleness.

You see, I’m a slow person in the ways that most of our world deems important to be fast.  I drive slowly, like an elderly couple on a Sunday afternoon, I’m the one who is leading the parade down Main Street, holding up traffic and keeping folks from their ever-present tendency to rush.  Yes, I get honked at a lot and am okay with that.   I like the feeling of peace that travels with me now instead of the gut tightening experience of rushing from one destination to another.

My movements are slower now also as I’ve come to realize that my serenity lies within me.  No longer am I chasing the carrot dangling in front of me, going ninety miles an hour inside, always reaching, grasping for the unattainable that is out there, somewhere out there, just slightly out of my reach.  I now know and try to practice a mindful lifestyle based on the innate wisdom that resides within.

But it hasn’t always been like this.  It wasn’t until my body broke that I fell into bed and took stock of my life.  Perhaps through lack of any other choice, I acquiesed to the cruel fact that I had fractured and splintered, used and abused, pushed and prodded myself almost to death.  I quit my job, dropped out of life, accepted the AMA’s diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Immune Dysfunction and slept for an entire year.  Summer, fall, winter, spring.  When I went to bed, my daughter was a high school freshman.  By the time I began to come out of my physical fog, she had nearly completed high school.

But this conversation isn’t about my poor choices or the ramifications of traumatized children or even the physical effects of abuse.  This is about a woman, who is a part of a movement, that exists to open our eyes to the possibility of acceptance and compassion in relationship to ourselves.  It is about physical slowing and emotional stillness.  It is about granting ourselves permission to honor the parts of our psyches that are smaller, littler, slower or feeling unsafe.  And taking that recognition to a level of loving acceptance.

Even though I haven’t read her book, I’m certain the gentleness of her words will blow me away.  I’ve found that to be true when I’ve visited Robyn’s website, For the Little Ones Inside.  Her writing and art struck a chord and I felt the immediate desire to slow down, let go, relax my body, relax my soul.  My exhausted self needed her. We exchanged a few e-mails, she’s on my blogrool and I’m on hers.  Perhaps I just needed to know that beliefs such as hers really exist.  That we can, in fact, lovingly accept our smallest parts and don’t have to hide or push them away. That it’s okay to be confused, unsure, distracted, cautious.  That it’s okay to just be.

 

Suggested Link:  Words, images and tales created by Robin Posin, Ph.D. at Compassionate Ink 


she is meeting herself in unknown ways….

Losing herself more often...These are not my words, although they represent me well.  A wisewoman wrote them, one I’ve recently stumbled upon quite serendipitiously, describing my mystic journey this summer.  As I read this passage, I felt she must have been present in some way to know that I’ve been losing track of time, losing my ability to remain grounded.

My absorption in the knowing of myself stretched out through most of the summer.  It was during this time that I had few words outside of my mind and heart.  My need for solitude became greater than before and I sought it for nourishment and enlightenment.

Thank you to the universe for bringing these words to me during a time when I needed them the most.  Thank you for allowing me to use your words when I had no words present.  Thank you for manifesting this healing concept in my world.

At some point during my summer of secret travels, they appeared with this image and I give credit to Sukhvinder Sircar for their origination.  For more of her beautiful writings and images, visit her blog, Joyous Woman! and find her on Facebook.

Nowadays, she is often losing track of time, day, week and month. Her absorption in the moment, in her work, her art, her prayer is getting deeper. She is beginning to ‘lose time’.  When she arrives back from her secret travels, she says ~ ‘I don’t know where I went’.  Yet she knows she was in a zone where everything already exists.

Some day, when you chance upon such a woman who is deeply absorbed and ask her ‘who are you?’, chances are you may see a knowing coupled with a blank expression. There are no words yet to her knowing.

Sometimes she worries about going missing. Yet loves the sweetness of loosing herself. The more absent she is, the more present she gets. 

She’s meeting herself in unknown ways.

*Sukhvinder Sircar*


So the woman who has danced out of control….

So the woman who has danced out of control, who has lost her footing and lost her feet...has a special and valuable wisdom

 

Thank you Jackie Robinson for coming to the rescue today.  This is the beauty of connection at its best.  One of us puts wise words out in the world, another friend finds them and passes them on.  And so it goes.

As I combed through my inbox, I found this jewel just waiting for me to find at the perfect moment.  From Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with the Wolves

‘So the woman who has danced out of control, who has lost her footing and lost her feet and understands that bereft state at the end of the fairy tale, has a special and valuable wisdom.’

Wow.

I would consider it an honor and privilege to rise to this occasion that Dr. Estes illustrates.  It would be a personal challenge to take those life challenges where I’ve lost my footing and turn it into my own fairy tale. First, I have to fully grasp and accept the feelings that arise from losing one’s footing.  Each time I do, I believe it to be the last and final time that I’m faced with such challenge that completely knocks me off my feet.  Yet again and again, I’m plunged into that dark place where I must face once again the end of the fairy tale.  But now, I’m starting to understand that there is more than bleak, painful acceptance.  I can use the opportunity of the darkness to rest, spin a beautiful, silky cocoon around myself and re-invent myself, my soul and the fairy tale.

This really got me thinking hard again.  There is much dancing to be done.  Dancing with wild abandon.  Dancing out of control.

I would encourage you to visit Jackie’s site, A Heart’s Whisper and especially Sacred Circle Retreats.  These women, among others, in person and online have kept me afloat during those “bereft” times.

They dance with me out of control.

 


Barbarie and her Miracle Child

baby grasping fingerThis post is all about a woman who is a personal heroine of mine.  I had the good fortune to meet her through Margaret Paul’s healing site, Inner Bonding where we’ve come to know each other, exchanging conversation and stories over the years.  What I’ve come to respect about Barbarie is that she has taken a life full of horrible adversity and challenged that in every way possible.  There simply isn’t a hurdle that she’s failed to overcome and what strikes me most is what a gentle and kind soul she is today.  Most would have succumbed to this life and become bitter.  I hope you all are moved as I was by her story and am proud to know her as a friend, a survivor, soldier and mother.  This is her story of her and her Miracle Child, Courtney when she spoke to her congregation at the urging of her pastor.  I’d like to introduce you to my friend Barbarie.

My Miracle Child

Courtney Who Survived Against All Odds

Good Morning – Pastor Jen approached me and asked if I would give a short testimony of God’s resurrection power. So I am delighted to be able to share with you the incredible miracle of the birth of my daughter, Courtney Marie.

In the Fall of 1992 I was an Active Duty Soldier in the United States Army returning from Operation Desert Storm to my duty station in Germany.  Upon my return to post; I received relocation orders to Ft Bragg, NC.  It had been a very long and lonely two years in Germany and I was ecstatic to be returning stateside.     

One evening, just as our overseas tour was drawing to a close, a few of my fellow soldiers and I went out to the club to celebrate the end of a successful tour in Germany.  At the end of our evening, as I was taking a shortcut back to the barracks; I was violently confronted by four uniformed men.   Without warning, I found myself being gagged, my head covered with a pillowcase and dragged into a very dark alley.  Once I was subdued in the alleyway; I was viciously gang-raped by all four men.  It happened so quickly and without warning that I scarcely had time to think or react.

When it was over; I returned to my room, shaken and terrified to my core.  I was convinced that if I reported the rape I would be dishonorably discharged.  Being a soldier was my life and it was the only life I knew.  I told no one what had happened that night and I did everything within my power to block out the memory of the attack so that I could go on being a Soldier.

I left Germany and reported to my new Unit at Ft Bragg.  I went on with my life as a soldier.  It reported for Physical Training – running six miles a day and completed 15 mile ruck sack marches.  I qualified at the rifle range and I reported for duty every morning at 8 am.  I worked with radar, ran drills as a member of the missile crew and endured training in the NBC gas chamber. I was an active duty soldier in constant readiness condition to deploy at the drop of a dime.

Being a soldier was literally my lifeline.  I had no family support and I certainly did not have any positive parental role models or happy family memories.  I had been orphaned, abused and refused entry back into my family as a child and then made a ward of the state. I had no one that I could turn to; I had nothing but the Army. I had absolutely NO desire to be a parent and have children of my own.

I had joined the Army to following in my Father’s footsteps. Though he had passed away when I was three years old; he was only person with whom I had a soul and spirit connection and I clutched onto that memory with both my hands. It was that one and only thread of connection and hope that gave my life’s journey meaning and purpose.  

It was the one thing that kept me going and I felt that I was in danger of losing it. 

I managed to deny, hide and block any conscious thought of being pregnant until I was in my sixth month.  I even fell 12 feet off of a Radar Tower, breaking my wrist and requiring full body X-rays and surgery, and the baby was never identified or noticed. 

It was about that time when I started to feel movement within me that scared me.  Even though I felt the movement I still denied the possibility of a pregnancy.  I know that sounds impossible to believe but I did not have morning sickness nor did I show any symptoms of being pregnant even with the demanding physical training and physical exertion each and every day. 

It was about the middle of the eight month when I began hurt so bad that I was doubled over in horrible, horrible pain.  This lasted for several days and over a weekend.  I said to myself, after buying Tylenol and some anti-acid over the counter medications, that if the pain does not subside or go away by Monday morning I will go to sick call.

Sure enough that Monday morning after reporting to sick call and a urinalysis, the Dr. came back and said “Mama you going to have a baby and you going to have it today!”  Go to the hospital and report in on the 9th floor to Labor and Delivery. 

Courtney Marie (though she was yet unnamed) was born 8 hours later that day.  I had no preparations made for a child, no clothing, no diapers and no name.  I had not wanted to believe that it was going to happen.

But there she was.  She was real and she was here and I HAD GIVEN BIRTH … WOW. 

The social workers and other workers asked over and over what I was going to do with the child.  My unconscious mind already knew and spoke to me through spirit that there was absolutely NO WAY I could or would give this child up. 

Due to complications during the birthing process – meconium aspiration – she was whisked away immediately to NICU – I barely saw her for 30 seconds.  4 hours later they had to life flight her to Duke University Medical Center because the military hospital did not have the means to care for this critical newborn.  

Courtney spent the first 7 weeks on life support (ECMO) with a 15% chance of survival.  She only weighed 4.8 pounds, but she had a head full of curly brown hair.   After I was discharged from the hospital three days later; I was finally able to see her for the first time.  Courtney was so small and so frail that all she could do was hold my little pinky.  She was hooked up to so many wires and medical equipment that I nearly fainted when I saw her for the first time.

I spent those first 7 weeks with Courtney 24/7 in the hospital.  In the midst of feeding, learning to diaper and dress and bathe her; I told God that I did not understand all this.  But I vowed that I would do everything within my power to keep Courtney and raise her.  I told him that he would have to provide all the means necessary for me to be a loving committed parent and that he would need to ensure that all our needs would be met because I had no one else to help us.

When Courtney was 18 months old, I found out that she would have permanent nerve damage and a hearing impairment due to the complications at birth.  So added to the trial of being a single parent was the challenge of having a 98% deaf child.

The journey was extremely challenging for us.  After the first year of a compassionate reassignment to stay at Ft Bragg due to Courtney’s medical needs; I had to return to work.  This meant a new duty assignment that brought us here to Ft Lewis.  I was deployed twice for 6 months while Courtney was under the age of 5 and had to take several leaps of faith while leaving Courtney with a family (strangers) or very new Friends when I was deployed for a six month tour in Saudi Arabia. 

I share all this to share how GREAT our GOD IS. What a blessing it is to speak it out and share God’s Redemptive Resurrection Blessings.  God had a different plan for my life; One that I could have never imagined.  God created a child within me that is a precious part of me that can never be taken away nor devalued.  God created and brought forth Courtney Marie White against all the odds.  God sustained me and brought me through tragedy and heartache so that I could be her mother.  To Him be the Glory Forever. 

Amen. 

  

 


What a novel idea….Novel Writing Winter!

263601384409890714_o2Xloiyz_bThis incredible concept is one I stumbled upon accidently but fortuitously.

A blog post from Sarah Potter came through yesterday describing her concept of Novel Writing Winter.

I happened to be one of those writers who signed up NaNoWriMo after completing it last year and crossing the finish line with a completed 50,000 words.  It was awesome as was the afterglow of my accomplishments but for several reasons it just didn’t work out this year.  I got 6000 words in and that was it.  Sure, now its my responsibility to slay those inner critics as I read I should do but there’s a whisper in my ear about why I didn’t go further with the one month writing deadline.

Enter Sarah Potter with serendipitious timing.

I learn a lot from other writer’s reflections on their writing path and why it sometimes might take a different twists and turns.  Sarah offered an opportunity to commit to a gentler climb rather than dashing up the steep slope of NaNoWriMo.  Now this was an approach that I can wrap my head around.

I’d actually been envisioning a scenario similar to this after realizing that November had come and gone.  I hadn’t met my personal writing goals yet the long winter still loomed ahead.  Why not make the best of both situations?  So that’s what I shall do.  It would be even better  to have any of my writing pals who are contemplating a novel to join in as we tackle the dark season of winter together.

Then there is this other reason.

Once I heard this idea of NWW, I realized I could also use this as an absolute excuse for snuggling up with my beloved and aging friend Rose.  As she approaches her 14th year, I’m not sure how many more winters we’ll have together.  She is my best muse and constant companion.  There are no words to describe the depth of love I have for this dog.  She’s seen me through more tough times than I can describe and is as fine tuned to me as another being can get.  I’d love to mark this passage in our lives with a winter of quiet space where can just be.

We’ll do this together and it’ll be great.

In fact, I will do my best to make it extraordinary.

Look out….Rose and I are writing a book!


why i’m unusually comfortable with death….

Last night, I turned on PBS and caught a show about the suicide assistance program, Final Exit Network.  I wasn’t really looking for a program to get interested in yet I found myself oddly attracted to the high emotion of this episode giving options to end one’s life with dignity.  In a nutshell, Final Exit Network provides support and guidance to candidates looking to end their life because of extreme circumstances of intolerable illness.  They have been lauded as compassionate by scholars in ethics and heretics by religious groups and physicians who oppose an individual’s right to choice to the timing and implementation of a dignified death.  As I’m watching this, I clearly see both sides.  There are many issues at play here and it is a complex subject that few even wish to visit.  Those special individuals who are willing to extend their compassion to a person who asks to die, are clearly in touch with the sensitive and personal issues involved as to why someone would seek out the means to end their life.

I got it immediately.

Their stories spoke directly to my heart.

Until one directly deals with madness and horror of pain; emotional~physical~spiritual~relentless~daily~mind bending pain that isn’t relieved even though one has exhausted their finances, resources and partners.  Because until a person deals with this pain on a day to day, minute by minute way of crawling through life, I realize that the “unaffected” won’t get it.  And that’s fine, because the “unaffected” are living productive lives with good enough health to not feel the burden that the “totally affected” person does.  It isn’t a place that one visits until they have to and once they have to, one doesn’t waiver as much.

I recently had an “episode” brought on my the perfect storm of triggers.  It put me in a place that most would call mental illness.  Since I don’t thoroughly subscribe to that label, I did something entirely different this time upon the suggestion of my friend Heather.  I surrendered to the madwoman.  Blindly, I charged into this event with a headstrong, full of steam and hope approach, calling in all the divine helpers I could find.  Basically, I told it that I was in control and taking over from here.  I told it to FUCK OFF and walked straight into the madness.

Now here’s the really interesting part.  In this swirling anxiety ridden mania that I felt, a story emerged.  I actually took the wheel of this runaway train and channelled it into something productive.  And for the first time, I think I’m really onto to something here.  The outcome was a story I’ve known my entire life and one that I lived and almost died through.  But this time, I was my mother.  I became her, feeling her feelings and seeing the exact places that she was.  I have some thoughts and explanations for this but that is an entirely different post.

There was a time when I censored myself heavily regarding these mystical occurrences but not any more.  They are simply part of me. I now let them flow and even have the nerve to write about them.  A force greater than I is wanting to come through, a story is begging to be told.  Once I rode through the mania and channelled the story, a peace ensued and I share that story with you now. And finally, I’ve come to understand that embracing the dark doesn’t mean succumbing to it.

Her heart leaps from her chest when the kitchen phone rings harshly, shattering the silence of her usual household day.  She must have drifted off to sleep when she sat down to rest for a moment and wait for the coffee pot to finish percolating.  Her day is usually peacefully quiet, save the occasional phone call from a neighbor friend or the dog barking to announce a truck passing by the road out front.  She blinks and tries to steady herself as she waits for her pulse to resume its normal beat, shaking off the images of the place she just visited while asleep in her mother’s sturdy rocking chair.
The phone has stopped ringing now but she knows it was Doris.  Doris is the only person that will let the phone ring for at least 15 times full well knowing that any respectable farm woman would have to put down her dust rag or put down the pan of beans she was shelling before making her way inside to the kitchen.  
She’s fully awake now and glad that there is some hot coffee waiting for her.  She yanks the plug from the wall and lets the percolator relieve itself with a puff of steam.  Damn coffee pot.  How many years is this damn thing going to go on, she’s had it since her wedding which was a full 25 years before and would certainly love to get one of the modern ones that she’d spied in the Sears Roebuck catalog.  She adds a jigger of milk and a spoonful of sugar, stops a moment and dumps another one in.  Its that kind of day that she feels she needs extra sugar.  She goes to the porch and lets the screen door slam behind her.  Today she doesn’t care. Usually when the kids are home, she painstakingly makes sure it doesn’t slam because she knows that she can’t fuss at them without setting a good example.  That’s just the kind of woman that Louise is.  
Her coffee is steamy and sweet, just the way she likes it.  There isn’t a care about the excess sugar intake or the mid morning nap.  There is no never mind about the future, what her kids will do this summer soon as school lets out or whether she’s staked the tomatoes good enough.  All she can think about is tomorrow.
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The doctor said it was a uterine mass.  It would need to come out and soon.  
His words played over and over in her head.  She wonders if she should have asked more questions in the doctor’s office or if there was more to what he was telling her.  All she can see is the bulbous man coming into the exam room after she’d finished getting dressed and put together.  He sat down with a harumpf, fished in his shirt pocket for his Lucky Strikes, put one between his lips and lit it.  She sat there proper in her good dress, legs together, nylon hose sticking to her and the garters making an impression in the back of her thigh that would last for hours.  
Good god, would that man at least turn the window fan on.  She doesn’t object to the smoke because she’s a closet smoker herself.  Plus everyone she knows smokes; young, old, pregnant or not.  Its a breeze she’s aching for because she knows herself well enough to know that she gets woozy in the high humidity and she’s barely holding it together anyway.  He grunts when he reaches forward and clicks the fan on, letting the steel blades start their acceleration.  Finally the breeze reaches her and she feels like she can finally stop holding her breath, that she isn’t going to fall out in a dead faint.  
“Mrs. Hauner, can you get in here next Monday for an operation?  You have a uterine mass that I felt during the exam that we need to get out.  This is why you haven’t had your monthly cycle”.  He stops for a moment to take a drag from his cigarette while he glances at his clipboard and some notes he’d written outside.  He shakes his head and says, “Nope, pretty sure this isn’t menopause, just the mass that is messing things up.  We’ll know more after the operation”.
With that he stood up, paused briefly as if to see if she wanted to ask anything or have a reaction.  When she didn’t, he continued to tell her that the nurse would be in to make
the arrangements.
~~~~
From her porch seat, the conversation didn’t seem very eventful.  When she replayed it over in her head, she liked to reassure herself that the doctor didn’t seem upset, therefore, she shouldn’t be either.  He’s done this kind of operation many times before and from the appearance of the new hospital at the edge of town, it would seem that they had things under control.  But why then, has she been in a cold sweat since the words were delivered to her that morning?  Was she reading something into it like her husband had told her that night when she gave him the news?  No matter how many times, she replayed the words, there was a cold, eerie feeling that crept up the back of her neck and grabbed her around the throat.
She finished her coffee and stood up to go back into the house.  For a moment, she paused to look, as she always did, at the front yard flowers that she so lovingly planted this spring.  They look good.  Her gardens always looked good.  
Plopping the coffee cup down on the kitchen table, she continued on to the back of the house to her bedroom.  She admired her freshly smoothed bedspread, put into place hours before at the crack of dawn.  The breeze was blowing nicely in through the back bedroom windows and she wondered how long she could leave the windows open before the humidity made it impossible.  
Louise slowly opened the door to the closet and gazed at the beat up brown suitcase.  She hated the sight of it.  To her sister in law, “the world traveler” it meant adventure, escape and respite from all things Southern Illinois.  Theresa jumped at the chance to travel and any man who would take her.  In her eyes, the god forsaken town they grew up in deserved to be left behind and she fulfilled that every chance she had.  Unfortunately the last husband left her as quickly as she had left town and the suitcase became available.  Louise didn’t travel or leave the farm except to visit a sister that lived several hours away, mostly when she’d just had a baby and needed some help with the kids.  But even then, a paper bag and her overnight kit always sufficed.
She was relieved that the kids were still in school for the day and the house was quiet.  She didn’t want to have to face that suitcase with all the daily hubbub going on because she found herself barely able to think even with no distractions and dead quiet.  Louise grabbed the handle and set it down on the bed without taking her eyes off of it.  Her reality was sinking in and the more it sunk, the heavier she became.  As if in slow motion, she reached down and popped open the two snaps and lifted the lid.  As it opened, Theresa’s perfume and cigarette smoke wafted out, causing her nose to wrinkle for a moment.  Her wooziness hit her and the room lifted and started to spin a bit, she tries to settle herself down by speaking out loud to herself in a scolding sort of way.
“Okay, I’ve gone this far.  I’m getting ready to go the hospital and I’m going to be fine.  I don’t have to think about my kids being left motherless if something goes wrong because it won’t.  And the doctor didn’t mention having the cancer that her neighbor ladies are always talking about taking someone unexpectedly.  And even though I don’t know anyone personally that doesn’t have their uterus, I heard about Arlene’s sister who couldn’t have children because of this same thing and she’s just fine”.  
She takes a deep breath and wills herself to believe everything she’s just repeated to herself and begins to fill the musty suitcase with a nightgown, slippers, cold cream and other essentials for her week long stay.  With her task completed, she lowers the lid and snaps the suitcase shut, setting it beside the bed.  One step closer, one more thing off the list until tomorrow.
~~~~
The early morning sun cuts in through the venetian blinds of the hospital admitting area and emphasizes the green linoleum floor and how clean the Sisters of St. Joseph keep it.  She smiles to herself thinking how those gals do take pride in their work and momentarily understands why her sister Helen might enjoy being a Catholic.  She spies her husband outside the window having a smoke with the groundskeeper who is also a drinking buddy at the local tavern and a cousin.  Briefly, she imagines what it would be like if she were viewing her life without her in it.  Would her husband and children continue on like before only with one less place at the dinner table?  Would her absence even be noticed?  And like it or not, Louise realizes that she’s been thinking more along the lines of dying than living through this.  
The light from the center of the ceiling is blinding her. So bright that its burning her eyes.  She squints and tries to shield her eyes but the nurses tell her to leave her arm stretched out so the IV doesn’t get kinked.   They also tell her its necessary for the doctor to see what he’s doing and give a little canned laughter of “you sure do want him to see what he’s working on down there” which doesn’t comfort her a bit.   They are robotic in their movements and she’s feeling the full effect of the pre-op shot they gave her in her room.  Louise doesn’t like this feeling at all which is why she doesn’t drink except the occasional snort of Mogan David that she keeps in the back of the Frigidaire.   
She feels the medication working against all of her coping skills.  She’s losing control. Until this very moment, she has steeled herself against the bad news. Her intuitive feelings of impending doom were screaming. Louise tensed her body hard and fought to regain her centeredness, slamming down every ounce of emotion and stuffing it down her throat.  From there, she didn’t care where it went as long as it went away.  She figures it feeds that uterine mass but would have to deal with that later. 
But the grip is loosening on her self control and she doesn’t like it.  It is unfamiliar and unsettling and harsh.  The cold metal table underneath her has chilled her to the bone and she realizes that she is not only shaking, she is almost convulsing in her movement.  Every word that she’s wanted to say her entire life of silent servitude is now stuck in her throat and she can’t breathe.  A panic spreads over her and in a fit of uncharacteristic behavior, she finds herself trying to escape.  She notices that they notice her.  Her periphery is suddenly full of nurses heads with white pointy hats holding her down as she feels a pinch of another injection in her thigh.  A white cloth comes down over her eyes and stops over her mouth. She takes one frantic breath of the toxic smelling anesthesia and the world goes dark.

the baby floats.  floats in darkened, buoyant bliss.  a little girl.  transitioning from the heavens.  growing, floating, connecting to her new world with every breath and heartbeat of the mother that carries her.  she wants to feel nothing but the beat of her own heart and the arms of the Divine spirit that is lovingly embracing her.  but a primitive feeling, too much for the infantile synapses of her nervous system spreads through her.  she learns about danger from a cellular level.  she is not safe now nor will she be for a very long time.

would i still be a part of your world…

There is a huge conflict going on inside of me, one that I’ve been denying on many levels for months now.

The anxiety is so huge that there isn’t enough medication, alcohol, or busyness to tame it.  There is a world that beckons me, one that I can’t/won’t/don’t know how to become one with.  Its there in my dreams, its there in my waking thoughts and with me throughout my day, no matter who I’m talking to or what activity I’m attempting  to do.  I smell things when no one else does.  I see shadows out of my periphery constantly.  Any random person’s energy can send me all over the place, reducing me to tears in minutes or set my heart singing with joy.  There are times when I am certain that I am going crazy or are at least partly there already.

Phrases keep cycling through my mind and shadowing my daily activities.  Undoubtedly put there by my higher power, a scrolling ticker-tape message…                           “you are afraid of your spiritual gifts“….“let go and receive”  

Does one really hear sentences from the divine?  Do messages come through like that really?  Complete sentences plopped into your thinking?  Does the divine feel a relentless yet benevolent desire to alert a person to their gifts or journey in a way that they won’t let up for anything?  And more importantly, does a physical body become ill when you don’t live according to your true destiny and path?

The messages coming through the natural world are increasing too.  More hawks swooping over me. Deer peeking out of the bushes when I’m in silent meditation.  Hummingbirds hovering in front of me and looking me in the eye.  Coyotes howling… all grab my attention immediately but what are they saying?  What is with this barrage of information?  I get that its the cosmic “Hey, look at me” but to what?  What am I supposed to get that I’m NOT getting?

I’ve accepted the label of “emotionally sensitive” given to me by therapists, immediate family, friends and those in the healing and mystical arts.  I can live with that.  But even that label is seriously understated.

I now know and acknowledge that I feel things 1000 percent harder than most, maybe more.  It can be a wonderful yet paralyzing gift if there is no one to show or explain to you about the enormity of the feeling you are having.  My world rocks like I’m on a ship being cast about at sea.  I seek answers from those around me and my closest friends get weird questions from me all the time.  Did you feel that person’s sadness/fear/joy?  Do you smell a campfire/skunk/Old Spice/beauty salon smell/cigars, etc?  Or, we need to leave this place, the energy is choking/suffocating/heavy with sadness.  My poor husband and daughter are used to it but frankly, we’ve all thought I’m about to teeter over the edge at times.

But the thought that brings one of my biggest sense of fear and can immediately send me into an anxiety attack of epic proportion is…Will I be totally ostracized when I allow myself to succumb to this beautiful, alternative, spiritual world?

Our media driven-pop culture-capitalist worshipping world we live in is dictated by norms….outward appearance, job, which church one attends(not if), the house one lives in.  I don’t find our world to be a place where our gentleness is admired, where one looks at your heart first, a greeting to inquire of whether you have a spiritual practice or how do you find your peace.

Apparently, I am looking for that place as much as it is looking for me.  But I know I’m still blocking it somehow, wondering and feeling deep anguish over this one central thought.

Would I still be a part of your world if I allowed myself to be fully who I am?   Authentically, beautifully and blissfully weird?

Recommended Links:  Let your freak flag fly….http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ruthless-Compassion-Institute/121541431101


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