I have cocooned myself in my bedroom today.
Strewn around me is the evidence of a life lived somewhere between the concrete and the illusory. Piles of crystals of all textures and sheen litter my white down comforter. Decks upon decks of precariously-stacked oracle cards quietly hum with witchy words and haunting illustrations. Books by poets and mystics lay open and marked, giving away the roads into my soul.
I am hiding.
It began as a gift to myself on this day of my birth. Somewhere along the way it turned into a lullaby to my most precious daughter. And finally it became this collection of sweet nothings for all of us.
So listen, dear one. This is for you...
Your desires are beautiful, and they are right on time. Allow the longings of your heart, and pay attention to them. Dream big.
I feel so soft this morning. I am connected to myself and the whole in such a sweet, surrendered way.
I’ve been noticing lately how hard my edges get when I am entrenched in the trappings of the mind. When I am consumed with my body or with money or with whatever other distraction the ego tells me is truth. But when I pull myself away and I feel into the soft spaces of myself and the earth, I realize how false it all is.
I meditated on my connection with the earth this morning. I felt her beneath my feet, and I slipped into her steady warmth. I felt her core emanating vibrance and her waters fueling life. I felt a part of something bigger, and I released into it with relief.
I'm sitting on the balcony of our coastal condo and I'm staring out at the sparkling blue waters of the sea. Pelicans are chattering noisily to one another as they take turns nose-diving into the water. Small boats laze by, and the lap of the water is lulling me into a quiet, open-eyed meditation.
All is well.
At least it should be.
But I am not completely present. I keep glancing down at the rolls of belly beneath my thin blue tank top, and my mind jumps back and forth between the beer I'd like to have and the exercising I think I probably should be doing. It's a constant assault, and today it's been particularly exhausting.
I am a science experiment for the Divine. And it's showing up in the form of an alien presence in my meditations.
Today I went into meditation so clogged, so heavy. My stomach was upset from eating late, my body was tired from a weekend of too much sun and my muscles ached from two solid days in the car and a new bed.
But as I moved from the base of my spine up my body focusing the energy of expansiveness in each center of power in my body, I felt the clogs move. I observed my own resistance and with a trail of shaking and moaning that trembled throughout my cells, I experienced the clear sensation of a rag being dragged through the center channel of my being, scraping away the energetic goo that had formed inside my body.
I am hesitant to admit that I am not a great American by political and cultural standards. I have not exercised my American right to vote in most of the federal, state and local elections I could have. I don’t watch the news. I don’t read the paper. I don’t buy into the whole American consumerist culture. And I don’t identify with either of the major political parties.
But when I saw the headline that Ted Cruz had pulled out of the Republican GOP leaving Donald Trump the almost-certain winner of the Republican nomination, my stomach dropped and my chest constricted. For a reason I can’t exactly pinpoint, my body was sending me a very clear message.
Donald Trump’s candidacy scares the shit out of me.
We are making another move this week. I am sitting in the living room of our latest little furnished rental surrounded by a tower of grey plastic totes housing the things we shuffle around the country with us in the name of coziness and freedom and ease.
The quilt my mom made for me from my college t-shirts. My juicer and fancy blender. Her toys. His bike.
It's interesting to think what really matters to you. Like really, really matters. Because when you distill down your worldly possessions to just a few totes worth, you start to see how our lives and our stuff tell a story about who we are.
Is it the story you want?
Tonight I am grateful for first haircuts complete with raspberries and fizzy water in wine glasses.
I am grateful for braid crowns and sweet princess giggles.
I am grateful for lessons in playing pretend and practice building couch forts.
I am grateful for squeaky three-year-old voices and completely nonsensical jokes.
I am grateful for lap cuddles and kiss attacks and tickles that really just hurt.
I am grateful for the mom stuff that some days I forget to notice.
Tonight I am grateful that I noticed.
Even if it took all those tears yesterday to clear my eyes to see today.
Last night I held a channeled spirit session for 5 of my family members. We all gathered in a circle amidst candle light and crystals and fresh flowers, and crazy things happened. Shit tons of energy moved. Ancient spirit guides spoke to us through my voice. Healing was offered, and answers were given. And I really want to write all about it, but I just can't.
Because my mind is consumed with my real life. My normal life. My just-like-everyone-else life.
Parenting. This. Kid. Negotiating screen time with outdoor time. Balancing veggies with gummies. Trying to teach her to be a kind, civilized human being while trying not to lose my own shit half the time.
I am feeling all the feelings this morning.
It's been this big storm swirling in my heart and gut for a few days, and I woke up this morning with it heavy and clunky inside my body. And just like that I felt more human than spirit, more matter than energy. And I'm openly and wildly resisting it. (Which usually doesn't help.)
I'm always a little miffed when my energy cycles back to the common. I have been entrenched in this healing work for many devoted years now, and I find myself believing that I should be immune to the "normal" spectrum of emotions. Why can't it just be rainbows and sunshine all the time?
Contrast. This is why.
I keep all my clients' readings. I rarely look back at them. But they feel like sacred texts, like portholes directly to the Divine, and so I neatly stack them in a safe corner of my computer with the reverence they deserve.
That being said I went back and read one today from a woman I hold very dear. She is a friend of my sister's who has become a friend of mine somewhere along the way, and she physically whooshed into my life this week like a glistening mirage. I'm still not sure she was real.
She holds the work we have done together in high regard, and for me that is deeply touching. Even though I've had brain orgasms in meditation and I've seen dead people and I've felt beings manipulating my own body, I still sometimes doubt my gifts. Still. (I know.)
