Many times a post is written in the early morning well intended then later in the day the intentions fall and goals washed away with the buzzing in my body coming from years of separation from it.
But yesterday the intent stayed, and so too did my mind, body, psyche, emotions, and spirit. It took repeated focus, remember, go slow, breathe, stay.
Push, push, push, and by some afternoons a sickness in my aging body that cannot cope with too much. My evil brain attacks telling other systems to do more, otherwise you are not worthwhile.
Yet the truth is that slowing down, letting all aspects of my being have the time to come along meshing as one, is of worth, is caring, loving, and respectful.
Since sexual attacks to my being in childhood, the shattering meant that parts were locked in cells separately, other than in my body. Being in my body was too dangerous, so too being in the present moment.
It has taken years to be present. First for relished moments while meditating, then longer as years go by. Then, even more challenging, being in my body, a work in progress, but wondrous when succeeding and feeling safe at the same time.
A miracle still exploring. Is it safe?
Thank you mother earth for this morning’s miracle, a morning walk before the sun rises yielding thick wisps of fog off the creek creating a curtain with shadows of trees behind the mysterious shimmering wall decorated with sunbeams….
Fear grabs hold tightening my chest, chasing me throughout the day like a shadow invading my body. Fear of aging, of bad things happening as they are around the world, but even in one’s own life a horror can happen in a millisecond.
Fears compile, the boulder gaining speed tumbling down the hill of thoughts speeding into nowhere but doom. Pull yourself up, rustle up courage, and stop the spread.
Everyone dies, every single person. You are not alone in that. When aging, dying comes closer in thoughts. Losing both a father at age 8, and a brother by suicide at age 21, brought thoughts of death closer earlier than what might be usual for most.
But in these past years, looking at Samuel as he limps, or the lines in his face as they deepen, thoughts of dying, or who goes first, invade many precious moments. And maybe that’s not all bad.
Thinking of coping if I were alone is one thing, worrying about it is another and wasteful. I might go first. Thinking about dying might help me live better, if the worrying boulder of fear is kept from rocketing off.
To guard every moment of a limited amount of them is using the fear wisely, not letting it curdle them. Guard each moment, live it fully. I don’t have to save the world, just myself.
My boots crunch the frosty grass, crisp, lush, and growing fast, the sun barely peeping over the hill. Round and round, then respite waterside. Get out of your head!
In my head, legs crossed, sitting on a stool in the empty, dim room, with open eyes that don’t see. Brains are necessary, but too much time there squashes the present. Come, awake, experience miracles right there in front of you!
Out of my head into the present. Diamonds sparkling golden orange on dew dropped tips of glistening grass. Dancing ghosts swirling by upon the water, the mist mesmerizing as it glides.
Again, and again the reminder needs repeating, get out of your head into now! Thinking this, or that, when what is right before me delights, enlightens, and is miraculously enthralling.
There is the realm of thinking. Then emotions. Physical abilities which often don’t work right because thinking is on fast forward… Then there is the rich loam of the soul, the core gathering all the parts into one.
How many of us are able to collect the fruits into one basket? Often it feels like everyone but me. Yet another whisper floats up, you have the power to live in the now, right this moment.
There are only so many strung together to make a life. And right this moment, be there.
We each are a flame, sometimes burning by each other enjoying the warmth, but always on our own even when together. Leaving the warmth of another’s flame dims the glow, but work on my own flame makes it shine brighter.
And that work is accomplished in solitude, with stillness to hear my own soul, my own heartbeat, my flame that sometimes is almost ash.
Needing space to revive, space that comes with softness, beauty and grace. Breathe.
And so, the bone-tired weariness begins to wane, so too the anxious lonely missing of Cory because leaving sooner than he’d hoped caused a feeling of great failure as a mother.
But home. Sleep comes. No drugs. Kitty and I patter out to porch coffee in hand, lighting a rose scented candle as a golden quarter orb rises over the horizon. First thinking it was a house light at the edge of the forest on the hill, a crescent moon shone her happy orange-yellow glow.
The male daddy bird chirped from the birdhouse in the dark, much earlier than the other birds, announcing his ownership of the castle with his wife inside on her nest. The peepers in harmony in the distance entering my core soothing like a purring cat upon a lap.
My core, remember that? Touching base with it only momentarily for way too long, anxiety’s roiling keeping me away from it.
Now I know I needed to be home, even if all the other people around me didn’t. Even if it means being a bad mother. Even if letting others down.
It is so extremely uncomfortable advocating for my own needs. My husband and son did not debate my needs. I did. I did for two days after coming home.
But now I know that home is where I need to be. Dreams continue as if still there, working through the unfinished business. Others that met me wondering about my differentness, not knowing of my shattered past.
So naïve to trauma and life’s harsh cruelty, and what it does to someone, making blithe comments that I take home to heal over until realizing they just don’t know.
And hopefully never will. It is not wished upon them. But I know. It is only my own internal self that needs to know and love me though their ignorance. But so hard when in their environment, not mine where mother is nature loving me.
But home. The unusual warm two days, yesterday by the creek in reverie bringing me back into my internal home. Slowly strength and health return.
Son’s new, NEW, van, hit by a deer. Would sleep return after using the bathroom? No. Worries, then more worries as everything looks bleak and disastrous in the black of night.
But getting up or using a sleep aid is not an option, self-discipline is. And that is being honed more than ever. So, stay. Stay till some traffic begins to go by, and is that a bird or wishful thinking?
Because worries cause restlessness, and this time, despite a few hours of committing myself to stay still, sleep doesn’t return.
And yes, that is a bird. A lovely start to a day with the chorus of birds through the open door even though a bit weary. There are still many grateful gifts to celebrate.
Spring brings an ecstasy that overwhelms making it too easy to split from my body orbiting around it rather than in it. Come back in, come to center, and breathe. Feel the moments fully rather than escaping in the flurry of wonderous beauty. Be with the splendor but stay in my body.
My being readily becomes excited unable to handle over stimulation even if not of the human kind. Take in each moment and do not run. It’s OK.
It is not my job to save the world, just me. Take time, go slow, breathe…. The racing ahead calls for work. Come back to the moment, over and over, repeating the words slow down.
So much happening. Each day the grass is greener and growing. Though the trees appear brown, looking closer there are all budded ready to explode!
Animals vibrating with movement and sound everywhere as two duck splash down gliding by. Usually so shy but they are unaware of my presence. The robin above leaves her newly made nest swooping upon the grass to grab a piece of dry weed, flying back up to poke it in her home before settling in again.
Flowers erupt more each day, and each day an adventure wondering what will I see? But stay within while looking out…the work? Being with both fully.
Had two brothers from the city down for potato waffles. No coincidence that come nightfall I ate too much right before bed and had a rougher night than usual. I should not, and usually don’t, eat right before bed as my tummy can’t digest well lying down.
And if I felt I needed to, a smaller snack would have been fine. But no, two big fat peanut butter sandwiches and a whole glass of milk! OMG I never eat that much even in daytime. Seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Oh, how old habits rise up to sink me!
It is perplexing to feel love for them yet find it very tough to be around them. They did not touch me in bad ways. But in families the victim is supposed to act like nothing happened and I was a great actress for my entire life.
So, it’s hard to be around them because all along they’ve been friendly with the last one still living who did abuse me- then spent his life trying to cut me down because of it. Little snide cut-downs hardly noticed by others but still making a vision of me in them that makes for treatment that says, ‘I’m not worthy.’
There are those that commit crimes, then those that stand by and do nothing. Which is worse? Both feel equally cruel to me.
I hope the dichotomous feelings that always seem to occur when interacting with origin members wears off quickly and I don’t do it again for a long, long while. I seem much happier without doing so.
There is one more factor- this time it felt more right than wrong. That offensives committed when my mother was failing were forgiven. I was able to feel love for a few moments during an embrace. Love and warmth.
Most of the visit I had to remind myself to breathe, relax, and let go, because trust is not felt fully. And considering our ages, they are in their 70’s, if trust is lacking that makes spending much time together uncomfortable.
And how do you trust others who choose a relationship with an abuser? That is not something I know how to do, or want to do. It makes for waves of discomfort after they leave, confusion, and a sense of sadness at the loss of ‘family’ all over again. But now? Acceptance takes out the sting and softens the sadness.
Patricia J Grace 