WORRY or SLEEP?

 

It is so easy to follow my mind into the pit of worry, but no, whatever might be a problem, it is not my problem to solve unless it is about me. Caring is one thing, injecting my input into another is not. It happens with kids and grand-kids, especially when my head hits the pillow.

Detach. It is their time to deal with their problems if they exist, because my mind can go places where nothing really is happening. Yet my gut also is aware of things that others are oblivious to. So don’t throw out concerns that may be valid, just don’t lose sleep over them.

If they are there, they are not mine to solve. Sleep did come, deep and long.

FREEDOM

Staring at the fire, mistakes made with my first son when he was growing up begin to weigh on me. No, a gentle voice whispered. We are all flawed, you can’t go back, but what you can do now is be better.

The fire’s flames sway like bright red hula dancers behind the glass, shoulders relax, the critic melts away. It is the critic who keeps me awake at night, or butts in as the day begins.

Is that freedom? Freedom is allowing the wonder of life into every moment. It isn’t forever, this life, though it is often lived as if that were so.

When things are settled, enjoy it, don’t ruin it with negativity, something I’m very good at. Become good at something else, like gentleness, and acceptance, with a sprinkling of kindness. Try that…that is freedom.

In Touch

For much of my life, answers were looked for from others because other people seemed to have it together. Being split from my soul meant being lost in the forest, drowning in doubt, spinning misplaced like a wild dervish.

But others don’t have my answers. The solutions come from within, a place unexplored, untouched, unknown. That place had to be protected to survive, but it meant even my own parts couldn’t reach it.

It is only in these past few years that moments of clarity arise from a place where all things flow, the soul. The answers sought are inside me.

Sometimes information lies elsewhere, but the important stuff is there waiting. needing only to be tapped, touched, and connected to. Those moments occur most dramatically while meditating, or out in nature.

The SCHISM

There is a fear of being in my body and staying there. Others seem to check in with their body unconsciously knowing when there is hunger, fullness, cold, pain, and the list goes. Often I’ve checked out.

My fear is internal, also unconscious, yet the terror is there laying wait. Perhaps the rape, repressed, causes this schism between body and mind. Perhaps it is the next couple of years after that when the others took what they wanted.

Coming ‘home’ and staying is fleeting. Zoning in a place other than the here and now still is comforting at times. It takes energy to breath, notice my hand as it washes the dishes, and be among the living.

After time, it becomes easier to be present, yet that far off place still calls, still offers comfort, and still owns me some of the time. And the disconnect, the fissure from the body that others don’t have to deal with yet take for granted, it still a force to be reckoned with.

Wholeness is fleeting, but necessary to take good care of body, mind, spirit, and soul. I may be different, alone in many ways, but still shine. We all offer a specialness no one else can; the tree in the forest set apart from others but still beautiful. 

 

Finding the Light

What do you really feel, rather than should feel, be, or act? So much of the time the effort is overcoming what really is. That is not freedom. To feel what is there despite anyone else’s objection means my time, thoughts, and bodily workings are my own, as it should be.

Since childhood my lips were muzzled, even as others took from my body what they wanted. And I was expected to love them. The split does not come back together. Acting vs real. I am an actor.

Even later in my sixties this is so. Once gagged while crimes against me were committed, the silence, the pleasing, remains. There are times with great grit where that is overcome momentarily, but more times not.

These dark thoughts during the dark days of winter, pull me under. Add a drippy, sneezy, coughing head that interrupts sleep and a zombie is born. What of the days where scattered pieces scampered back unto me in the mornings on the porch and sunny patio?

When the sound of critters grounded me in centeredness? A wholeness was felt. The warmth inviting me out to fields of buttercups and daisies. How does one find inner light in winter when really the wish is to sleep it away?

 

ESSENCE

Remember why you do this. It is not to garner ‘likes.’ But to go inside myself, a place often run from.  A time all mine, delectable. See what’s there, feel what’s there, stretch around into all the dark corners and own them.  Each morning, a new day, new ideas, new feelings, as if all the cells died overnight growing new ones. 

A day to hold in my hand like a wilting blossom. Use it wisely, fully, and become all that is. That doesn’t mean saving the world, it means saving myself.

A person almost gone, often still drowning in past habits of pacifying, pleasing, and twisting myself into a person who hardly resembles who really resides inside me.

Authenticity isn’t going along. It is touching my core where truth rings clear, which can mean disagreement with another. Not a nod of the head accompanied by a fake smile to keep things smooth.

It is finding me, being me. Not an easy job after 60 years of fakeness to fit into a world where I don’t want to be anyway.

My world. The trees, wind, and mother, who guides me with her seasons.

COMING HOME

A secure feeling internally is so elusive, but once anchored even if momentarily, it is returned to more and more. Upheavals uproot, then the coming ‘home’ so pleasant; fullness, wholeness, confidence in oneself, and the ability to make decisions that add to well-being.

Be sad for what was, a life ridden with anxiety, rage, buzzing like a bee ready to sting, twirling like a dervish gone mad, no home inside to seek comfort and solace in? Or taking this phase of my life for what it is after a life-time of work…. peace.

Walking in the meadow brings joy, even excitement, enough excitement for me. My home made beautiful by my hands took years to cultivate, not just the external home, but the one in my center. As that flourished so did the ability to adorn the environment around me.

When my insides were a tornado, it wasn’t possible to decorate what was around me. Survival mode does that. Surviving by clawing to stay just above the surface, feeling life waters choking my throat with panic, confusion, and crippling self-doubt.

Clearing out the debris, the blackened tarry scourge lining my internal walls, took decades. Finding what my own feelings were took as long. Expressing those feelings once they are truly found is still a process unfolding that takes gentleness and patience. It was one of many things stolen, a voice.

The elusive voice finds expression on paper, and after the fact. Though my heads nods yes as my internal voice screams NO in many interactions with others even now as a well past grown woman, giving myself permission to say my truth later works better than the kick often bestowed upon myself by myself.

It is OK to speak up even if unpleasing to another. That still takes work. Some things broken remain broken. Maybe the best thing that can be done is learn how to be gentle about this lack that still plagues me.

When someone presses me to do something their way it seems I am all too easily swayed, causing a rift inside of self-hatred for going along. Samuel helps by saying it is OK, that others get caught in this trap too. His words of wisdom comfort.