It's been awhile since my last blog entry. As soon as I announced my intention to write weekly on Facebook, I promptly ceased to write. I almost knew it would happen, an echoing ripple of a pebble I dropped in my pond at some point in life. I've recently become aware, thanks to wise words from a close friend, that I am under pressure to perform in a lot of facets of my life. I don't know why this never occurred to me in the way he put it, so simply: a lightning bolt of clarity.
What I'd like is for this blog to exist in a different sort of paradigm. One where I'm not under pressure of any sort, whatsoever. I'd like to write freely without holding back for fear of being too personal, too much, or inappropriate. If that's too edgy for some who may read my posts...well I guess it's not really my problem!
So I'm starting now, and in this writing, I'm shedding light for myself by making a wild inner process I experienced this morning in my second cranio-sacral session more tangible. I want to keep unearthing the buried treasure that showed itself, and not let my surface waters just fold over it neatly and submerge it back into unconsciousness.
My story:
I had this heavy bag that I was holding so tightly. My fingers were grasping the top handles like my life depended on it.
A definitive message comes in loud and clear:
"Let go of this bag."
It’s full of glass marbles.
And it's my job, I’m supposed to keep holding this bag.
"Drop the bag."
I let go and marbles are falling all over the place, clattering to the ground and ricocheting off each other like billiard balls after the opening break of a game of pool.
Oiy, a big mess, I’m gonna have to clean that up…
"It’s not your mess to clean!"
What?
"It’s not your mess to clean!!"
I’m really supposed to keep a vice grip on this bag.
"No. that’s NOT true. You can let go of it."
I drop it again, let my grip loose and fingers release…
Marbles clattering free-fall to meet the ground in a happy tumble, shooting in all spontaneous unplanned directions, at one with the Way, the flow of Being.
My breath fills in higher in my lungs and I feel I’m climbing into this entirely new sunny floor of my house. I didn’t know I could go up here! I didn’t really even realize it was here…I was so focused on holding that damn heavy bag.
Next I’m high up on a platform and a helper soul is with me. We’re looking at this bundle hanging by a string that I’m holding. It’s dense and barely swinging…a sack encased in a thin membrane, of partially rotting flesh- old, very old. It’s a heart and some other tissue?
We both know I’m to drop it.
I let go and we watch it fall succinctly straight down and splat on the ground, as a bundle of disembodied flesh would. Splat.
But who am I without this burden?
I’m holding on to this and the bag because I need *something* to hold on to, to alleviate the gnawing fear and dread that live within me. Without this sack hold fast to, I don’t know who I am, or what would become of me.
I see light shining, bright and lightest gold, it's all around me. It’s space, freedom, joy, a blank slate, its a place of beginning and where all possibilities meet. I remember that I often feel like the Fool (as in Tarot) in life, and I know that it’s not scary at all to be in this place of the unknown when I'm feeling it is the beginning of an ADVENTURE! The place in a “Choose your own adventure “ where I can feel the electricity and thrill of anticipation of unknown realms that will be discovered on the next page. That feeling and this light is EVERYTHING.
I drop the sack again and we watch it splat.
Why do I have to know who I am?
To live in that space of the unknown, that is real freedom.
Light is shining, emanating from a place between my heart and my throat as I feel movement possible there, in my breathing. It's a place in my body that I usually feel is like a frozen block, with no movement possible at all. My breath always wants to go there but it stops short. That stopping short makes me sad, and makes me feel like it's just the way things are, this boundedness, like a bondage to an unseen master. In the light cracking through me, I see myself putting postcards for my song "Soggy Day" in my local cafe. I don't have these postcards, but maybe I'll make some up...might be an adventure!
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