Lessons

I learned this week that when people share gossip with you saying that they are warning you what is being said about you, to make you aware you have enemies, to make you aware of what is going on...really, they tell you as a confession. You listen to bless them like a priest in the confessonal, they go away cleansed and you hope you can eventually be cleansed as well.

My husband tells me I am the nicest person he knows. That I am incredibly sweet and don't deserve this.

I wonder. My heart reminds me of all the little lies, all the small gossips. I try, I really try to squash my need to gossip, but I know, I'm not innocent of gossip. Still, I don't believe I've ever bandied about anything as wicked as what they are saying about me (unless we go back to high school, high school girls are cruel cruel cruel. Perhaps this karma comes from there).

I've learned this week that I'm more beautiful, more powerful and more of a threat to women around me than I have ever been in my life. Why? I don't know. With power, with presence, with success comes hatred, dislike, gossip and attacks. Life lessons.

So, this too will pass.

A friend told a story. When she was younger, she worked for an older doctor--he was perhaps 60, but looked younger. She had worked for him several years and one day he told her...you know, people talk about us. Really? she said. They say we have a thing going on, he laughed. Its ok though. Why is it ok, she said. Well, if they are talking about us, they aren't attacking anyone else.

So, if they attack me, they aren't attacking anyone else. Is that a comfort?

The hurt, of course, is the originator of the stories. A friend, someone I trusted, gave my love to, protected, defended from other people that would gossip and attack her. She made these stories up, sewn together from bits of truth, outright fabrication and a need to hurt the things I love most in my life right now. I wander, how badly is she hurting to have this strong need to attack me? I wonder, why did she never once ask me my version, confirm any portion of what she thought happened? That's what hurts most--the real person who hurt her, a man....she attacked me instead of him and I never saw it coming.

These things pass. People forget. the people that share rumors, believe them, dislike me...they would find another reason to dislike me.

I've learned that I have an almost phobic fear of being disliked. I've been dealing...healing this fear ever since I moved here to the desert. Many of my lessons in the last year have dealt with the need to heal and move past this need to be liked by all. A fear of doing anything that could possibly make people dislike me.

Something like this would have half-killed me a year ago...I'm not sure I..oh. Nonsense. You can handle most anything...think of your life: a childhood of emotional trama, your mother dies when you are 23, your sister 5 years later. You work like a dog, endure sexual discrimination at work, survive post-partum depression, panic attacks. You leave an old life behind, you create a new life in a new place. You've climbed mountains, hiked in other countries, eaten mussels crawling with sea creatures on a raft with white wine, made friends, lost friends, have been punished by love and given the gift of true love, birthed a child without drugs, raised that child.

I'll be fine!  ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments

  I’ve entered another world. A world where the divine takes care of you if you just put yourself in her hands.

I walked off the cliff. I expected something to catch me. As if by force of will I could manifest angels to watch me on my way. Or perhaps out of an inner understanding that they’ve been there all along and I’ve forgotten to ask them for help.

Free falling takes some getting used to. Some days, I pause and question what the hell I’m doing—I wake briefly and realize I’m thousands of feet up and floating. I wonder, “why am I writing this check?” I have no guarantee there will be money in the bank when it cashes! But the money comes. I think, “I really need someone to just sit with that makes me feel good for awhile”…and they come.

I hear two conversations at all times. I hear what others say, what I say, I see what they do, how they sit, the set of their mouth, the slouch of their shoulders. High and tight, loose and relaxed. I see their hands flash to their pain, or reach for understanding. And I hear our spirits chit-chatting, the dance of auras moving between us. Sometimes, I see a puzzled glance flash from the person and know they have felt the dance too, if only briefly.

It is easy to tell when I’m understanding the truth of a spirit conversation—spirits attract, repel, they dance in one another’s energy, they nuzzle and cuddle, play tug of war. The heart leaps in joy at connection, or is sluggishly sad that the other heart can’t love yet. Only the ego speaks worlds of resentment, of comments on looks, of comments on the appropriateness of dress or vocation. Only the ego ignores the divine in the other person—the spirits always sniff one another, like reunited wolves, nodding and bowing and sniffing, circling in perfect dance.

I feel people’s bodies, their energy moving through me. It is strange, to feel someone’s nervousness, excitement, or pain as if it were your own. My spirit leaps at times, wanting to sooth and heal them, but my ego doesn’t yet know how. I smile and listen to them. Perhaps that is enough.

I realized the other day that it is impossible to lose anyone. Once we have connected, our spirits know one another forever. Perhaps we already knew one another and just appreciated the reminder of home.  ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments

  Little Rituals

Little rituals can be vital to the shape of my day. I had a powerful reminder of this the other day when my husband suggested I learn to drink my tea in the morning with regular milk. To his surprise, I started crying.

I’ve packed my life so full right now that I sometimes feel I don’t even have time to breathe. Certainly, I’m less stressed that previous times in my life-I’ve learned coping strategies that help maintain balance, but the fact remains that my weeks are so full, I have little leisure. One thing that I do have in my days is my little rituals.

In the morning, I make myself a cup of tea. Until a few weeks ago, this was an elaborate coffee ritual, but I’ve switched to tea. The tea: equal trade darjeeling. Water: brought to a rolling boil. the tea bag carefully steeped about 3-4 minutes until it is a rich, translucent brown. In a china mug--not plastic. a small amount of sugar, just to bring the taste of the tea out a tad. And Whipped Cream on top.

The whipped cream is my extravagance. Such a luxury--frothy white and slightly sugary. half and half doesn’t have the rich fattiness of whipping cream.

My husbands error was simply not understanding how very much this luxury has come to mean. My one time of the day I allow myself to fully relax. No work, no fretting, just me focused on setting up, making, and drinking this cup of tea.

Afterwards, life comes crashing in, but for 15 minutes in the morning, I have luxury.  ¶ 8:21 AM 0 comments