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I’ve been away, elsewhere and not here since 2015. Or the last time I was here, the calendar year was 2015.
And now I must re-familiarize myself on how to even post an entry. Learn all of the new fancy bells & whistles of the blogging world. Who am I kidding? The most I will probably do is figure out how to add an entry. At least for now, unless I re-commit to daily (or almost) posts.
While being not here for the past two years I have been a busy bee & much living & multiple adventures have washed under the proverbial bridge or down the river & multiple new moons have transitioned to full ones. The most significant changes & life events have been moving out of state & then back again within a 12-month cycle. Beginning a new job, accepting a promotion & then immediately resigning from said promotion within a month & returning to the ‘home’ state. Within that 12-month period, I also lived in three different rentals, committed to the last rental & began putting down roots. Literally. Succulents were purchased, repotted & ultimately re-homed. Furniture & home furnishings bought & assembled as needed & within three months, released.
Yes. The Big Purge of Material Possessions took place, AGAIN.
Another very long Road Trip happened, AGAIN.
My daughter’s medical emergency. She needed her mama. My daughter needed me. And so…
And seven months later, I remain a virtual stranger in familiar surroundings & homeless to boot. Not in the literal sense of the word I suppose as I have had a roof over my head & even my own bathroom as I have been existing (aka living) in my ex-partner’s whom I am still legally married to, condo. I have not worked or earned any money for the past seven+ months. My biggest accomplishment has been surviving the last seven+ months.
Huge. This accomplishment. Very large. Being still alive. Humongous. Weathering grief, winter’s frigid darkness.
Today I can believe spring has arrived or at the very least is well on its way. I can believe that Old Man Winter cannot & most importantly, will not, last forever. Today the return from a long long hibernation continues, fueled by renewed energy & long daylight hours. Ahhhh, yes. The light has returned to the Far North Land. Finally.
And I begin the preparations for or at the very least the hope of leaving ‘home’ once again. Yep. Yup. Affirmative. Yes. This tumbling tumbleweed is hoping to move, to blow this pop stand, to relocate, to begin anew, to head down the old highway. AGAIN.
A second job interview, this one in person, is scheduled in three weeks in a faraway place. I am on the path to a new adventure. AGAIN.
You know that old saying, the one that goes something like, be careful for what you wish, you might just receive it or some such thing. I have never been a big fan of that particular saying. As life seems to enjoy a good laugh or two, at my expense (or so it seems), this week I have heard myself iterating this phrase and then I suppose reiterating the same saying. Because I did make a wish and I am, indeed, receiving said wish.
In fact, I did more than send a wish into the Universe. I crafted an invitation. An invitation to a celebration, a party if you will in honor of myself. Yes. You read that correctly. I, as in me, myself and I. A celebration of MY LIFE to coincide with one of my favorita days of the year Summer Solstice (the other favorita days of the year, Winter Solstice). I crafted this invitation and then sent it out into the Universe to invitees both local and to those who live in what we fondly refer to as the Lower 48, even though there are 49 other states in the Union. Some folks may be wondering what are we even considering here? What’s the big deal? Where’s the problem? What is this post even about? Well, read further dear blogging friends and I will further bare my fragile vulnerable underbelly of neurosis.
In sending this invitation, I was telling myself Number One, that I am valuable enough and could possibly be important enough to someone(s)’ that they would/will take time out of their lives to journey North to celebrate my life. For those invitees from Outside there would/will be the travel expense, which is no small ‘taters. The moment I hit the send button on my email invitation the anxiety that had already built to about a 4 on a 1-10 scale, hit about an 8. That old and tired but loud whiny voice of who do you think you are little Missy and you are a selfish self-centered little girl aren’t you today blah blah blah took over. Thankfully, before this part of me could overtake me and tackle me into the mud, I began receiving responses to my invitation within a half hour of its flight.
Thus, this week has been a life lesson of opening my heart again and again to the love that is there for me to receive. Although overwhelming, I remind myself that I am a growed up woman, as my adoptive mother used to say about herself. And a little or even a lot of overwhelm over receiving a lot of love from family and friends is some thing a growed up woman can handle on any given day.
My heart is full.
My heart is full and expanding.
When the missing out weighs the dragging of the feet, then I return. Please consider yourself missed my dear little faithful blog. The trite phrase that you are never far from my thoughts and always in my heart, is true. The ensuing guilt of my absence when prolonged, true as well.
I have suffered physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually with an ongoing vertigo condition that has had me by what some state crudely the “short and curlies’ for almost two years. I have been on a new regiment of medication and yesterday passed a milestone test at my specialist’s office of being able to lie down without a vertigo attack being triggered. This my dear blog was, and is, huge in the life of me.
Last night was a rough one rest wise as I had a tough time trusting the process as the last time I attempted to truly lie down to sleep, I ended up in the emergency room due to the extreme nature of the vertigo attack. So I experimented a lot with different angles and never did quite allow myself to totally lie flat. That’s okay. I can ease into this new “old” way of sleeping. Just the fact that lying horizontally is now an option is a miracle that still has me in a bit of a humbled stunned state.
How long this will last or what comes next with the vertigo condition, I do not know. That little saying of “one day at a time” seems very appropriate here. For now, I am thanking the Universe, my Birth Day Gods and Goddesses (as that was my birth day wish as I blew out my candle), Annie Rosa Lee Dog’s spirit and my Guardian Angels that be for this respite and/or total healing.
All of that and a gorgeous blue skied day with an abundance of sunny rays.
Life is good, my friend. Sweet. Just like a cool glass of Southern tea.
My journey continues with me along for the ride. At times, I am a stroller ~ meandering along, taking little detours here and there, following my heart, listening for the mermaid’s whisper. Other days, I push my foot down on the pedal and blast down the highway, shouting obscenities at my slower moving travelers, giving them the middle finger while I weave in and out of traffic always seeking the fast lane.
Today, I am doing my laundry. Attending to the mundane. Sorting and sifting through bunches of stuff while searching for certain needed paperwork, an employment badge, two beloved pair of earrings that have somehow up and gotten themselves misplaced (damned cheeky of them if you ask me), researching Vitamixers, and upcoming schedules for a certain motivational speaker guru, and doing a bit of online shopping for Buddhist prayer bead necklaces and leather bracelets.
Life has been a journey this summer. Changes have been afoot. I am still me. But I am a changed and changing me. Meaning, life is unfolding as usual.
I have missed my blog. So I have returned.
My absence from my blog has been due to my physical health related problems. That, and my ensuing depression. All of which have gotten me to the place I am today ~ inside the House of Truth. At least The House of Truth as I know it today, in this moment at this particular juncture in time, at this fork of this road.
I have returned to therapy. About time. That’s right. About motherfucking time. Or would that be about mother fucking time? Whatever. It is time. And I am doing it. Not fucking. Not even fucking around ~ not this time. I am participating in therapy in a different way than ever I have done before two weeks ago.
Meaning? I am raw. real. no pretenses. no good girl persona. no bad girl disguise. defenses, gone baby gone. Why? How? Why now? I am just ready. That. And writing a check for $175 for a 50 minute hour seems to keep me on point. Cuts through the bullshit. Stops the spin before the tales get spun, if you receive my meaning. And I hope she does. My treating psychologist that is.
50 shades of grey. 50 ways to leave a lover. 50 episodes of whodunit. 50 ways to lose a life.
50 megawatts of power. outage. ongoing. no end in sight.
50 methods to one’s madness.
Mad for the series Mad Men, that is. And I suppose if the truth be known, mad as in pissed. Off. Sort of. Kind of. Every now and now or then. Then there is the full on rage, mad. Slow simmer ~ full boil ~ lid blown off the pressure cooker, mad raging through me and all over the damned place. Just every once in a decade or day.
I wonder what the odds are that I could get Don Draper to come over and knock the everliving shit out of this mad.
A snowball’s chance, you say? Okay.
Back to mad.
My spirit and mood have been vacillating, wildly and erratically at times, between gratitude for life and wishing to be finally done with this journey. Folded in among this particular ping pong game of emotions there burbles nostalgia for what never was but wished for anyway, moments and times. Like say, the throb of deep connected love with the same person for a long period of time and the resulting imagined passionate lovemaking. And let me not forget to write of the fear, dread and anxiety brought on by considering medical procedures, tests and surgeries meant to return to me my health and maybe, may I hope, my sanity.
Where does one go when the well is dry. Bone dry. Yet the body still thirsty and the spirit weak. Prayer feels too hard. No, not hard, just not for me. Not now. I suppose I feel undeserving somehow of asking for help. Hard to do this earth journey; seemingly impossible to bridge the worlds or universe.
For now, I dwell in the land somewhere in between.
All hands on deck.
Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions.
we I have am the situation.
Multiple choice. Correct answer ~ all of the above.
In order to be here, one must go there but the going there, requires no physical departure; at least for today.
My thoughts and inner visioning have been hijacked. A few days before now, my eyes drank in the images of temples ~ hanging cliff temples. And ever since that first viewing when my soul leapt with recognition, my core began a slow drumming. The beat of this internal drum, thrumming through me; my body responds with a re-awakening and yearning to return to mountain peak, where I surely have lived in some yesteryear. Forgotten, until now.
This drumming back to consciousness, caused my limiting thoughts and jailhouse rules and boundaries to spring into action; to speak out loud their automatic chastisement. You cannot go, you would surely perish. Only the fit of body and the most holy of spirits belong on that journey above the clouds. Remember your fear of heights. You would most certainly slip and fall, causing great disaster and inconvenience to others. You cannot go, you would surely perish.
So in preparation for this journey, which I must surely embark upon, the first steps are to soothe my protector’s fears and to loosen my jailer’s clawlike hold. For my journey, you see, has most certainly already begun and I have not yet perished.