Put up or shut up.
Pot calling the kettle black.
Shit or get off the pot.
A few bricks shy of a full load.
My morning started with dreams, a shower rant, and holding a dieing raptor.
The dream was essentially being told I wasn’t listening and I was doing it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a dream maybe it was me loosing to the brain trauma of that sentiment in my repetitive experience. I moved my hands and turned on my Reiki. It helped but did not fix, again.
In the shower I went off about how I have energetically carried everyone my whole life, not even knowing that I was doing it. Their words and actions having an even greater impact me because I felt them on levels our language can’t handle and I had no comprehension for… No one did. I was angry that God didn’t fix it, that nothing I have wanted or enjoyed ever lasted because I would get sucked right back into energetic lead boots. Even worse, was the acknowledgement that my children carry the ripple effects and I’m powerless to fix it.
On my way to work at the 2nd stop sign of my route, there was what I thought was a perigrine laying in the road. Once our vehicle stopped I realized he was still moving. I lept out and picked him up. He was bleeding from his nose, brain truama had definitely occurred. He looked at me and then closed his eyes. Nathan asked where, or if, we could take him for help. I said he wouldn’t make it, there was nothing I could do. I placed him gently in the grass beside the road and got back in the car crying out loud.
I am angry over a lot right now. Traumas I and my brother faced. Diseases we contracted that medical institutions did nothing to solve but pretended to have solutions for. Failures at every turn, often missed by people supposedly educated enough to have God complexes. Angry at myself for allowing the diseases and traumas in, for dragging my family like a whole train of lead carts, for failing to help myself sooner.
I’m angry at the perceived promises and my believing them too long. I’m angry that I didn’t listen to my inner being better and sooner. I’m angry that I’ve been unable to get others to see it and that the same system is doing it again and keeping everyone stressed in the process. That the system itself is dooming us to death sentences, that we are all now ticking time bombs, that no one even registers it’s already begun and the system is set-up to deter real healing because of impacts to profits.
I’m angry that my stumbling through textbooks and the internet has provided answers that help, but still don’t fix it enough to save my life. My best answers were divinely guided, but too slow, too late, to ineffective, and not complete solutions. My connection to God has only slowed everything. At the rate my family is going, and my ability (or lack thereof) to maintain near perfection indefinitely, I might get another couple decades if I’m lucky. If I fail, my life is more likely to end sooner. No miracles have happened, no solutions for any of us, means we are all squarely responsible for our own health however long that may be. So I’m angry that I’ve been unable to get anyone to understand that, and heed warnings which I simply feel in my body and awareness.
The list could go on and on.
But I must stop it.
Man who stands on toilet is high on pot.
I’m not high right now, but would like to be, it helps. I’m not as flexible as is ideal, but would like to be, it helps. I’m not as slender as I’d like to be, my body feels a bit better the slimmer I get, it’s easier to find balance than in my past, it has helped. I’m not as healthy as ideal, but would like to be, it helps. I’m not as smart as I’d like to be, it helps. My intuition isn’t as clear as I would like it be, it has helped more than anything. I like eating everything, but like feeling better more, so I’m doing the best to find the best balance I can.
I can’t fix it, so right now I’m not. I’m not fixing anything. I’m not being there for anyone. I’m not helping anyone see anything. I’m not making a difference or changing the world. I’m not keeping anyone else alive. I’m not dragging anyone with me. I’m not getting my point across. I’m not making anything right. I’m not arguing for anything anymore. I’m not filling others’ roles or expectations anymore. I’m not taking care of anyone else. I’m not repeating myself for anyone. I’m not getting anyone to listen. None of my efforts have worked anyway.
I’m ineffective, misunderstood, misconstrued. I’m intimidating and fear inducing. And none of that is me. No one wants me. No one wants all of me, most everyone only wants one small portion of me. If no one wants all of me, then I want me for me. I’m not mirroring anyone or anything else anymore.
I’m me. What is me? Who is me?
If I really truly drop every iota of that and more, then there’s nothing left but me. Is there any hope left? Is there any kindness left? Is there any healing left? Is it possible, can I just be me for me in wholeness and goodness? Just let go completely and still be alive? I don’t know the answer and I’m scared. Grieving for my family and letting go of everything. Letting go fully is hard when things are going well and energy ties are easy. Grief is hard when it’s only one obstacle. Layers compound everything.
Easy is just breathing. Right now just breathing. Quiet stillness and breathing. It’s a good middle ground that is easy to find. That’s where I will aim. Just quietly breathing and focused on where I sit. It is the closest I can reach for now, for being the fullness of ME, for little ‘ole me. Quietly breathing in this one spot.
May you find your best spot for quiet breathing and know that your best has to be good enough. May you know you will make it through trying times. May you know that being yourself is the best thing you could ever be, and that it doesn’t matter if anyone ever notices, cares, or listens, because God intended you to be just as you are. Above all, may you know that the divine loves and supports you in all that you do.
Bird Correction: It was a red shouldered hawk, see link:
I’m going to go with between morning lighting and my emotions, the head seemed much more grey in the moment, and belly less red. Still a raptor I couldn’t save. That’s not how I wanted to hold a majestic bird, anyone for that matter. I hate being a harbinger of death, a real life Banshee; death doula makes it sound far too benign. Regardless of the name used, it is my most disturbing talent, which occurs far too frequently for comfort.