Today, my love for mystery is bumping up against my archetypal victim.
Phooey on evolution and new ways of thinking and being.
Phooey on dreams and visions that require me to be more vulnerable.
Phooey on cleaning up, empowered relationships, and mastery.
And double phooey on social media upkeep.
The only thing that soothes me is the comfort of nature. That, and food; gooey sticky tummy-filling comfort food. Oh, music too. If I think about it, I’m speaking “womb;” surrounded by good energy, well held and well fed while listening to the rhythm of the heart and singing of blood as it’s pumped through the veins.
I’m floating in the void; at one and the same time comfortable and extremely frustrated.
When I am in this in-between space and in the grip of “victim,” I find myself waiting to be rescued. I’m hoping that the next email, the next phone call, the next mail delivery will bring me a pleasant surprise. I’m hoping that this next trip into town will yield a chance encounter that turns golden. Sometimes, it does. I will get an email inquiry from a potential client, checks in the mail or make a new connection. But most days it’s just bills and junk mail and a bag of groceries in the back of the car.
Where is my knight in shining armor?
Where is Publisher’s Clearinghouse with my million-dollar check?
Waiting to be rescued is a sign that I don’t want to take responsibility for my life, my visions, my happiness. Responsibility feels punishing; like really hard work with high odds of failure. Well, at least that’s how my victim sees it.
I’m rattled by the mess that the fallen oak tree left. No one is stacking firewood. No one is cleaning up the limbs that are dangling from the trees that were slammed by oak on its way down. No one cares about the huge pile of dead boughs. To top it off, the wind carried a big bright blue plastic bag into the center of the whole scene as if to garishly announce “trash heap.”
These thoughts followed me out to the hiking trail.
The view from my window is not what it once was. It’s not what it will be. It is what it is. I don’t want to take responsibility for it and I want it to be a certain way.
My life is not what it once was. It’s not what I imagine it will be. It is what it is. I don’t want to take responsibility for it, but I sure as heck want to control it.
And that’s the moment in my rant that a snake and I came face to boot on the hiking trail. It was a striped racer, not a threat, and a great reminder of the process of transformation and rebirth. When snake sheds its skin, its eyes cloud over. My eyes are clouded. I can’t see. I’m shedding my old skin. It doesn’t feel good.
In my old life, I did things the hard way. I suffered to earn reward, love, and worthiness. Responsibility was a burden. Discipline was like living in eternal boot camp. I was hard on myself. OK, I think I was actually darn cruel to myself at times.
Who I am becoming is self-nurturing, inspired by Love to walk the path of Beauty, a dancer in the Great Mystery, truly enchanted by life. To this evolving me, responsibility is the “ability to respond” and discipline is “being a disciple to.”
I want to remember (re-member) what makes me happy and be a disciple to my passions. I want to be able to respond to the winds of change. I want to know and speak the language of the heart.
This experience of floating in the void, this bumping up against like the incoming and outgoing tides, that feels like I’m going nowhere, this shedding of skin and waiting for the new to dry; waiting…waiting….waiting…is full of tension.
This tension is pure creative energy.
I know I am in a deeply creative process and I’m itching for resolution.
I suspect that powerful re-solutions arise in their own time and are not especially responsive to control.
So, I set down control and I surrender to creative chaos.
I allow myself to be enchanted by the mystery of it all.
I am grateful to snake for the reminder that I am re-minding from brain to heart and that it is a process that knows its own timing.
Phooey on control.
Phooey on making things hard.
Phooey on waiting to be rescued.
Uhm, except …
I’d still gladly accept that prize from Publishers Clearing House.
Copyright (c) November 2009, Kathy J Loh, all rights reserved