I experienced my first earthquake when living in Southern California. I heard from friends what they feel like, what to do when and if and the after effects. Their words could not prepare me for the physical experience.
Dizziness was my first clue. I immediately thought what’s wrong with me? Then the lurching and rolling of a solid surface brought me to my senses. I did what I was not supposed to do and run outside.
I spent yesterday shaken by the metaphorical earthquake that rumbled through my memories. Grateful to be safe enough to feel them; vulnerable in my sharing; aware my earth moved.
Experiencing an earthquake is an interesting metaphor when healing painful memories. I’ve imagined what a painful memory looks like, since I’ve had so much practice facing them. They take up space in my energy field and look like a swirling mass of chaos. They spin in a looping manner because the memory continues to exist by reliving over and over the painful memory. Some are small so they take up less space. Others are big, more embedded because they’ve been around a long time. They release when inner wisdom gives the okay. They can’t be forced or coerced out.
I am a survivor. I learn from every experience. I grow from every experience. I choose to move on and learn and grow more. Because there will be more.
You are a survivor. You learn from every experience. You grow from every experience. You choose to move on and learn and grow more. Because there will be more.
Inner wisdom is life force that pulses through my energy body, my physical body, my whole being. Slowing down and listening helps me listen to my inner wisdom. My body speaks. My heart speaks. My gut speaks. All using the language of inner wisdom.
I set my intention to continue conversations with my inner wisdom. I listen in my silence. I see with my mind, my heart, my eyes and my soul and navigate my storms. I welcome company on this journey. I’m glad you’re here.
She decides to return to the simple,
hummingbird sipping nectar
outside open window, pink petals
lit up and laughing with sun
she rests her hand on her own hurting heart, breathes
the kind of breath that releases
all trying, all wanting, all waiting - all promises
of saviors and some day.
She allows rain to pound hard
on all that no longer shelters.
She remembers there is medicine,
the very best kind of medicine, inside
the tender-sweet song of now.
She remembers it is never not now.
She decides to return to the simple,
rolls out yoga mat, allows each stretch,
each bow, each breath
to teach her all the secrets.
She whispers namaste to her own reflection,
and these words whisper back -
It is enough to be you.
She lets a lifetime of sorrow seep
from her tired, trying bones,
lets it rest on the ground
with every mighty
fallen petal. And she breathes.
Still, she breathes.
Yesterday, I worried that I may mention my family member too much. I remember years ago telling someone in need I didn’t mind them talking to me about their problems and they could call me day or night and I would listen and be there for them. So, I’m thinking it’s okay in this group to say things over and over. Someone said yesterday that they worry forgetfulness and about dementia when people bring things up from the past that they don’t remember. I’m at high risk for dementia because of my health conditions. I try to block that out. So, today, I was thinking, maybe it’s okay to forget things. I’m remembering the Cathedral of the Pines in New Hampshire 48 years ago and smelling those pines and I was there again. I remember visiting a nursing home where a woman screamed and screamed for help. I held her hand. Countless little things like that I remember, touching other hearts. I think those are the important things to remember. We don’t have to remember everything.
Right at the end of my meditation, I saw this image of a frozen figure. It was snowing out. The figure had a fur coat on and there was another figure who put her arms around the frozen figure to warm her up. I’m sure both figures are me. I’m sure it’s a frozen memory and I’m adding my compassion and love to warm it up and to unthaw it. I’m with my frozen self.
It reminds me of what you said the other day about your spiritual director wanting you to feel your body, and here you are noticing and embracing your body. How interesting. It’s like a lucid dream.
The readings for the last few days, the one about the turning in the wind I’m still thinking about. And what it means to deflect and not control what is around me. Today’s reading reminded me to be in the moment and just breathe. I woke up at 3am and was obsessing in my dream about something someone wants. I couldn’t let go of it. I quieted my mind by focusing on these lessons from the readings. It’s so good the journey we are taking being in self-care and changing memories, letting go of things that bother us and rewriting them. Yesterday’s reading about being with your inner child was great.
I have a history of tornado dreams. Sometimes they are at a distance, sometimes they are closer. I grew up in the Midwest where tornados were a reality. Last night, I had a dream where I was talking to a scientist who was analyzing tornados, the different kinds, the wind factors, the width of the tornadoes. I never had a dream like that before. In my meditation, I realized that looking at childhood memories for me, I’m not just experiencing that, I’m taking them apart. That’s what it feels like.
During the meditation, I brought myself to a vacation we went on in Greece. I felt myself standing on the cruise liner looking over the sea of people and hearing the music and seeing the ocean. It just became real. Like the smelling of the pines. It’s wonderful to bring those memories back to life. I wish I could do it in times of turmoil, but I certainly enjoyed it.
It’s amazing the journey our lives are on. It’s amazing the journey of daily meditation. How it morphs somewhere or settles or continues.
Thank you for spending this travel time with us as we start our day and navigate. I hope you all have a gentle day and take care of yourselves in the upcoming weather. Be gentle with yourselves.