At least a dozen times a day I think, "I should write about this (or that)." This has been going on for a few years now and I don't do it because, well, I don't know what to write about. I mean, I DO know that I'm writing about my own experience of conscious awakening but where do I start? Now I understand why it was so hard to "solve a problem like Maria" - how DO you catch a wave upon the sand? This shit moves fast and it evades earthly words, even when they're nicely strung together.
Naturally, when I decided this morning to finally honor my impulse to write, I couldn't come up with anything, so I looked through my image file for inspiration (beyond Michael Scott) and had to chuckle at myself for the quality of the spiritual images I saved shortly after I began to awaken. So full of promise and hope. Lots of sacred geometry and pithy platitudes, as evidenced here:
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| More like constant confusion. |
It's almost embarrassing. I thought I had it knocked, this ascension business. I didn't know any better so I figured that I would just read my way into enlightenment and all would be well - I could continue skipping through life, without a great deal of pain or anguish. AHAHAHAHAHAHAAH! Not so much.
I'd read all about the Dark Night of the Soul and figured I'd somehow gotten a free pass. I've always been a fairly happy camper - if anything, I didn't feel much at all. Sort of empty, really. (It turns out that I've been medicating my wounds for a few decades - more on that later.) I dug all of the Movement's accoutrements - the pretty crystals, the essential oils, the sage and the Nag Champa. Meditation was new and exciting; generally, I used the "training wheels" version (guided imagery) because stillness didn't happen after a handful of attempts. I made new friends and embraced communities which were committed to the upliftment of the Human Spirit. I couldn't figure out what the fuss was all about - personally, I didn't think I had any Shadow parts to speak of. Smugly, I suggested to a friend who was having a Kundalini awakening, "It doesn't have to be so hard." Looking back, I guess I knew that I was in line for a spiritual smack down as soon as I said it. Karma is, in fact, a bitch.
That was a couple of years ago. Since then, my dear friend unceremoniously dumped me (who could blame her?), as did many of my other friends and acquaintances. I began working closely with an intuitive who lubricated the wheels of my spiritual process with her unconditionally loving support and guidance for about a year, but even then, I knew I was losing traction. I could feel myself losing my grip on "reality" and I felt the walls closing in around me. I continued to say "yes" to my Soul - continued to do whatever work felt right in the moment - but the discomfort increased until I just about lost it a few months ago.
In November, after an 8-day Iboga retreat, where I'd hoped to release my proclivity for wine and marijuana, I spiraled downward into a deep, dark funk. Not only did I not experience a shamanic journey with the Medicine because I had to use the toilet every 15 minutes for 8 hours during each ceremony, but the diarrhea continued for 6 weeks upon my return home. Additionally, I had what can only be described as some demonic itching on my upper arms, which came on most strongly at night, as soon as I went to bed. The itching was accompanied by waves of cruel anxiety - in order to sleep, I had to use ice packs and take Ambien, which left me emotionally jagged. Also, I discovered a recurrence of some skin cancer. Good times.
"THIS is the thanks I get for being on Your team?" I cried to God. "THIS is my reward for trying to do my best?" Obviously, I had been a fool to believe all the mumbo jumbo clap trap - if there WAS a God, I had been abandoned by Him/Her. "FUCK YOU, GOD!" Crying, keening, screaming - you name it. As soon as my digestion began to improve and the itching abated, I drank to dull the pain of my experience. I withdrew from everyone and felt....fucked. Cast adrift. Alone. Stupid. And really, really angry.
I knew this wasn't about my gut's flora imbalance or that I needed amino acid supplementation or even some anti-depressants; I didn't know what to do other than to continue to explore the depths of my darkness and to seek out healing modalities which would at least take the edge off. And, in spite of my very loud protestations, I intuitively returned to anything having to do with the Love of God. Desperation is a funny thing; it's the ultimate motivator. I didn't want to trust God, but what choice did I really have?
Which brings me to the present, pretty much. I wish I had a great tale of redemption and success and maybe I should have waited to write until I had something hugely transformative to report, but I suspect that this blog is what might be referred to as a "living document." For the last few weeks, I've been seeing a therapist who specializes in addiction; working with him has allowed me to see just how much I have used alcohol to sooth my empathic self and to quiet my inner critic. Reading Gabor Mate's book, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, helped me to understand why I feel the way I do and the behaviors that go along with those feelings. Currently, I feel somewhat like that old laptop you take in to be serviced and are told, with a sympathetic look from the technician, "I'm sorry, it can't be fixed." But, there's a teeny, tiny part of me which knows that's not True. So, I persevere. I want to trust that I'm going to be okay and that all of this is for some greater purpose, so I allow myself to imagine what Trust feels like because it turns out that I'm only familiar with its opposite.
I'm still deep in it. I don't know that anyone can ever be prepared for their Shadow Work - it's ugly and uncomfortable and humiliating. ("Why didn't anyone tell me I was such a selfish bitch?") If spiritual growth could be measured on a scale of one to ten, I think I'd be exaggerating to say that I'm at about a three. I feel like a complete novice most days, with the sense that I have so many loose ends that will never come together. I don't think I have unrealistic expectations, either - I'm not asking to ride my Merkaba off into the sunset with the Baby Jesus or anything, but I could sure use some relief from whatever ails me. I'm willing, I'm eager and I'm not incapable. What gives, God?
Here's what I know. Love is the answer to everything. Period. And, as a human being, I am wired to send and Receive that Love - I'm actually MADE of the stuff. In my case, it would seem that my wiring needs work, but the system itself is still operable. Phew. Thank the Lord. So to speak.
