A distant train whistle sounds as I sit with tea, FurButt at my slippered feet, and this reminds me of when we lived on Washington in Dunkirk, during the early years of our marriage. Good times. ❤ As Steven refurbishes the lower apartment there now, I can’t help but recall so many memories. Vivid. Visceral. I’m smiling.
Our first home to which Andrew and Adam and Alex – no, no that’s not quite right – Andrew was a few months old and I was pregnant with Alex when we moved… so only Adam was brought home to the house on Wash. (Little did we even know about Austin and Alisia.) ❤
Back then, my vibe was so fearful. I tried controlling every single aspect to perfection. Every. Single. Aspect. Unto. Perfection.
There was a lack of generosity and good will in my heart towards myself and others. I compared myself constantly… to others, to an old version of myself. I strived to be GOOD ENOUGH. Daily grind of uphill-only trudging. Exhausting.
I remember first encountering the Spirit of Jesus AKA Christ Consciousness AKA Love and feeling seen, heard, SAFE for the first time ever in my life. I felt like there was a purpose beyond all the striving, underneath all the trying and comparing.
I felt like there was Purpose beyond Striving, underneath Trying and Comparing.
Ah, the fear to never again be left behind, rejected. I could stomach being abandoned — but rejected?! This is what fear felt like to me: rejection.
Which is why I think this past 2 1/2 years of trying to make a splash in the VR on-line sector has been so devastating to me… I have gotten nowhere… because it feels like rejection. This is my deepest fear: to be sized up and deemed not worth saving, not worth staying for, not worth bringing along… leaveable. Forgetable.
And somewhere I know, I understand, that it’s less “them” and pretty much “me.”
An old wound. Deep. Unwilling to dissolve until I sit with it, listen-feel-sense-allow-surrender unto its message. Allow myself to stay with it, not run from it. Give myself permission to be messy in it as I heal through it.
Maybe it’s why I can’t help but stop what I’m doing to look someone in the eyes – the windows to a soul – and to register heart’s beat and vibration. Stop, look, and listen. Like our lives depended on it.
Stop. Look. Listen.
Like our lives depend on it.
Listen with closed mouth and open heart. Speak only as helps and encourages. Create safe space that expresses “you are loved; you are safe here; you are seen and heard; what you have to share is worth considering, pondering… you matter so much to me, to The Collective, to God.”
Just in case. In case they too struggle within rejection. Fear. Like me.
As I begin day 1 of a 40-day sabbatical journey, as Husband is calling it, may I be led by Love out of the wilderness (finallllllllyyyyyyy) — since Love led me in two plus years ago and I’ve wandered as the Israelites did in ancient times (what was it, a 40-year journey for an 11-day trip? eek!) And I am surely ready to be reconnected with Others, and am eager to dig into my part, my role, my bit in the Divine Play called Remembering I AM THAT I AM.
And perhaps I will be led further inward, surely led through, and ultimately led out, filled, and empowered by The One called Love. Who is Us.
And maybe there’s a Tribe longing to be led and we’ll connect and I’ll share my story of heartache-pain-alchemy-awakening-shining. And I’ll say, “oh yes, I recall well feeling rejected but it was my own pain to sit with and when I did, life changed because I changed. I thought maybe I was forgetable but it was less that and more that I had forgotten… me. I had forgotten that I am altogether lovely, holy, divine, worthy.”
Maybe it’s less about being forgotten by others… and more about me… forgetting me.
Or maybe there’s no Tribe. There’s just me and Love and more tea and good memories to recall and even more to create.
Either way, I am grateful indeed. ❤