Letting Go

I believe there comes a time in any path of healing, where we are asked to let go. A time when we have flipped over all of the possible stones of 'why' and 'how could they' and 'what did that mean' and there is nothing that remains except a conscious choice to let go.

I re-learned that lesson recently with 8. My heart simply could not fathom what she had thought or felt that had brought her to a place where she responded to me as she did. And when I closed the door on communication with her, I realized that I would never have the answers that we always ask in the process of trying to understand, forgive, and heal. Even if I hadn't closed the door, I still most likely would have never had those answers, for it would have been difficult to trust that her words were truthful. And so, I learned how to sit in the unknown, and ultimately, have been learning how to let go. Considering the social conditioning that runs contrary to this, it has been challenging.

But the process of letting go that has prompted this blog, actually has very little to do with 8. This morning I went to see the local Marakame for a Huichol Medicine session. For the past few weeks I have been feeling as though I am straddling a ravine, frozen and incapable of safely moving to the other side. When I had a PSM treatment earlier this week, I realized how disconnected I had been, how deeply I had receded from the world around me - my practitioner had in fact mentioned that when she saw me in the waiting room and looked into my eyes, it seemed as though I was very far away. I was.

After my treatment with her, I felt better and I also became aware of something residing in my lower abdomen that needed to be released. For lack of better words, I described it to her as 'the root of much misery that no longer belonged' and asked how I could enable it to be removed. Her suggestion was to see the local Marakame. And so I did.

Since my treatment with him this morning, several things have risen to the surface - doors or openings, as the Marakame would say. And in response to his encouragement, I have allowed myself to become aware of those openings and to take action to move into them.

This evening, I found myself writing in my journal about the sexual abuse . . . and for the first time, I was able to see it as an opportunity for a mindful rebirth of my womanhood. Rather than lament what was taken from me, I asked myself what the possibilities would be if I viewed it as an opportunity to delve into the true nature of being a woman. So many of us are disconnected from the process of entering into womanhood as it is, even without significant trauma to disrupt that connection even further. And here, in this moment, I could see the gift of being able to mindfully connect to this experience. I could see the freedom and the beauty.

Not long after I had written this, my mind traveled back to an earlier journal entry - one that I had written this past week in response to an experiment that I'm taking part in - A Year to Live. In my 'bucket list' of things that I would do, if I only had a year to live, I had written that  would forgive the men who had marred my experience of becoming a woman. Namely my theater instructor. It occurred to me, as I remembered this, that perhaps this was an opportunity to forgive him, and in doing so, to release both of us from this darkness.

Just a few minutes ago, I wrote him a letter. Short. Poignant. Anonymous. Acknowledging the impact of his actions on my life. Extending forgiveness. Sharing compassion and empathy for the agony he must have experienced in his own life that brought him to that space. Wishing him peace, Wishing him love. Wishing him healing.

And doing so from a very clear and open-hearted space. By acknowledging his human-ness, I make space for my own. By focusing on the gifts that are present in this experience, I am honoring my own wholeness. And in doing this, I am learning what it is to be a woman. And what it is to let go.

A Walking Paradox

Some days the rhythm of breathing is one filled with silence that covers your thoughts, words, and actions with a veil.
That has been the past 8 days.

I have retreated deeply into myself . . . taken refuge in the covers . . . been at a loss for words to explain how I've felt or to share where I've been. In glimpses of moments I have found relief . . . and in agonizing hours I have mulled possible means to an end. Always wondering where this came from . . . and then I am reminded . . . in just a few weeks, it will be the time of year 9 years ago when I chose to end it all.

I don't think I will ever forget what it felt like to wake up still alive . . . after over-riding my own primal instinct to choose death. I don't think I will ever forget what it felt like to choose death . . . and to have it ripped away from me and replaced with life.

My body has certainly not forgotten. It seems to take me through a cycle of hell every year in an attempt to flush the past from its' cells . . . only to find 365 days later that some residue still remains.

Some psychologists would say that suicide is an attempt to kill a part of your soul that no longer needs to exist. That represents a stain so deeply entrenched in the warp and weft of your life that you feel the only way to rides yourself of it, is to cut it out. That the need to separate from this piece of yourself is so strong, that you will go to all ends to remove it, to be released from it, to be free. When I first read that several years ago, it resonated. There were layers of stains that I wanted freedom from . . . a never-ending cycle of remembering that brought pain and suffering. A good day, for me, then, was having fifteen minutes of space in my head and heart where I didn't want to end it all . . . where life was bearable . . . where I could breathe.

And so, in this past week, as this urge has come to the surface again, I have found myself of two mindsets about it. One in which I have allowed myself to sit in that space and to wrap myself in the whispers of madness that suffocated me so long ago. And one in which I have acknowledged that nine years ago I did die, and that each year since then, I have died and been reborn again.

I am, what one practitioner referred to as, a walking paradox.

A paradox that was birthed on the day that the medication that was supposed to help me live was used as a means to help me die. A paradox that took root when I woke up alive and made a promise that I would stop taking all of the medication and find a different answer for myself.

Nine years later, I am living that answer and using it as a foundation to help others.

For every moment these past 8 days that I have felt terrible . . . the moments where I have worked with others in supporting their health and wellness have been moments where I have felt alive and whole . . . moments where the residue of my past has washed away.

And so once again, I find myself in the process of dying . . . and hoping that if I truly embrace this loss . . . if I let go of this event in my life that so deeply defined me . . . that I will step fully into living.

Up to the Mountain - Patty Griffin

I went up to the mountain
Because you asked me to
Up over the clouds
To where the sky was blue
I could see all around me
Everywhere
I could see all around me
Everywhere

Sometimes I feel like
I've never been nothing but tired
And I'll be walking
Till the day I expire
Sometimes I lay down
No more can I do
But then I go on again
Because you ask me to

Some days I look down
Afraid I will fall
And though the sun shines
I see nothing at all
Then I hear your sweet voice, oh
Oh, come and then go, come and then go
Telling me softly
You love me so

The peaceful valley
Just over the mountain
The peaceful valley
Few come to know
I may never get there
Ever in this lifetime
But sooner or later
It's there I will go
Sooner or later
It's there I will go

A Pine Cone Night

Some days are more peaceful than others . . . sometimes I can find a good space from my heart to live from. And other days I cannot.

Last night before I fell asleep I wrote in my journal. I was very angry with 8. Per my request, we are not speaking and we no longer cross paths anywhere, even in the cyberworld. I was respectful in my request. I chose to leave her with a message of love and support rather than anger and grief, stating that she would be welcome to open the door to my life again when she loved herself, when she was capable of being honest with herself and others, when she was willing and able to have an equal and balanced friendship . . . and I told her that I have faith in her ability to achieve those things, and to make healthy choices for herself and her family.

Stepping aside like this has been no easy task for me.

One of my closest friends shared this quote with me, 'This is what is hardest, to close the open hand because one loves.' ~ Nietzsche

There is truth in that.

For the most part, I have been able to let go through breathing, biking, mantras, and visits to the ocean. There are, however, moments when I fall prey to my emotions and to my head and I circle the wagons in a camp of anger, despair, sadness, frustration, etc. Of course my heart center speaks in those moments and tells me that there was a bigger purpose for all of this to happen, and that perhaps I can only see some of it right now. Grandmother Ocean says the same, and continues to ask me to let go.

But last night was one of those wagon-circling nights . . . and I was angry. Not at the loss of what could have been . . . because in all honesty, what could have been, would have been disastrous. I was angry that I had been lied to. That she had knowingly led me down this path of deception and watched me open my heart so widely and honestly to her . . . and didn't share the full reality with me. I felt like a fool. I felt like I had been played. I felt used - emotionally and physically.

Echoes of abuse . . . that made for a long night. One where my heart felt empty . . . as though all of the energy that had been nourished there recently . . . all of the intention and the repetition of mantras . . . simply vanished, leaving a hollow space and a sense of not being part of this world.

Which left space for anything and everything to come flooding in. Which made for a long night. Which caused me to sleep for most of the night with a pine cone from Mama Sequoia in my hand, pressed against my heart. And in every waking moment, repetition of my mantra. Exhausting. I had dreams of I don't know what about who knows what. I only know that I was restless and angry.

And thankfully woke up this morning feeling a bit more put together . . . a bit more whole . . . and no longer angry. She did use me, knowingly or unknowingly. And I also chose to step into her life, so I hold responsibility in that as well. I didn't have the full story. And I assumed that as a friend, there was a basic level of respect and trust present that didn't require me to have the full story. Lesson learned.

It's not an echo of the abuse I encountered as a teenager. For that, I hold no responsibility, because I was a child. I wasn't old enough, or knowledgeable enough to know what to look for, or to understand what was appropriate or inappropriate.

And too, the difference here is that I stepped away from 8 on my own accord. I set my own boundaries. I respected myself. And I still have my life, my path, and my community intact. She took nothing from me because I didn't allow for it to be that way.

I hope that next time I am wiser . . . that I watch more carefully . . . that I listen more deeply . . . that I create my boundaries more firmly from the start, and do so with an open heart. I also hope that whomever comes into my world next in this capacity, is respectful, honest, and authentic.

As for 8 . . . I hope that my words and my time in her life have served her well. I hope that she finds wholeness. If we're meant to cross paths again, we will. And if we're not, then we won't.

"I just hold on to Nothing
See how long Nothing lasts..."

Living From Your Heart

Excerpted from The Wonder of Living in the Heart in Sacred Fire Magazine Issue 10

. . . That place inside is where your heart beats its gentle rhythm, that place you point to when you point to yourself, that place where your deepest, truest self lives. Babies are born living from this space. Small children still know how to live there. But we, in Western culture, teach them to live in their minds rather than in their bodies and their hearts. We may be the only culture that does this. Aboriginal peoples grow up still living in their hearts, still connected to nature and wonder.


We do not. We grow up living in our heads, disconnected from our deepest experiences, from our connection to the Earth and to all of life. I am convinced that this is part of why we are destroying the Earth and aboriginal peoples are not - because we (unlike them) are out of touch with our bodies and hearts, where our sense of kinship with the rest of life lives. By learning to live in our hearts again we can reconnect with that sense of kinship and with our deepest experiences of life. We can reconnect with the wonder and immense power of nature.

. . . You feel as though you are coming home after a long absence, and in a very real sense you are doing just that. You are coming home to the way life was meant to be lived. You are coming home to your truest, deepest self. You are coming home to . . . well, life.

. . . It is in the heart center that we feel our inherent worth as human beings, and that we feel the inherent worth of all other beings. The heart center is a place of love for yourself and for all Creation. It is the place where you experience your larger self - where you know, as one of my teachers kept telling me that "you are so much more than this."

This morning, I read this upon waking . . . and realized that my focus could be turned away from the area of my body that is numb, towards my heart. Because ultimately my heart is the root of all else, and has the ability to transform anything that I feel elsewhere. I laid one hand in my heart space, and one hand on my lower abdomen, breathing deeply and repeating the mantra, 'Here in this moment, is who I am.'

And slowly I understood myself to be larger than the pain that this process of facing the sexual abuse and rape has brought to me. I felt little need to 'understand' how those experiences shaped me. And instead fell into the rhythm of my body, into its softness, and into its wholeness. I recognized the safety that was inherently found in being present to my heart center. As I did this, the numbness dissolved.

This will be part of my waking meditation each morning.

Ovulation

I wish that I understood why this particular aspect of my cycle causes so much distress for me. I find myself again at day 14 and even with the small steps forward that I have seen in this process . . . the progress halts and slides back again. Suddenly I am numb again. Suddenly my mantra is no longer holding me present to this and creating a safe space. Suddenly I want food that will give sensation to that area, even in the form of bloating and heaviness. Something that will surround it and keep me anchored in an area that I can no longer feel again.

Perhaps it is so difficult because it represents the ultimate gift of being a woman. This, some would say, is the source of our power - to create human life. Yet, I cannot exist in that space. While I'm certain that some of this is rooted in having had an abortion and the energetics of that process, I would also say that my experience of rape as a teenager also feeds into this as well. There was no protection time and time again, yet I never became pregnant. Was I just that lucky? Or did my body protect me that dutifully? Did it know intrinsically that my survival depended on being able to leave home, and begin a new life?

If so, then I question what it must have experienced in finally opening to that power . . . only to have the process halted in its tracks.

A Dream . . . A Wish . . . and a Miracle

A dream . . .

In my dream, I was in the men's bathroom. I had just stepped into a stall that was rather spacious. The door wouldn't quite close correctly, so I was holding on to it with one hand. I was planning on living there it seemed. And had apparently already spent much time there, as I saw some of my belongings in the stall. A man passed by and said something to me. Not wanting to disclose my female identity, I deepened my voice and grunted something in response. (If you ever want a laugh, ask me to do this in real life.) I peered up and over the top of the stall, and found someone that I knew looking right at me. Much like Wilson on Home Improvement, I left most of my face shielded behind the stall door, with only my eyes, forehead and top of my head exposed. Certainly that would not disclose my gender. Suddenly the door began to swing open, and I had to grab it quickly to stop it. The person that I knew looked right at me and asked me what I was doing in the men's bathroom. And I quickly ducked and hid behind the stall door, hoping she would leave. She stepped closer and asked again. When I realized that she wasn't going to leave, I mumbled that there was more space in the men's room than there was in the women's. That it was more comfortable to me. And then I peered over the edge of the stall and made her promise that she would never tell anyone that I was living there, or that I was female.

A wish . . .

As I was watching the National Parks DVD this evening, a narrator was speaking of how our experiences in these parks become something that we pass on to our children in the future . . . a heritage of memories that we create in these natural worlds. Perhaps I am simply overly tired because I've been picking myself up from the ground for the past month . . . or perhaps my bike ride this morning to the ocean, where I decided that I was married to the ocean, the trees, and the earth has me overly emotional . . . but there was a gut-wrenching turn of my stomach when I heard the narrator say this . . . and tears welled up in my eyes. If there is one thing I would lay down my life for, it would be for this Earth. And if there was one thing that would make me want to have children . . . it would be to share this Earth in the way that I know it with them. I recently have found myself wondering if in the process of healing, I will feel the maternal clock ticking that so many of my friends do. Until now I have remained rather immune to it.

A miracle . . .

That's what I need right now as I turn myself towards the unknown and let go of things that no longer serve me . . . people who do not support me . . . and labels that only serve to contain me. I have to admit to feeling very isolated right now . . . and uncertain as to how this will unfold. Especially as my body has turned up its sensitivity to food right now . . . anything outside of my modified Body Ecology diet has me feeling as though I'm losing my mind. Interesting twist considering that right about now is when I want comfort food the most.

Here in This Moment is Who I Am

There has been a self-imposed silence on my part recently. I deactivated my Facebook account, took a break from blogging and even took some time away from personal emails. I felt the need to sit with myself . . . quietly . . . and listen to what my body was speaking to me. Away from the chatter that can so easily distract me . . . away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the world . . . I wanted to check in with myself.

In the past ten days, much has occurred . . .

- I submitted my application for a boon/pilgrimage in the Huichol tradition with the intention of using it as an opportunity to heal from the sexual abuse and rape.

- I found the graduate school that I want to attend.

- I was invited to become more involved in the inner workings of the nonprofit organization that I contract with.

- I held the first Women's Circle.

- I closed the door on my friendship with 8, and requested that she contact me when she was in a healthier place. This pains me and yet,  I have faith that is what is best for both of us, for now.

Strangely, or not so strangely . . . after I submitted my application for the boon, everything in my life seemed to quiet down and doors began to open. The faith that I held and the step that I took, with the love and support of my community, seems to have brought me more deeply into my life and into myself.

Today, I spent my Thanksgiving Day cycling along the ocean, meditating in the water, and giving gratitude for all that has been provided for me in my life. I also spent a significant portion of the day repeating the title of this blog to myself. It is a new mantra for me - one that came to me after my PSM treatment a week ago. What it seems to do, is anchor me to the core of my body, forcing me to remain present to what I feel in my heart and in my physical self, rather than to what I'm thinking or fearing.

As I bike, I silently repeat, "Here in this moment, is who I am." As I walk. As I lie in bed. As I meditate. But mostly, as I bike. And with that repetition, comes an awareness of the movement of my hip flexors, my piriformis muscles, my quads, my hamstrings, my abdomen, my core . . . an awareness that grounds me within myself . . . that allows me the opportunity to move through the numbness that is usually present there. A movement that allows me to safely explore what it is like to be alive and aware in that region of my body.

It has been a profound experience . . . one that has already helped me to move through some feelings of anger, has brought me to tears, has caused feelings of awe in the awakening of that energy, and has shown me once again, the tremendous healing powers of intention when linked with action, and the incredible intelligence of the human body.

For that, I have gratitude.

Choices

I rode through another crash into despair yesterday evening.

And today, I'm making a choice.

I can either choose to see what's happening as a pathology. And I can seek Western medicine options including drugs and talk therapy because I 'think' I'm crazy. Or I can choose to see this as a healing crisis that is a sign that I'm on the verge of approaching the root of so much pain in my lifetime. And I can listen to what my body has to say, what it feels, and respond accordingly.

With the first approach, I'm broken. For a lifetime. With the first approach, I'm a victim. With the first approach, I am powerless.

With the second approach, I'm approaching wholeness. For a lifetime. With the second approach, I'm making a choice to ride this out. To trust the work that I have done specifically in the past 5 years, and to trust the professionals who have guided me through that. With the second approach, I am empowered.

I have had professionals tell me that I was clearly misdiagnosed in my early 20's. After I have shared e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. with them. No holds barred. Professionals who specialize in mental health disorders. I have lived my life free of western medication and treatments for seven years. I have transformed my diet and my lifestyle to be a complete 180 from what it was before. I have constantly stepped forward and followed my heart, and each time I have, I have found myself happier . . . and my world has opened wider. People look to me for guidance. They listen to what I have to say. They respect me. They are inspired by me. People that I care for and love . . . whom I respect . . . whom I look to for guidance . . . and whom inspire me.

And I am sitting on the cusp of a path that simultaneously terrifies me AND excites me.

The only 'crazy' in all of this, is that I'm allowing my head to have control here. Yes, it's a good head. It serves it's purpose and helps me to understand the bigger picture. It keeps my heart safe.

This is the pattern for me. My heart spills wide open as a teenager. I'm raped and sexually abused at a time in my life when I am forming my identity. When I'm taking my first steps into a community. When my skills and talents are just beginning to shine through and the possibilities look endless.

And I retreat. I don't give up. But I retreat. I hide. I hurt. I lock down. I still persist in being recognized for my gifts. I still push on . . . because I know that it is the ONLY way out of the pain. But I give the reins to my head. To keep me safe.

I go to a prestigious arts college. And my heart spills wide open again. There's too much pain, and no community to support it. I'm labeled. I'm diagnosed. I'm put in a box. And again, I give the reins to my head. To keep me safe.

I retreat. i don't give up. But I retreat. I hide. I hurt. I lock down. I still persist in being recognized for my gifts. I still push on. . . because I know that it is the ONLY way out of the pain. I do it out of spite to some degree. My heart refuses to give up on what it knows 'can be'.

I find a community of women who support me. My heart spills open again. I fall in love. And then I become pregnant. And then I terminate the pregnancy. For reasons that I can't even speak to or emotions that I can't even experience until three years later. And I give the reins to my head. To keep me safe.

I retreat. I don't give up. But I retreat. I hide. I hurt. I lock down. But these women won't let me disappear. And they keep me in the sun. They support my determination. They nurture me.

And slowly, things begin to unfold . . . I begin to find a community . . . I begin to understand what some of my gifts are . . . I begin to step into the light again. And when I do, I'm given recognition beyond anything that I would have dared to imagine.

I fall in love. My heart breaks open. And the work that I'm doing . . . falls apart . . . in my eyes. In hindsight I understand it more clearly. The how, the why, the reasons . . . and what I gained as a result. It put my foot in the door in a big way. But at the time, I see only failure.

I retreat. I don't give up. But I retreat. I hide. I hurt. I lock down. And not only do these women keep me in the sun, but another group of women step into the picture. And they teach me how to listen to my heart. How to walk through the pain. How to love myself.

And in that process, I begin to step forward again. I make a decision about graduate school that seems crazy. Yet it is supported by the people who love me and respect me. So I trust my heart. I trust the signs that I'm given. I trust the women around me. And my head supports the vision. And I move forward.

Here I am, three years later with so many beautiful, supportive, loving, amazing, inspiring individuals in my life, that I'm never at a loss for someone to say 'I love you' to. And in these three years, I've learned how to listen to my body. And I've learned how to listen to the natural world around me. And I've learned how to live with my heart wide open. Even when it causes pain.

I have a choice. I can allow what happened to me when I was a teenager put a glass ceiling on my life, assign a value to my worth, and put me in a box. OR I can choose to plunge into what is in front of me, and have faith that I have everything that I need in order to break through that glass ceiling, assign my own value to myself, and live, free.

He didn't come to me in this lifetime so that I could give up. He came with a message for me. He woke me up and guided me here to this moment. To this community. To this path. He came to me, so that I could be free.

So, yes, this is painful.  Exhausting. Overwhelming. Yes, I can't see where I'm stepping. But every cell in my body calls to take that step. My heart hasn't allowed me to rest in weeks. And the only times that I have received peace, are times when I'm present in my body. When I've allowed my heart to take the reins.

When I've had faith.

For the people that I love, I am a pit bull. I will go to any length to make certain that they have what they need in order to heal, be happy, and live their lives fully. I have done this again and again and again for my closest friends and for people that I didn't even know, but whose pain I could relate to. I did it when the administration of my graduate school program made changes that were, at best, misguided.

And here, in this moment, I am making that same commitment to myself. Fuck the labels. Fuck the boxes. Fuck what was pushed upon me as a teenager.

I am healthy. I am whole. I trust my heart. 

I will stand in the high tide. I am faith.

Fried . . .

Like an egg. Three hours of sleep. And a constant ache in my heart. I texted my acupuncturist this morning to see if she could squeeze me in on Tuesday. If it's an emergency, she replied. Because she's going out of town. I can't decide what qualifies as an emergency. Or if this is one.

I'm ricocheting around again emotionally, energetically, mentally, and physically. And there is a part of me that would like to believe that I just have to find the right combination of things to implement in my life . . . and that will pull me down again . . . back into my body . . . back into my feet. Everything that I know how to do, is once again . . . not working.

I will admit here, in a rather coded way, that I do know one thing that I believe will work. If I do it. And I'm struggling in putting my faith into it. But I also believe that my hesitance is part of the reason why I'm ricocheting so much. And that anything that I do leading up to that actual moment of decision and action . . . is only a temporary bandaid. I could be wrong. Very wrong though.

Oh would you listen to my head talking again. And again. And again.

I had breakfast with two beautiful women today . . . that temporarily lifted my spirits. Good medicine for the soul. But by the time I was halfway home . . . I felt them plunging. Beyond clean up my apartment today and sell some books, I really don't know that I'm going to do anything. I'm exhausted.  Though I need to. I know.

I would just much rather hide under the blankets. Last night before I went to sleep, I rolled some mugwort into a ball and asked for guidance on what it was that I needed to know in order to walk through this aspect of my life, with 8. I believe that answer came in the form of what happened last night. Perspective on the situation and clarity in my own feelings.

One of the women I had breakfast with today, said that she read somewhere that by the time we get dressed in the morning, we've already lost 80% of our energy to everything that we're plugged into - technology, family, friends, work, etc. Which explains why we're all so exhausted . . . and it made me think about what my biggest drains are on my energy - the abuse and the rape. Choosing to release them will put me in a new energetic space.

Or I could just shave my head. That might help too.

Fake It Until You Make It

I woke up at 12 AM. Wide awake. Concerned about 8. Our lack of communication. The next few days that are so big for her. My heart trusts that she is okay. My head has been having a field day.

Which is why, this isn't really about her. Our lack of communication. Or the next few days that are so big for her. This is about me.

I was watching Grey's Anatomy . . . part of my insomnia routine. And at some point for a reason that I can't quite place, I started sobbing. This particular episode dealt with a lot of pediatric cases. And it also dealt with relationships.

I don't know how to tie all of the things in my heart together, so I'll just list them.

- There are more men in my world these days. More men slowly becoming friendlier towards me . . . some of whom are showing interest in something beyond friendship. Of course there also seems to be more men in my world who are being completely inappropriate as well. But I'm trying not to put energy towards those random strangers who feel it necessary to be lewd. I know that it's inevitable that I open my heart towards these men in my life - whether as friendship or dating. This is not a bad thing. I need to do this in order to heal. I feel that in my body. It's not that it's going to dictate who I spend a lifetime with in the future . . . at least not in the sense of all of this work leading to me suddenly being 'straight'. I do love women and men equally. Without filtering for 'parts'. I always have. Long before I was ever abused or raped. Long before I ever had the abortion. The reality is, that it is much harder for me to trust men. And since I've moved here, I've been blessed with good men, who are slowly teaching me how to trust. But I still have a long way to go. And I sense, in all honesty, that there will be one man in all of it, who I end up in a relationship with. I don't know who. But my heart tells me that something needs to be healed . . . that can only be healed in the context of a relationship. I could be wrong. And I feel the resistance in my body to what my heart says . . . which only serves as evidence for what is being said.

- Earlier tonight I had a phone conversation with a good friend . . . who is currently at a crossroads in her own life. She's stuck. In all senses. And I'm trying to help her in the only way that I can right now - by holding space for her to build her practice. By handing over what I know. By holding her accountable. By pointing out the inconsistencies in a loving way. And by sharing my community with her. She's a resilient woman. And a beautiful one. And she talked tonight about how she wants it all. Not just her practice. But a man and a family too. Her last two boyfriends have been lost souls, stuck in their own issues. And so I said to her, 'get yourself unstuck, so that you can attract someone else who is also unstuck. Live your passion, so that you can attract someone else who can live their passion.' . . . and later . . . found myself wondering about the set of people that I have been attracting this year, including 8. Obviously, it's about boundaries. That's a no-brainer. But it also seems to be about being unavailable. Being these wonderful, exciting, amazing people . . . who are completely unavailable. Look in the mirror my friend. You are what you attract. Regardless of how the 'unavailability' occurs. I am unavailable. I have so much energy tied around the rape, the abuse, and yes, the termination. 8 is the closest I have come to being able to look at that honestly . . . to see it fully . . . and to share it with someone.

- I love 8. I have no doubts regarding that. And just like I see these other things in my life that will be created - the nonprofit, my MT practice, PSM, Marakame, grad school for Public Health . . . I see her and her children in my future as well. My heart sees all of this. I have a starting point. And I have a milestone marker. I know very very very little of the steps in between. And so I'm being asked to have faith. To live . . . in faith. To be . . . faith. And in the process of faith, 8 is a symbol to me. One that I cannot become attached to or have expectations of . . . like Raihan in some regards because I could do neither of those things with him. But I need to also acknowledge that she is a symbol to me . . . of my own journey towards healing . . . of faith . . . of what I want in this lifetime madly and deeply - a partner and a family.

- Speaking of madly and deeply . . . that would be an apt description for how I sobbed this morning . . . when I realized how incredibly lonely I am. Not lonely for community or friends. I have both. And gratitude for both. Lonely . . . so deeply lonely . . . so incredibly . . . amazingly . . . heartwrenchingly lonely for a partner. For one person in this world that I can connect with on all levels. The intensity of these emotions surprised me. Profoundly. I have a beautiful life. And I have always said that I would be celebrate my life each day regardless of whether I was single or in a relationship. I do. I have experienced so many things as a result of being single and being able to live my life as I pleased. I have grown in so many capacities. I'm healthy on so many levels. There is no regret for any of this. And yet there is a profound loneliness that sits at the root of all of this. All it took was for Arizona to say 'I love you' to her girlfriend tonight and I was a complete mess. Not because I can't say that to 8. I will, eventually. When the time is right for both her and I. I was a mess because I want to say it. I want to be able to say it. I want to have the opportunity TO say it. And to hear it in response. I tell my friends all of the time that I love them. I think it takes half of them by surprise since it's a phrase that you don't usually say unless you're dating someone. But there is truth when I say it. I do love them. And so I say it. But saying it a million times to your friends . . . does not equal saying it one time to the person you want to spend your life with.

- Family. And for this one . . . I actually have to stop and focus on breathing . . . because even just thinking about writing about it . . . brings tears to my eyes. I want family. It's not that I feel the need to bear children. It's that I want children in my life. Children who are going to look to me every day for stability and support and unconditional love. Children who are going to press all of my buttons . . . and who are going to make me laugh . . . and who are going to make me cry . . . and who are going to make my heart sing. My heart beats fiercely for that. I don't know that I would be able to peacefully accept a lifetime without children. Honestly.

- I am exhausted. I've been supporting the people in my life as fully as I can. And I've been doing an exceptional job at taking care of myself . . . well . . . perhaps exceptional is a strong word . . . there is always room for improvement. The reality is, I've been keeping a good balance and not overextending. But here, in this moment, I am exhausted. I need some support. I need someone to hug me and tell me that it's going to be okay. Really okay. I might even need a shoulder to cry on. I don't know. And I get that all that I have to do is ask. But right now I'm too tired to ask. It's easier just to get on my bike and go for a ride. Or pull out my yoga mat and breathe. But it's not the same.

The reality is . . . I'm terrified. All logic aside . . . stepping away from the analysis . . . dropping the synchronicity of everything that is unfolding . . . just looking within . . . I am terrified to do this. I am terrified to walk through this. I am terrified to feel this. I am terrified to sit in it. It feels ominous - as though it's going to gut me. And when I look at the responsibilities that I have on my plate . . . there is no space for that. There's not even space for this - being awake in the middle of the night. And yet there has to be . . . because it has already started. Nothing short of cutting 8 out of my life and closing off ALL of the opportunities in my life . . . will halt this . . . and even that would only be temporary.

I actually did think tonight of shutting the door on 8. Terrible, I know. But it's because of what she represents to me. Not because of who she is. Somewhere deep inside I was caught in the transitions of her life . . . as a way to avoid dealing with this particular transition in my life. I think Mama Sequoia knew this . . . and I believe that is why she asked me to bring 8 to her . . . and why she gave me the homework that she did . . . so that they could forge a connection that would ultimately help both of us. I think she knew I was getting stuck on this. And why. Being in that space would serve neither of us. So she stepped in.

My acupuncturist once said to me, that in each opportunity for healing, there is always a choice to be made. You can always choose to sidestep it . . . for now . . . and that is an honorable decision if it's what you need in this moment. If you feel as though you don't have what you need in order to survive . . . and in order to live it fully. However, in choosing this, you have to recognize that this lesson will circle back around to you, at another time, in another way. And you will be given the same choice again. Some people spend a lifetime refusing to choose the opportunity to heal.

Here, in this moment, I am choosing. And even as I type that, I feel my entire body resisting.

I want to live fully. These lessons that have been circling around me for years . . . I choose to learn them now. Because I see where I am in this moment. And I see what I want for my future. And I have faith that I will be guided from here to there.

I posted this on 8's FB wall tonight . . . I need to be reminded as well . . .  

When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly. ~ Barbara Winter

Eastern Body Western Mind

That is the title of a book that I have been reading on and off for the past year. This is how I read . . . on and off . . . over one hundred books on my shelf and only about three of them have been read from cover to cover.

The tag line for this book is 'Psychology and the Chakra System as a Path to the Self'. I have to admit to being very skeptical when I first picked it up. Apparently I am more apt to believe in being talked to by a plant than I am to believe in energy centers of the body. Sometimes the word 'chakra' still makes me cringe.

But this book is helping to shift some of that 'twitchy' sensation that occurs. When I bought it last year, I spent a lot of time reading and re-reading the section on the 1st chakra - the root chakra whose element was Earth. Not unlikely at all. Afterall, one needs to be very deeply grounded in order to move forward. And that was a process of two years of work before I ever picked up this book and read anything. So . . . three years of acupuncture, meditation, and qi gong to put myself in my body.

And now we arrive at the second chakra. Its' element . . . water. Synchronicity at its' finest. I will share a small excerpt from the introduction:

Diving in the Waters


As we enter the second chakra, we encounter the watery realm of emotions and sexuality. Where we have worked for grounding and stability in the first chakra, we now cultivate feelings and movement; where we have been concerned with survival and structure, we now focus on sexuality and pleasure. Our associated element has shifted from earth to water, from solid to liquid. In this transmutation we encounter change. Through consistency, consciousness finds meaning through change, it finds stimulation and expansion. 


If we think of the body as a vessel for the soul and spirit, then the element of earth in chakra one provides support and containment for the fluid essence of chakra two, much like a cup holds water . . . In the first chakra, we learned to ground, stabilize, and focus. Now, in the second chakra, our challenge is just the opposite - to let go - to flow and move, to feel, and to yield.

There's not much to say beyond this . . . at least in this moment . . . just an acknowledgement of what I'm moving into and where it will be guiding me. I have been remiss in a particular assignment of mine . . . that was given to me in order to help me on this path towards healing. Every time I sit down to work on it, I feel resistance in my body. So I will try and try again . . . slowly and surely.

In the meantime I am back in the ovulatory phase of my cycle . . . a detail that has me once again separating from the lower realms of my torso. Not only has it caused me much anxiety in the past 36 hours but it has also led me to a double dose of a chocolate cookie and a croissant . . . not the end of my world but certainly nothing that is very helpful either . . . if only in the sense of filling what seems to be an empty space there.

Grandmother Ocean

I've been quiet again. There is only so much that my heart can take, and this week has put me on overload almost every single day. I have gratitude for my genius of a friend who encouraged me to make a list of five things I could accomplish each morning, and then following through on that list. Guaranteed I was productive. And then the very second that the fifth thing was crossed off, I was going around in circles again. She also suggested that I cap my personal writing time to 30 minutes, until I finished everything on my list. That seemed to help as well. Even writing has me spinning in circles.

I've either felt incredibly grounded IN my body . . . AND completely uncomfortable. Or I've been walking around feeling in shock and completely OUT of my body . . . AND completely uncomfortable.

I think, after a PSM treatment, a community fire, and a day at the ocean I can rightfully claim that order has been restored in my system. I feel much more calm. Centered. Whole.

So today, I had my date with Grandmother Ocean . . . who requested that I visit her weekly. I took an incredibly long bike ride along the coast . . . sincerely could not get enough of moving my legs or just moving in general . . . I was like an addict searching for my next fix. But when I finally did lock up my bike and head to the ocean, I stood in the tide for almost an hour and barely moved. That was her request of me.

The tide was a bit tricky today. Sometimes it seemed as though it would never come to greet my toes, and other times it came rolling in up to my mid-thigh area. I watched it for awhile as I stood there . . . asked Mama Sequoia to come and join me - she had a message she needed me to deliver to 8. And then gave an offering to Grandmother, to share my gratitude for whatever she was going to teach me.

Today's lesson was about faith. Quite poignant considering that this is a word that I used at the fire on Friday evening . . . sharing how faith comes from the heart . . . as opposed to belief which comes from the head. I can't say that I've ever truly experienced 'faith'. And yet, in the process that I'm in now, faith is what I'm being asked to have . . . to cultivate . . . to live. Feeling that space in my heart, where it resides . . . begin to heal . . . has left me in tears for most of the weekend. For me, faith is a feeling . . . something that I'm working to breathe light into . . . so that I can live from that space once again.

So, Grandmother Ocean, in her wisdom . . . taught me about faith . . . taught me about standing in the tide, with my feet planted in the sand . . . holding faith above all else as her waters came to me over and over again. She is faith. The second that I moved in the tide, out of fear, instead of staying in place out of faith . . . I almost fell. And after a long dance like this . . . she finally asked me to close my eyes and stand in one place. For some, it would seem that trust would be key in this request. But trust, for me, represents something seen. Faith is what cannot be seen. So I closed my eyes and stood. And at times she was gentle with me. And at other times, not so gentle. There were only a few times where I opened my eyes. And each time I did, I heard her asking me to have faith.

Faith is where I stand right now. For the first time in my life, I cannot see what is ahead, for better or for worse. I cannot even guess as to what the best or worst case scenario would be. The only thing that I can do, is have faith.

Faith is guided by action. My own, in this moment. And I realized today, that those actions can be quick or slow . . . I do have a choice. I don't need to rush into unraveling the pain and humility of the sexual abuse and rape simply because I feel called to do so in a particular way. It is okay . . . more than okay for me to take my time and to build my faith, like a muscle . . . there are smaller things that I can do in the process of all of this . . . that will serve me well in preparation. The space in my heart that is healing . . . that is asking to be my guide as I move forward . . . will let me know when it is time for me to embark on particular things that will move me through this process.  Until then I can rest easy in knowing that while those past events in my life were pushed upon me . . . these events now are choices that I have a say in. Ultimately I will find my way to what I feel called towards. Even if only five tasks at a time.

Uneasy

It doesn't seem to matter that I'm physically exhausted. I can't sleep. I shared some very basic details of the sexual abuse and the rape with someone. Fairly straightforward. Very confidential. And yet I feel as though in doing so, I've exposed something that I can't quite take back. There's no 'undo' button. So I feel my body just waiting . . . waiting to be flooded with memories . . . waiting for the visceral sensations to rise uncontrollably. As though I've invited both of them back into my world again.

It's disconcerting, to say the least.

Growing Pains

I've been quiet the past few days . . . having meltdowns, processing, expanding, contracting, hiding, showing up, having more meltdowns, crying, being angry, reflecting, loving, asking for help, and trying to take good care of myself. Yes I think that about covers it. That, and picking out an orange paint color for one of my walls.

8 is going through an incredibly difficult time right now. And even that is the understatement of the century. As her friend, I have been in the thick of it, when she has allowed me to be. And even when she has withdrawn my heart has very much been there with her. The good news: she has taken the first steps of a very long journey, in a very strong and powerful way. She is going to come through this whole.

I had my meeting with Eliot. And that is all that I can say, for now.

And my world continues to feel as though it is in complete upheaval. Filled with positive possibilities of course . . . but when everything that you once knew to be true about yourself suddenly seems quite the opposite . . . when you can't find anything that feels familiar or comfortable . . . when you spend half of your day completely certain that you must be experiencing a mental health disorder . . . well . . . it's exhausting. Pulling my eyes open in the morning is a humongous task. And usually by 5 PM my body has had enough.

I ache everywhere. I can't tell if it's from an increase in movement, being stuck in a car for four + hours on Sunday, the beginnings of a cold, not enough sleep, not the right kinds of food, or the shifting of energy in my body and its' process of letting go and growing. It is all sorts of unpleasant.

And I am all sorts of wary about embarking on anything regarding healing from sexual abuse or rape right now. I'm not certain where, when, or how I will find the time. Yet, in the maddening circle that I call my life (affectionately of course), I know that taking steps down this path is the only way to truly cultivate my vision for the future. They are interconnected deeply.

So, I'll start with something fun - painting a wall orange. This was actually meant to help me focus on my work, but it serves a secondary purpose of activating the second chakra, which, of course, deals with sexual intimacy, boundaries, movement, connecting to others, etc.

It doesn't hurt that it's also the color of fire ;)

Schematics

My meeting with Eliot is in the very near future. I spoke on the phone today with my PSM Practitioner. I had called because I was feeling 'crazy' again. Except I know that I'm not.

What I honestly feel in this moment . . . is that the universe is pouring all of this onto my plate in a way that is completely overwhelming . . . so that I will finally just step down . . . surrender . . . and give it up to a higher connection.

And honestly, that's all that I can do. I don't know which direction to go right now. I don't feel defeated. Just completely perplexed.

So . . . I made a drawing of how I got from TCM to my current vision for the future . . . mmmm . . . to help me when I talk to Eliot. It makes me laugh.

The Calling

It occurred to me this evening, that I spend an almost obnoxious amount of time writing. For my contract positions, in my journal, and in my three blogs. Literally, every day is filled with words. Curious. I have never written this much in my life . . . and never for paid purposes. But I see health in it. Wholeness. Among the many things that the man who sexually abused me stripped me of . . . was a journal that I had kept during the time of the abuse. He took it from me and never returned it. In part because it detailed the abuse that my young mind was still trying to sort out. It was the only physical evidence of what had occurred in my time of knowing him. And it was perhaps even more dis-empowering to me than the actual abuse itself. My journals have always been sacred to me. They still are.

So I find empowerment and strength in seeing this increase in writing activity (beyond my own journals) as I make a conscious decision to move into this process of healing. Almost as if every word that I write allows me to take back the power that he took from me. That seems to be a compelling way to complete the circle.

In that, I am finally ready to share here what it was that unraveled this past weekend. I'm in a much more confident place than I was before regarding the calling that I heard. And I feel profoundly inspired to do what is necessary to move forward.

I did a writer's weekend with my platonic soul mate . . . stowed away on her partner's little sailboat, we both had a lot of things to accomplish, and we work well together. On Sunday, I was working on a book that I want to begin writing - about women's health. And while I was writing, I mumbled that I should just study Public Health, as I realized that this was going to be bigger than just a book . . . and saw how it was equivalent in scope to the nonprofit organization that I am in the midst of setting up (for CAM practitioners). My partner in crime picked up on what I muttered and proceeded to play devil's advocate with me for ten minutes or so . . . and then I went back to work after sharing that I knew I needed to take some time in nature soon to check in with myself to see when I should return to graduate school for TCM. Five minutes later, the meltdown began.

I had to step outside of the cabin . . . I was in tears as I felt something in my heart and in my body shifting profoundly. Grandfather Fire, the ocean, and the gods shared several messages with me . . . which started with telling me that I was being asked to leave my TCM studies to pursue my Masters in Public Health in order to bring the Elders of the Indigenous tribes much more deeply into the community. That this was the reason why I was so strongly connected into the organizations that I talked about in the last blog entry. I was meant to learn and absorb as much as I could from them in order to support this path.

Now, you need to understand that I don't have a very deep understanding of what one does with a Masters in Public Health. And it's not as if I was 'looking' to change my Master's Path. Anything but. So it seemed rather ludicrous (as do most callings that I receive) to hear this . . . I felt more than a bit crazy. And had it stopped there, perhaps I would have not felt so overwhelmed. But the universe likes to deliver "BIG" these days . . . and so there was more.

I was told that the nonprofit that I was developing would actually be much larger and slightly different in scope than I had first imagined. That it would serve as an incubation space for other public health projects, and that it would include all of the work that I wanted to do (with CAM professionals, with women's health) and also with the indigenous Elders. Uh . . . really? Okay . . .

Next . . . they requested that I study Plant Spirit Medicine . . . that this was the avenue (for me) of learning Chinese Medicine . . . it would provide a solid grounding to the natural world that I would need as I embarked on all of these projects. Moving forward, they assured me that my decision to utilize pilgrimage in order to heal from the trauma of the sexual abuse and rape, was completely appropriate and necessary. And that after doing this, I would be given what I needed in order to apprentice with Eliot on the path of the Marakame. This would provide the lineage that I had been seeking in my TCM studies.

And then the ocean piped in loud and clear . . . calling me to hear her story and to share it with others. Mmm . . . a lifetime of fear of water made this an interesting request. I love the ocean . . . but can't swim . . . and a little over a year ago I tried to tame that fear by walking into the ocean up to my neck and hanging out for an hour or so. Part of that was a process of rebirth. And part of that was trying to close a circle of healing for the abortion. It shifted my relationship with the ocean, but the fear is still present. So I'm not quite certain how I will heed her call. Though I know that I will.

I was asked to continue my work as a Massage Therapist, because it would provide me legitimacy in all of my work. I was also asked to continue to focus on women's health as my specialty . . . that doing so would help me to heal, and that it would also help to support the prophecy that it is the women of this world who will bring us out of crisis and heal the Earth and its' inhabitants. And in continuing my work as a Massage Therapist I was asked to continue to develop the community and the space that I was creating in my back yard . . . that it was an experimental playground for me in order to learn more about how to cultivate community and how community supports health.

And all of this would not only fit under the umbrella of a Masters in Public Health . . . but it would also all lead me back to my studio work and feed that as well.

So . . . I have started researching graduate school programs . . . and have slowly been sharing this calling with people that I love and trust. And slowly I am feeling less and less crazy and more and more excited.

Tis all for now . . .

My Spiritual Life . . . Explained

So, due to a recent moment of enlightenment that has temporarily turned my world upside down, I find myself in a place where I *need* to explain my spiritual life. If I don't, then explaining what happened this weekend will not make complete sense. And each of you know that I have this annoying habit of being thorough. Let's see if I can also be concise this evening.

Sacred Fire Community - I was introduced to this community by an instructor approximately one year after I moved here. This is where it all began. I went. Sat around a fire with a group of strangers I didn't know. Simultaneously felt incredibly uncomfortable and also the strongest sense of community I had ever known. I left and didn't return to these monthly fires again for almost a year, even though they called to me, and even though I had received signs on that first night that this was to be part of my 'home'.

The above community was started by Eliot Cowan, who brought Plant Spirit Medicine (PSM) to the United States, in part due to his connection with J.R. Worsley and his studies of acupuncture. He wrote a book about it, that was recommended by the same instructor mentioned above. The first time I passed the book in the store I thought 'hooey' and kept on walking. Then, one day when I was looking for something to take me out of my head and away from all of the memorizing that I was doing for my studies, so I picked the book up again and this time, bought it. I read it from cover to cover several times, and thought about my own connections with the Sequoia trees.

I wanted to learn more about PSM, but had some deep skepticism regarding it as well, so I kept my distance. Every once in awhile I would hear that Eliot was in town speaking somewhere, but the timing never seemed to work out. Then, in December of 2008, an email for the Interspiritual Conference came across my screen. And guess who was being featured among the Elders speaking that day. I saw that there were scholarships available, and decided that if I could obtain a scholarship, then I would go. I didn't know who any of the other Elders were, only Eliot. The scholarship process was a lottery. And when I heard this I assumed that I wouldn't be chosen, so I soon forgot about it. Then just two weeks before the Conference was set to take place, I received an email stating that I had been chosen for a partial scholarship. After much hemming and hawing, I chose to accept it and decided that the worst case scenario would include hearing Eliot speak and then spending the rest of the time hiking.

Over the course of 2.5 days, my life changed. It seemed as though every moment and every person that I connected with was intentionally placed in my path to deliver something to me. Not only did I have the opportunity to meet many of the people from the fire community that I had attended, including the Firekeeper, but I also slowly found myself hearing wisdom from Elders of Indigenous cultures that echoed some of the deepest held beliefs that I had regarding nature and our relationship to it. I was completely overwhelmed. And then, on the very last day, surrounded by this beautiful community, I heard Eliot speak about the Huichol Indians and their relationship to the physical landscape. How each rock, tree, blade of grass, flower, etc was an ancestor to be listened to. And in hearing him speak, the whole world around me faded until the only thing I was aware of was his voice, and a deep aching sensation in my bones. By the time he finished, I was in tears.

Later that evening, I had the opportunity to sit with the community and watch David Wiley channel the spirit of Grandfather Fire. I was simultaneously deeply skeptical and deeply intrigued. When I went to him and offered a cigar as gratitude, I instinctively knew that there was no 'act' in what I had just seen.

I had found my community - SFC. My spiritual path - Fire. My teachers - Eliot & Grandfather Fire. And my medicine - PSM and Huichol Medicine.

The process for walking into all of this has slowly been unfolding over the past 8 months. It has been a process filled with doubt, and also filled with incredible beauty and healing. I've been the recipient of many PSM treatments which have profoundly shifted me in ways that Chinese Medicine had never been able to and I also received one Huichol Medicine session from a Marakame (Huichol Shaman) in the local community that completed the circle for me in healing from an abortion 8 years ago. I've also had the opportunity to speak with Eliot privately regarding the call I have felt to the path of the Marakame. And I will be meeting with him again to make application for pilgrimage for this.

Making application for pilgrimage has been a struggle for me to accept. I feel a bit twitchy when people use the word 'shaman'. There's a new age bent to it that is not always rooted in indigenous cultures and can be dangerous. It is also something that several years ago I would have laughed at and deemed as 'airy fairy'. But the longer that I have tried to ignore the call, the louder it has become. Essentially, at its roots, it's about bringing people back to nature in the rituals and wisdom of generations of individuals who have sustained life on this planet, in balance with the Earth.

One of the things that I found intriguing about being on the path of the Marakame, is that you are required to have a partner in order to be on the path. Being on the path is about full expression of living . . . and in their eyes, you cannot possibly be living fully if you are single. It, of course, is also about having an anchor to return to in this world, as you do this work. So, if you are single and feel called to begin this path, you can do what is called a 'boon' . . . which is essentially going to pilgrimage as a visitor and giving gratitude to the sacred site . . . and in that, setting the intention of asking the gods to provide you with someone who will be your partner in this lifetime. It would be the modern day equivalent of creating a television commercial about yourself and airing it for ten days straight across the entire world in order to find your mate. Except the gods do most of the sorting for you ;)

When I originally felt this call and spoke with Eliot, I spoke with him thinking that I would go on a boon. However, things have shifted for me in the past couple of months, and rather than use this first pilgrimage to seek a life partner (whom I already believe to be 8), I have felt deeply called to use it as an opportunity to heal from my experiences of sexual abuse and rape . . . that was part of the message I received when I was with 8 and went hiking . . . I just didn't understand the complete picture until I returned home.

There are many details that I don't know about what this path looks like. A significant amount of it is only revealed as you move forward in order to protect the sacred ways of the Huichol Indians. And some of it, I know, but I can't and won't be able to share.  But what I do know brings great comfort and joy to me . . . it resonates. And so I feel comfortable stepping forward, with all of the support that has been provided to me in the SFC, and through my PSM practitioner, the Marakames, and Eliot, into something that my heart is calling for. My connections into this community and into this spiritual path has brought so much peace and richness into my world. And the gifts continue to unfold to me daily as I find myself navigating tremendous shifts in my world, with far less distress than I have ever known before. There is an element of trust and surrender that I experience now . . . and there is also a much deeper connection to my own body and my own needs as well. I feel authentic in who I am. I feel as though I have nothing to hide with the people that I have met through these communities. That is rare. They truly have become 'home' to me.

The skepticism has remained in a smaller capacity. It's healthy, I think. It has kept me in check as I explore all of this. But in the grand scheme, the further that I allow myself to become a part of this community and listen to the call of my heart, the more beautiful my life has become.

And because I did not do such a job at being 'concise', I will leave the details of what happened this weekend to another blog entry.

How Do I Do This?

I put myself in a hot epsom salts bath last night after I came home from class and wrote. I was supposed to have had a massage but it had been canceled. Unfortunately. And I was beginning to freak out a little bit because I felt so weird in my own skin . . . and I knew that I would be doing bodywork with a client today. Not only has it been two months since I've done bodywork - due to my body's most recent smackdown regarding my job situation . . . but I also was having the weird day that I wrote about yesterday.

So to bath. And then to bed. With (finally) a blissful night of sleep. And this morning, when I woke up, I knew that I needed to take care of myself. I felt completely empty and detached from myself. It took me an hour to find my way out from under the covers. And when I finally stood on my own two feet, the first thought in my head was 'how do I do this?'. Intellectually, I knew that I needed to spend time this morning grounding myself back into my skin. But when I posed the question, there was no response from my body as to what it needed. Almost like a circuit had been switched off.

So I stumbled around my apartment for awhile and cleaned up . . . still feeling empty and detached. Even after lighting a candle - part of my morning ritual . . . I still just felt 'outside' of the experience. What next? Shower? Mantras? Flower essences? Meditation? Breakfast? What?

More wandering. And then finally I did take some Minimus flower essences. Slowly I found my way into my skin . . . and decided to start with yoga. Breathing and opening . . . I always forget and am always reminded . . . how painful it can be to breathe . . . how it will bring tears to my eyes in certain asanas . . . and then how reconnected I feel after I've breathed through the pain. This morning was like that. The practice brought me back to myself, and helped me to understand what I needed.

I followed yoga with meditation. Everyday the meditation is slightly different . . . certain pieces from my altar call to be included . . . and they tell me, in the calling what it is that they are bringing to the space. This morning, as I set the space, I realized that my grandmothers and Raihan were calling to me. Mama Sequoia as well.

It was a beautiful meditation. I have such gratitude for what they bring to my life and to my soul. And now, it's time to shower and prepare for the day.

8 has already sent me an email that made me howl with laughter. Followed by a text message that did the same. I have such gratitude for her choosing to be in my life.

Feeling 'Off' . . .

I had a truly odd experience while biking to class today. The chastity belt sensation persisted. But I also just felt uprooted. As though I didn't know where I ended and the rest of the world began. Every single curb that I came close to I almost knocked into. I simply could not calculate the distance and control my bike accordingly. Thankfully the cars cut me a break - save for one guy in an SUV who decided to cut me off and then wolf-whistled at me afterwards. Insult to injury. Yes.

I was wearing my favorite blue ribbed t-shirt and my jeans, rolled up to my knees with my biking shoes. One of my favorite outfits to bike in. But I recognize that it does leave me appearing a bit more masculine. Normally I don't care. But today it left me feeling twitchy the entire time I was biking. I just wanted to get off my bike and change my clothes. I felt like a monster. And I was feeling incredible sensitive in making eye contact with men - as if they could somehow see through my clothes. And through me.

So . . . twitchy . . . uncomfortable . . . uprooted . . . vulnerable . . . with no sense of boundaries.

I think part of it has to do with the dietary transition. I'm used to having food in my diet that acts as a ballast in grounding me. Now, with the elimination of wheat, sugar, dairy, and eating less protein and more vegetables, not only have I lost some of the 'grounding' sensation that the food brought . . . but my energy is also naturally just lifting higher because the quality and energy of the food is better. It's weird.

The one thing I will say about biking tonight is that . . . well two things . . . 1) it was easier today than it has been in quite awhile to bike - more energy, better flow, better body mechanics (even if I couldn't navigate the bike properly around curbs) and 2) biking home tonight as the fog was rolling in with the crescent moon above, was absolutely beautiful.

Paradox Unraveled

I'm having a hard time with food today. I made lunch - red cabbage, eggplant, radishes, and kale sauteed in balsamic vinagrette with 2 hard-boiled eggs and some cultured greens. And there was something about the texture and taste that turned my stomach and made it difficult for me to chew, much less swallow. I had this exact same dish two days ago and had no problem. So I'm not quite certain what has happened or where it stems from. It seems to be evoking something rather distant and disturbing, but my conscious self can't quite unravel what that might be.

I had an interesting moment on Tuesday afternoon . . . where I realized the contradictory nature of my mindset in terms of my physical self. I was on a conference call for business development purposes, and being coached by the woman leading the call. She asked me to list things that we have not yet achieved and the mindsets that have stopped us from doing so. Then she asked us to list the things we have achieved that truly aligned with who we were, and the personal qualities that we used to get there. And I found a rather interesting paradox.

I listed 'training for the AIDs Ride' as an unfulfilled goal that I have . . . and the mindset was that I was too weak and wouldn't be able to sustain myself physically in it. But then under what I have achieved, I listed 'health/vitality' . . . that would be quite the opposite of being weak, yes? The paradox grows deeper . . . a few weeks ago I finally acknowledged to myself (in part because of this business development course) that I want to specialize in Women's Health and Wellness as an LMT and an LAc. However, when I was writing an article on PMS and Chinese Herbs for this company that I'm contracting with . . . I used some incredibly strong, negative words to describe the female menstrual cycle and ensuing imbalances. I had emailed a copy of the article to 8, asking for her feedback . . . in part because she works with women day in and day out. She pointed out the verbage that I was using in the article and how it had a very different tone from what I used when I was talking about the herbs. So I rewrote it, and changed the tone . . . and her response was that the version sounded like it was written 'for a woman, by a woman'.

It caused me to question the nature of my perspectives on being a woman. Especially since that very same day, I was in the middle of ovulating, and recognized just how uncomfortable I was with the knowledge of what my body was doing. I wanted to crawl out of my skin . . . and it wasn't all about the increased physical desire that it produced. Some of it was just pure discomfort over the knowledge that the process was occurring. Nothing felt 'natural' or 'life-giving'. And when I couldn't sit in it any longer, I took a walk and bought a cookie to eat . . . to cut that awareness out of my conscious self.

So this leads me to wonder if there is a root belief within my physical self that I am too 'weak' . . . and how this fits into the discomfort that I feel in a very natural process in my body. Was this a response to the sexual abuse and rape? Or does this stem even further - back to the physical abuse that I encountered as a child, and my mother's detachment and unwillingness to educate me about my own body? Is it culturally ingrained as well? And how will all of this feed into the path I'm on right now?

Where do I start?

Even today, I don't feel centered in my body. I feel myself energetically trying to avoid everything between my upper thighs and belly button. Like an energetic chastity belt of sorts . . . it's odd.

Safety in Community

I spoke with the female Marakame tonight. (this all sounds very mysterious doesn't it? But I promise that it's one of the most grounded communities and healers I have ever experienced. I will take some time in the next week to see if I can explain more about them.)

I was anxious for most of the day. And irritable. I was having problems with my internet connection for most of the day which was leading me to the ends of the world in terms of aggravation. The flashing red DSL light was maddening. And making my work impossible to do. So an hour prior to the time I said that I would phone, I finally made myself stop trying to do anything (as if I were truly accomplishing anything anyhow), and I put myself on the yoga mat. It was good.

6 PM came. I phoned. An answering machine. Fuck. Really? An entire day spent with my heart wrapped in knots over this. And no answer? Fuck.

So I hung up and continued my aimless bouncing back and forth. Then a phone call with 8 . . . that evoked more than I could put here or anywhere, really. And then, I tried again, and this time I finally did connect with the female Marakame. Of course my side of the conversation with her felt rather aimless as well. None of the well-formed sentences that I had the night prior when speaking to a good friend arrived . . . she must have thought me mad. Or at the very least, quite inept in the communication department.

But beyond that, this I will say. She made me feel incredibly safe. And not just with her. But with the entire community of people in my life that have brought me to asking her for help. Including the Tsurinaame that I want to apprentice under. In only a few sentences. I could hear her heart in them. I know that I can trust these people, this community, this spiritual path to lead me home.

So, her suggestion, after we went through all of the details . . . was to have the meeting I had already scheduled with the Tsurinaame regarding my call to pilgrimage. And explain to him how things have shifted and clarified for me regarding what I feel the call is for in healing. And to share honestly that I have spoken with her, and see what his thoughts are regarding the path that would be the most beneficial to me in healing. It may be that he has some insight into all of this. It may be that he feels called to do this work with me through pilgrimage. It may be that he agrees that I should pursue the work with the female Marakame instead. I don't know. But the female Marakame has shared with me that I can be completely honest with him. That his ultimate goal in working with me, in any capacity, is to help me to heal. And that if I have any discomfort or questions, all that I need to do is share those with him, and he will respectfully hear them and help me to find comfort in the process.

So, my meeting with him is tentatively set for the morning of November 1st. We will see what comes of it and how it all unfolds.

Taking Pause

Today has been a busy day. The downside to taking 24 hours away from technology is that you crash-land into it upon your return. And today started with a 2.5 hour conference call for one of the organizations I'm contracting with. This, combined with my dietary regimen that leaves me feeling as though my feet are floating up by my eyeballs, makes for an interesting tornado of a day. It does not, however, make for a good day to take care of myself. And so, I'm sat here at 8:24 PM, having only had one full meal today at breakfast (eggplant, kale, onion and quinoa), three bites of quinoa as a snack, and several soaked almonds.

Obviously, I need to work on this.

8 and I spoke on the phone today, and also chatted later on Messenger. I think when I said that I would 'embrace' this process, my brain was only allowing me to think of the good, glorious, and beautiful things. Not the mucky, dirty, painful things. I find my brain does that often . . . especially when I go hiking . . . oh yes, it's a BEAUTIFUL trail . . . my absolute FAVORITE . . . but I somehow forget the first two miles are steep inclines with boulders to scramble the entire way. Trail amnesia. So, I'm doing a little bit of boulder scrambling with 8 right now. And that's okay. BREATHE.

The true point of this entry (beyond it being an example that I can write for hours about nothing), is that I did send an email to the female Marakame that my PSM practitioner spoke to. Well, in complete honesty, she had written to me for another reason, and when I replied, I inquired and let her know exactly who I was. Her response was brief and gentle. As she was about to head to a fire vigil and her brain was mush. She gave me her phone number so that I could call her tomorrow. Even though I received the email immediately, I didn't respond. I still haven't. Not even to thank her.

I just needed to give pause to this process. if there is one thing that I have discovered in the past five years of doing this work - via Traditional Chinese Medicine, then via Plant Spirit Medicine, and then with the one Huichol Medicine experience I have had . . . it's that it works. Good. Yes. Great. Yes. Terrifying. Yes. Of course, that, in part, is due to my own commitment to transformation and healing. I recognize that. And my PSM Practitioner echoed that when we spoke on Friday.

So, in this moment, there is a sense of the eternal . . . of knowing that choosing to pick up the phone tomorrow and engage in this dialogue . . . sets a series of events in motion that will ultimately lead me to a healthier, more balanced place. And the process may feel completely unmanageable and terrifying. There is a part of me that questions if I truly want to engage this. I can live without sex. I can even live a lifetime being single. I have plenty of things in my world that are beautiful and fascinating and could keep my attention for decades. Wouldn't it be easier to just close the door on this quietly and walk away?

. . .

And as I ask myself that question I find a sudden craving for marshmallows . . . gee . . . do you think that is an emotional craving? :p

The reality is, I can cut the drama. I'll phone tomorrow. I know I will. For whatever god-forsaken crazy ass reason I haven't been able to find the 'off' button in this lifetime. I just keep on going and going and going like the Energizer Bunny.

So here I go. For better. Or for worse. Or for something in between. It's time to give it up and surrender. Just like with 8.

I am whole. I love myself. I trust my heart.

A Day of Receiving

It struck me last night to take today away from technology. 6 days a week I'm connected to my phone or to my laptop. And it was obvious to me that after last night's meltdown, my soul needed some rejuvenation. So I took today - from sunrise to sunset, away from technology.

8 had sent me an email this morning, letting me know that she was worried about me, and that she had lit our candle. I wrote her back and shared a dream that I had . . . one of speaking with an Indigenous Elder - a woman (not sure from which culture) and she had shared with me that my grandmothers were with me - that I carried them with me everyday . . . they were the beauty of my soul, and as such I was never alone. I had taken some mugwort and put it under my pillow last night. I had asked the mugwort to show me what I needed to know in order to heal . . . and this dream was the response. It was a beautiful dream . . . very peaceful.

And then, I dressed and I biked to the ocean. It was an overcast morning . . . clouds in the sky, the air still damp and slightly chilly. And about halfway there, I kicked into a zone and cycling became effortless. The ocean was calling. I thought perhaps when I arrived that I would meditate or do qi gong, but instead I continued to bicycle. When I reached the more exposed side of the beach, I turned around and came back . . . and in doing so, witnessed a group of surfers . . . one of whom was giving CPR to another surfer. I don't know what happened. And I don't know if they were able to resuscitate him - ambulances and the beach patrol arrived. I just know, in that moment, I said a prayer for him and gave gratitude for my own life.

I played in the tide for awhile . . . dancing with the surf . . . the ocean gave me a poem . . . one that reminded me that it was okay to trip . . . she spoke to me so strongly this morning . . . and I listened and danced with her as I wrote. Then I slowly biked home, stopping for some Kombucha . . . and spotted a card and a small token that I wanted to send to 8. Instead of going home, I went to the park near my house . . . to visit the Eucalyptus tree that I love to meditate with . . . and once there, did some qi gong in the small grove of sycamore and eucalyptus trees that grow there. And then meditated with the tree and spent some time writing in my journal. My heart felt incredibly clear. I felt incredibly connected to my body. Peace came through my soul in waves.

I biked home, and took a nap with my cat. An hour . . . which is long for me . . . in my favorite t-shirt. And then slowly propelled myself out of bed and into the bathtub . . . where I stayed for another hour or so . . . reading about Redwood trees and focusing on 'receiving'. After the bath came some small chores to help my landlord . . . and then sipping some vegetable broth in my backyard while my cat napped on my lap. And then I planted the vegetable garden, and cleaned up from the downpour of rain that we had. After that was finished, I came inside and cleaned my apartment, started laundry . . . and as the sun set, I took some time and I meditated.

Here I sit, peacefully.

What I've recognized today is that while the 'events' that have led me here are ones of sexual abuse and rape . . . the lesson and the root of all of this, is in learning to receive. I am a giver by nature - most women are. And while I have become more balanced in terms of how much I give, I have struggled in truly receiving. Being intimate with someone is about learning how to fully receive. And it's a lesson that needs to be learned in every day life . . . not just in the bedroom.

So the promise that I make to myself . . . is to give myself one day a week - most likely Sundays . . . where my focus and intention are solely about 'receiving'. Where I can play and wander and laugh and explore . . . and learn how to receive all that is available to me, in love and gratitude. I will work on this the other 6 days a week as well. But one day a week, everything will be turned off, and the focus will go inward. This is an absolute, if I wish to step into all that the gods are asking of me.

Today also gave me the opportunity to hear my heart clearly . . . regarding 8 and her role in my life . . . as I sat under the Eucalyptus tree, I wrote this as part of my journal entry:

There are moments where I feel crazy in loving her like this . . . in feeling so clear about what my heart sees in the future for us. For being so willing to feel so much . . . to open so wide. And yet it is what I feel called to do . . . so deeply and profoundly. To understand her. That is what my heart calls for. To understand her, on all levels. And to honor and respect that understanding. I feel my heart making the choice for her to be in my life. Making the choice to understand her. Choosing her to be my life partner, regardless of what the path looks like. That is what the most authentic part of my soul speaks. Clearly and loudly. And with intention. And I embrace it. I trust my heart. I trust hers. I trust the gods.

In my most recent life . . . everything that has felt 'crazy' has been an incredible gift to me . . . and has ultimately brought more joy and light into my day and into my heart. And so . . . I embrace the 'crazy' . . .  

Numbness & Nutrition

Well folks . . . it seems as though I've jumped in the deep end of this . . . and it's only going to get deeper. Today, after a long day at school, I came home and was too exhausted to move. And this meant that I felt too exhausted to cook.

Why? Because I had broken the links of self-care today . . . starting this morning. And as a result, was one step behind all day long. By the time I came home I couldn't meet my own needs. Even if it was as simple as cooking up some eggplant for dinner.

Wednesday I started a modified diet . . . based on the Body Ecology diet. It's essentially to help ease my body of negative gut flora and replace it with positive, healthy gut flora. Strangely, it's very similar to what my body has already been craving for the past couple of weeks. So I honestly didn't think that I would have a difficult time transitioning. And in most instances, I'm not. Out of habit, I still want certain things. But when I sit down to eat, what I have in front of me is incredibly appealing to my body. So these last few days have been a breeze. Today, however, was a different story.

I think the build-up of discomfort over the week just became overwhelming to the nth degree . . . and this evening I found myself lying motionless on the futon, staring at the ceiling, starving and thinking of an avocado burrito. After an hour of internal struggle, I took a walk to the closest taco place and ordered just that . . . with a root beer . . . and then I took a walk across the street and bought a pint of chocolate ice cream and a small box of Oreo cookies. I knew exactly what I was doing. My system was on overload, and I couldn't handle feeling anything anymore. I just wanted to be numb for the rest of the evening. I felt like a criminal. Food in hand. Slinking back to my apartment. I couldn't even bear to think of what my mantras were . . . 'wholeness' and 'self-love' did not fit into what I was about to do. I came home and turned on the season premiere of Ugly Betty . . . a world of mindlessness . . . and ate the burrito . . . followed by some of the chips . . . followed by most of the cookies . . . followed by 1/4 of the pint of ice cream. And with each bite things slowly felt less and less sharp to me . . . it was a cross between feeling as though I was leaving my body . . . and feeling as though there was a lumpy blanket between my body and the pain I had felt for most of the week. It was hard to breathe. But I didn't care. I just wanted to be numb.

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I realized that my plan was going to fail. I couldn't eat anymore . . . and the pain was resurfacing. And so I texted 8 . . . asked her if she could spare some love . . . she did . . . and I shared that I was having a monster of an evening . . . and why . . . She's safe for me.  And she was there tonight. Helping me to breathe through it. Telling me that she was right there with me and that I was safe. Telling me that it was okay to cry. That it was okay to unlock all of this. In that moment, I needed her support . . . and a tsunami of tears and pain and wails just poured out of my soul . . . I could feel her there with me. I could feel her hand on my heart. And i struggled with that feeling. It's hard to allow someone in like that . . . when you don't know if they'll be there for real ever again. I couldn't, even if I tried, document everything that I felt in that outpouring of sobs . . . for her . . . about the abuse . . . about her . . . for him . . . it was all too much to keep track of . . .

And I ended by feeling ashamed . . . for having asked for her support. I still feel that to some degree. This needs to take place apart from her. This needs to be rooted in me. I can't run to her every time it hurts. I don't want to open that door with her . . . and have her not walk through it. So, for next time, I need better coping skills. Other outlets. Other people to call or text. Other things to do. I need to take better care of myself. I need to not place any expectation on her. I think. Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps it's okay to share some of this with her. I don't know. It all feels very unclear right now. (And considering what I ate, I'm not surprised).

I will say this . . . I'm not beating myself up over my actions this evening. I understand what happened to lead me down that road. And I've thrown out everything. I'm relieved that my stomach made me stop when it did. That I didn't polish everything off. I'm relieved that the tsunami of emotions came through. And i'm okay with the fact that I tried to numb it. I'm human. Sometimes you have to shut things off. Even if only for an hour.

With that said, I do hope not to travel down this path again. I probably will. But in all reality, I know that I don't 'NEED' to. I'm not in danger of exploding or harming myself from my emotions. I forget that I don't have the same responses that I did ten years ago. It's hard to break a very old and deeply rooted pattern. Even when I can see and feel the benefits of change. I'm safe. I can feel my emotions completely and safely.

I am whole. I love myself. I trust my heart. I am human.

Cycling . . . In More Ways Than One . . .

For starters, I decided this morning that my soulmate was going to have to have a code name for my entries here. Obviously she will be mentioned here, more often than others . . . and it seems silly to refer to her as my 'soul mate' all of the time. And pretentious as well. So, from this point forward, she will be referenced as 8. Very House-ish of me, yes?

I have my reasons for referring to her as 8, of which I will mostly keep private. The only one I will reveal, is that, at this moment, there are 7 women who I have asked to witness this process through the blog. And in time, as things with 8 and I become more defined, and when it feels right, I will share this with her and she will be the 8th woman. But for right now, I need this space to be separate from her eyes. She did tell me that she is committed to supporting me through this process. And I am touched and honored that she is . . . but I believe her support, for now, to be best placed as a mirror and an awakening.

Back to the topic at hand - cycling. I've been cycling more regularly in the last three days - a nice change from being too weak to engage in one of my favorite forms of movement (and sole form of transportation). And this morning, I biked to school for class. Prior to getting on my bike, I was in an uncomfortable space. I'm ovulating right now. And that translates into an internal contradiction . . . half of me wants one thing . . . the other half of me wants no part of that one thing. Do I? Don't I? Do I? Don't I? This morning I chose 'do' . . . but didn't get very far before it became 'DON'T'. Unfortunately, once a door has been opened on the emotions and physical memories that are agitated as a result of this . . . there's no way to shut it in time. It just floods over me and I'm left feeling uncomfortable, in pain, and exhausted.

The smartest thing to do, in that moment, would have been to immediately embark on some sort of self-care. Instead, I wrote 8 an email, because she was struggling with something and was asking for support. By the time I finished her email, I felt even more uncomfortable. THEN I embarked on some self-care . . . but too little too late . . . and I had to be out the door for class. Lesson learned. I started my bike ride and realized that the imprint of the sexual abuse and rape . . . the stagnation . . . was literally blocking the energy that I needed in order to cycle. Each turn of the wheel was a massive effort on my part and I wondered how late I was going to be for class.

So in an attempt to lessen the grip that it seemed to have on my soul, I focused on the word 'receive' as I biked. Better . . . but still not great. I changed the wording to 'receive wholeness' . . . not much better. And I shifted again to 'receive wholeness and light where there is pain and discomfort' . . . repeating that over and over and over again as I cycled through the streets, watching for cars. There were moments of relief . . . followed by resurgences of the pain. And so I brought my awareness to my body, and adjusted how I sat on the bike. Took the weight from my palms and transferred it to my core. Dropped my shoulders. And in doing so found a few more minutes of relief. I moved back and forth from this position as I s.l.o.w.l.y cycled (think 2nd gear) . . . and still felt the exhaustion . . . but knew that I needed to continue to move my legs, even in the discomfort. I focused on a steady pace, those words, my posture, and finally realized how shallow my breath was . . . how tight my chest was. And tried to take deeper breaths. Almost impossible.

When I arrived at school, my legs felt like rubber and my chest felt like brick. But I had learned something about my body and myself in cycling. Something that may help to guide me as I walk through this. About persistence . . . and receiving . . . sitting in discomfort . . . and breathing. And of course . . . about priorities. Me first.

So this evening when I came home, I finally found a space within myself to just let go . . . and in the mix of the pain that I felt . . . I also felt this profound love for 8. This raw, pure energy that flooded my soul and called for her . . . and brought me to my knees in tears. My heart continues to breathe her name, her memory, her soul into my world . . . even with so many miles between us . . . and so many obstacles ahead for each of us. There is peace in that . . . and awakening.

Last night I had a dream that I was called to go on pilgrimage to Mexico. And that just as I was about ready to leave, I realized that I didn't have my passport. I was distraught. I wanted to go so badly, and yet I was so afraid that I would get into trouble, or get caught in security. And so I decided it best not to go. But when I returned to my house, I found that all of the people who I knew and trusted and loved - my community - was there, and they were there to meet me for pilgrimage. I looked at one of them, whom I trust deeply, and I shared that I did not have my passport. And he laughed and said that it would be fine. That I would not be in any danger and that I should come regardless. After I few moments I decided to trust him. And away we went. I woke up feeling so incredibly joyous to be with my community and to be embarking on pilgrimage - as though my heart were on fire.

I think this is my answer to the next step for me in regards to healing. My PSM practitioner had mentioned that you can embark on pilgrimage for healing (not just for a boon to find your partner in this lifetime) . . . and had shared that she knew someone with a similar background (re: sexual abuse) who had done this. She felt that perhaps some of my healing may come in connecting with a sacred site. I believe that she might be right. I truly believe that 8 is my partner for this lifetime. And if I was asked today how certain I was, I would say 100%. And while it feels right to answer the call to pilgrimage . . . it does not sit well with my heart to embark on that pilgrimage as a boon. It does, however, feel right to embark on that pilgrimage with the intention of healing from the abuse and rape. Afterall, those are things that have kept me from being able to fully connect with anyone . . . and therefore something that needs to be lifted before I can receive wholeness in that capacity of my life. When my PSM practitiioner spoke to me about this part on the phone, tears formed in my eyes and my heart ached deeply . . . a sign to me that I understand what needs to happen next and why.