The Lover, The Loved, The Void.

I notice the contraction and relaxation of my heart happening simultaneously. It's quite remarkable. It feels like being on a swing set in the moonlight. A cool breeze blows past my skin. As I propel myself higher with my legs, I thrust my chest forward. Open Open Open. I am on a brink of something new. During the ascension I experience a sensation of filling up. Then I wince and think, “If only my toes could reach the tip of that leaf on that tree in front of me,” as I extend my legs farther. Before the thought reaches completion, I am brought backwards with as much anticipation that the ascension brought.

The pressure in my belly rises up to my chest. It feels like the moment right before two cells begin to split, ready to create some grand complex organism. The building tension is almost too much to bear. A tickling sensation rides upwards. Although my physical body is going back and as my chest caves inward, I feel the energy being suspended and left behind at that point just where my toes almost touched the leaf. There lies the moment of attachment. I'm leaving that behind now. I tilt my head back and look up at the darkness. A new appreciation for the void that now fills my heart. Yet this void is of not sadness. If anything, it is nothingness. It is a gentle reminder of where I came from in the heavens. I can feel home so close to me, but a spell prevents me from seeing it fully. My angels remind me that I am not to go back there yet. This spirit has a lot to say still. Yet only if my toes could reach the edge of the leaf.

My angel, I sense you sitting in the backseat of my car. I dare not look behind, because I know my eyes will not see and you will disappear just as fast as you came. But my heart feels you. Your legs are probably stretched out, your head resting against the window. I bet you wonder what it's like to feel the shaky suspension through the steering wheel, or the low anxiety one feels when I'm trying to get to the Ross Island bridge during rush hour. You are probably just sitting back there smitten as can be, though. Not a worry to consider, because those things don't even think about existing where you come from. With a flick of your hand, you save me once again from an accident. I look up and slam on my brakes. Another close call. I can sense you shaking your head, because you save me probably 10-20 times a day. You remind me that there's no rush and one can enjoy the ride. So there you are day after day in the backseat enjoying the ride, wishing you were in the drivers seat. What an important job you have. How funny it is that I desire to be you and you desire to be me.

Perhaps you wish to know what it's like to feel the heart beat of a lover as your ear is pressed against her chest.  I am reminded that I am the lover, the loved, and the void. I lay on the grass surrounded by four trees on an unexpected sunny northwest day. The protection of these gentle giants urge me to take off my turban. I let my long black hair uncurl from the bun as it cascades down my shoulders and down my back. I glance at the long streaks of white hair sporadically placed throughout from tip to end. I smile at these tokens of wisdom. I feel completely nurtured as my head nestles into the womb of the earth. I take out my stethoscope from my work bag. How surprised I am to find each beat beautifully played out in a well rehearsed symphony. It has no question of it's place and how it should be used. It never second guesses itself. It feels like it has been taken out of my physical body in all it's beauty, adorned, admired, and even tossed about. Yet it continues to do it's work like nothing ever happened once it is returned. If it by chance occasionally skips a beat in it's perfection, it just picks back up where it left off. I bet my angel wonders what that feels like.

My angel reminds me to return once again to the swing. I scared off some teenage boys as I approached the playground that night. My furry companion kept me company from a distance. He was busy rolling in God knows what. He smelled like a mixture of skunk and poop. At least he enjoyed it. That's how I want to choose to live. I want to enjoy it all, no matter how stinky it gets.

And so my heart continues in this expansion and contraction, both equally enjoyable and yet I ask for more and more as I aim higher. Only the One Beloved understands my experience of this series of suspended moments in  the void, right before the exchange of ascending and descending. Throughout my time on the swing I once again come across an unanswered soulful longing. My soul asks if there will ever be a person that could meet me at this place, right before my toes touch the tip of the leaf. Will he see that he too is the lover, the loved, and the void? Will he be able to find me during the ache-type tingling of my heart when gravity pulls me away? Will he ask for more? Too many times have I been disappointed while ascending higher and higher on this ever changing pendulum only to look back and see the other on his own level of pleasure. No different in distinction of which is better or not, but nonetheless it's a different viewpoint. The longing to hold hands while on the swing, to not worry that my arm will be broken off or one/both of us will lose grip. I wish to receive the wisdom of timing, never ending patience, and dedication to hold on. I long to hold tight enough to stay at a similar pace as him, but loose enough where we can enjoy the fulfillment on our own.

My toes don't quite reach the tip of the leaf on the tree in front of me, but the steady light emanating from my chest can. I'll be satisfied with that.

In It Together

Photo by Krisiey Rocha Salsa

It's been awhile since I've felt the need to write as often. I'm sure many can agree that much has been transforming at quite a rapid pace since the beginning of the year. Relationships with myself and others have gone into the depths of joy and also darkness during these winter months. It's comforting to know that everything is constantly being churned, stirred, and transitioning into something better that serves me. There's always a moon or planet going direct, retrograde, in full light, in a shadow and whatnot. The rippling effects of these planets constantly in flux have given me a new found respect for for how we are all interconnected with the galaxies upon galaxies and with each other. For even those that are in doubt about astrology can't deny that things have been a bit stirred up for some time now. Perhaps the only thing that has saved me is humor and being light hearted when I am reminded. I'm finally coming to a much needed exhale in life, and noticing a time of rest is starting to bless my world for the moment.

A Triggered Moment

I was recently at a dog park enjoying this unity of others. It's beautiful to observe a pack of dogs all running together, having never seen each other moments prior. Although in a quiet and more solitude state, I enjoyed watching the differences of the dog pack and human packs that were formulating. It reminded me that although we crave solitude, space, and time for reflection, we can't deny the need to be with others. When I got home my dog, Buzz, anxiously rubbed against my leg and looked at me with concern. I wasn't sure what happened as our walk home wasn't anything out of the usual. However, once I looked at his leg I knew why he seemed concerned. My motherly instincts kicked into high gear as I tried to clean a large and deep wound hidden under his white fur. I began comforting him by saying, “shhh..shhhh...you're ok”. With a slight smirk on his face, my boyfriend kindly asked why I kept saying that to him? He didn't understand why I was telling my dog he was 'ok' when he obviously wasn't. I continued my motherly duties as best as I could while increasingly becoming annoyed at this trigger. But why? It wasn't until much later after a vet placed a few staples in my dog's thigh the underlying learning experience behind this event.

To Perceive and Be Perceived

In retrospect I noticed that my dog probably didn't care much nor understand anything that I was saying. He just wanted this hole in his thigh to be healed and have a few treats afterward. It propelled me into thinking about what I would do if he was a child. We see parents consoling their children all the time after they experience any form of pain. Our innate nature is to tell them they are either going to be ok, or are ok. My experience was often being told to “walk it off” or “don't cry”. That lead to a lot of crying in my teens and twenties. From a practical standpoint we know that of course they will be fine at some point. We often console ourselves or others by saying these words in attempt to stay positive. One could say it's an act of faith, or even a 'fake it to you make it' approach. When we are unsure, it's better to project an outcome of us winning in the end than not. Then I started to notice that when we admit to things when life isn't “OK”, then we bring power to the present moment. It creates an automatic opportunity to embrace personal power by not only identifying what isn't working, but stating clearly what your needs are.

I notice that the most authentic and effective healing practitioners rarely say “You're OK”. Instead, they tactfully approach people with compassion and see the health issue for what it is. They take the necessary steps to find a solution with the help of the client. I notice how I often approach my clients in this way, so why not my most beloved dog and others I care for? These are the deep intertwined roots of learned behavior that are slowly be unwound.

I'm Here

Now that I know what not to do, I'm trying to focus on the positive aspect, but from a healthier approach. Although I am not consoling a dog or any humans during a bloody trauma on a daily basis, I realize I do provide a more subtle form of care to the clients I see and the people I interact with on a daily basis. With that I notice we have a choice every day to offer healing to another in small ways. Perhaps there's another option of instead of trying to change someone's perception of what they are experiencing. The last thing someone wants to hear when they are in emotional or physical pain is “You are OK”. Maybe an alternative approach can be, “I'm here”. This simple phrase not only let's the person know that you are present with them but also what they are experiencing. When I tried to override my old pattern by saying this to my dog, it allowed me feel deeper into my own fear about losing the one consistent thing in my life for the last 8 years. It allowed me to be more authentic with my own feelings and therefore be more present for my dog. I know that when I am present for the humans in my life in this way I can follow it with asking how I can help them. Looking at the big picture, this gives others the power and responsibility to speak for their own needs without me trying to take responsibility or fix situations or people.

This concept of reclaiming ownership of responsibility, power, and thought has been brought to my attention in many layers these past few years. Each layer gets pealed away only to reveal another depth of genuine vulnerability, authenticity, and trust. While everything continues to shift and fluctuate, let's help each other out a little more with kindness by simply saying, “I'm here”, even when we don't know what to do. The path show us where to go, but we have to start somewhere.