Tag Archives: life

my reality

It is clear to me that underneath this exterior is a soul that feels so separate from the set of reality. Some might use the word lost. But lost seems to convey that some how I am at fault, or I’m aimless and just a soul that has no hope for return and worse yet doesn’t even know it. I don’t quite align with all of that, this is a kind of sense where I am acutely aware of in pretty much every situation I am standing in. It’s like this process of digestion of the layers of what I am looking at. I can look and see the reality of my home, sense the sounds of the cars and the layers of sound in the moment, I feel my butt in this couch and the coolness in the Colorado air, my cats curled up for their afternoon nap, my son outside playing and my daughter and husband out for some quality time. I watch myself shop and swim and fuck and try and orient to each thing. I talk myself thru what would be considered normal interaction, watch my inner dialogue kick in narrating this weird experience that I am having and sometimes holding on tight for the right social cues not to appear off kilter. I fight to hover above this experience. To swim away from the abyss of swirling down to the point of no return. To turn my brain on itself to begin to analyze my mental health, only to come to the conclusion that this is what it is. I try to create and be seen, to talk and make jokes, to be good at something that defines some purpose to keep creating it. Like my identity in being abstract would somehow give me a lane.

I have found some sort of identity in teaching yoga, offering solace that I don’t know what in the fuck is happening here either, talking some sort of philosophy and life is weird points of view have called in the souls that just might feel the same at times and created a safe place to navigate this part of my awareness. I have made it my job to communicate a felt acceptance to other people, an energy that conveys me solid and unswayed by whatever experience they are navigating. And within that, we both feel anchored, seen and it seems like its a space where miracles happen. Is there truth in any of it? I really don’t know. What I am finding myself coming to understand in this process is I am trying to construct a life, construct connections and relationships that can at least sort of relate. When I try and act normal it is when it gets hard. I find myself lost in the world of reality where suddenly I am alone in what I am really seeing.

I often ask myself and sometimes other people, if I looked normal back there. Did I appear different than how I felt? Is it normal that my brain analysis of my reality feels like I am watching a movie, pretty much all of the time? I googled and found out its called derealization. It has symptoms and it has a treatment which seems to say, you will either get over it with time or you will learn to live with the episodes. Episodes. I like that word, kind of gives the space of how this glitch in reality seems to go.

I have tried to learn how to not just live with my episodes, waiting for them to pass, but to harness the witness that shows up within them. Because that witness seems to stand in some sort of ground of truth. I can see something happening behind the face that doesn’t seem to match the look in their eyes. I can feel when someone isn’t in their body, or their voice is an octave higher that normal. When I worked with people in session, I could often sense where energy was holding even when they couldn’t. In a safe place I can say something. When it was safe or in these sessions where it was my job, it was a space where it felt acceptable to reflect to someone the truth of what i saw when I was standing in front of them. When I could say it, it seemed to bring me comfort. Sometimes it felt like it was a nudge from spirit to speak it. That the thought and energy wouldn’t release unless it was said. An ease in that this experience I have is much bigger than me, much bigger than reality. In some instances it even seemed to bring some sort of new understanding that helped them. They felt grateful for that information. Maybe that is the reality of truth, once you glimpse it, it is hard to go on pretending that you don’t. Maybe because we all, at times are walking around in some state of derealization. Maybe reality is the game, and derealization is when our inner alien is not up for the game anymore and only is hungry for that cosmic truth that doesn’t seem to make any fucking sense.

The tools thru my work that I cultivated to flow freely in my derealization now feels like it doesn’t have a place. 4 weeks ago I left my work, I left my studio, we moved from Texas to Colorado. I look around Colorado and I am in total love with the reality that presents itself here. Being surrounded in clear views of the power and vitality of the mountains and life on this planet is so good for me. I feel lighter in so many ways. I find the parts of living life in this body that I absolutely love, riding my bike, swimming in cold mountain water, feeling my legs burn as I hike up a steep climb. Such good grounding somatic experiences in my humanity. But there are new tools I am reaching for now. In how I relate to my reality, my roles as a mom and a wife, a lover and to be a friend to my people in this life on this human consciousness and how I will embrace that part of me that feels separate from those roles and those realities. That sees something that isn’t completely clear outside of me. But remains rooted in my core, in my truth, what I know and can allow everyone else to go on their own journey of claiming that part of themselves that can see it too.

What am I tolerating?

Note: This is one I found in the drafts  from last January but I think its worth publishing. As the holidays emerge again as they do every year to remind us to get clear.

I’ve been tight and wound the past 2 days and I just couldn’t place what it was. Coming off my amazing adventure over the new year’s ceremony in the mountains of Colorado with plant medicine and one of my most sacred teachers, I could feel life starting to creep back in.  Before I left town, I left a bit of an emotional disaster area at home. My husband deep in his swirling abandonment issues and a mother in law sleeping on my couch, I gratefully left town with some friends to go spend some time with myself in the light.  When I came home I realized what I snuck away from was still swirling in the bottom of the drain.  It is inescapable, I guess. Or everybody is just so used to me, calling it out, calling it up, asking, pushing, pulling and clearing, so since I was out of town, it just sat…waiting for my return.

So I’ve been watching it.  Sort of watching, sort of avoiding, sort of hoping I could float above its reaching claws. But its rolling its paw around my ankle a bit now and I am starting to get pulled into the abyss.  In hopes of clearing it before it could clear me I desperately tried to get my loved one’s response to his own pain. I couldn’t help but to ask one night, if he was doing ok…he opened up for an evening, we talked while I cooked. I thought, “ahh ok, its out there. That’s better.” But then I realized it just got boxed up on the shelf, where it still sits. Because something is still there. I know it. I feel it. Its not right. Its not all mine! And it’s not going anywhere. I resent it. I don’t want to nudge you to fix yourself. I want you to push yourself onward and in.  But the truth of it is I don’t think you would on your own. You’re content to think that everything is fine. Maybe I’m content to think that everything is fine with what I am willing to tolerate from our arrangement here. Or maybe its just the pattern, you hurt I decide what we are going to do about it.

So the word that came to me today, tolerate. God sent an angel, my friend, life coach and recovery goddess texted me a worksheet, “What Am I Tolerating” typed across the page. It asks me to list them and continued on to give 200+ examples of things you might be tolerating. I used some of the suggestions and then went rogue on my own. Things from having a poorly designed kitchen to no sidewalks and narrow streets in my neighborhood. I purchased the wrong light bulbs in my bathroom I tolerate them! I haven’t even considered to go get the softer light bulbs to replace the harsh LED blue lights. I mean like, duh, make life a little nicer! I’m tolerating my messy closet and the endless laundry, my unfinished paint job at my studio and tolerating the bullshit from my web guy.  And in between the listings of my daily resistance towards what is…came some truth bombs.  I have been tolerating an indifferent friendship. A friendship that I want more than is given back to me. A friend that I can’t really tell if she likes me. A friend that I would do more for than she would do for me. And it hurts my feelings and I’m tolerating it and have been for awhile.

I’m tolerating watching my emotionally hurting husband numb out.  I am tolerating watching him know things aren’t ok but deciding to put it on a shelf.  I’m tolerating not being honest with myself, not knowing how to say what I need without telling him what to do. I’m tolerating my co-dependancy. My automatic get in there and fix it for you so it doesn’t have to hurt us anymore.

The worksheet says, “You are tolerating more than you think.” well that became clear as I wrote. But then it says, “You don’t really have to do anything about them. Just becoming aware of and articulating them will bring them forward and in time you will know how to resolve them.” Well ok.  So there they are. And it did help to articulate them. To write them and even rewrite them to share again here. It is the steps to bring me closer to what is true for me. To start to unwind the spiraling descent that contracts me. Takes me away from the light and love. Expansion and contraction, I don’t expect expansion all the time, But I do know that contraction is a nudge for me to come back to looking at what I’m gripping against, what I am avoiding getting clear about and tolerating its aftermath?

life blood

Daughter

Mother

Grandmother

Great grandmother

the evolution of the woman that evolves and evolves,

generations of thought energy moving thru the life blood.

Who is the woman that bore your grandmother?

Don’t you wish you could know more?

What kind of mother did your grandmother only wish she was

did she worry, feel paralyzed or just burry it all?

She was an only child, similar to me

worried about being lonely, alone

not worthy of being loved.

My mother she blazed thru that,

she was ready to face the dis ease

cleansing the uteral life blood that would take her to her knees.

My daughter, like my mother has ideas all her own.

strong women they stand up,

unraveling to disown.

Single mothers like my great grandmother, my mother, never wanted to fall.

My grandmother she held on, to her marriage and it all,

her dis ease, took its toll right up till the end

have to face what hurts and recover from all that’s been.

It is the lineage of their stories that might hold the key,

revealing patterns and life blood energy,

manifested thru me.

The Poetry of Not Knowing What Day it is

Looking back it all takes shape

You can string together its story.

Life is weird, you can’t see clear until its all so weary.

Its not done yet, its quite a bit early

Don’t know what day it is, 

And the path still feels pretty burly.

We got here fast it seems, 

Perhaps an experiment delivered from the extremes.

We are better off 

turning them off, those talking heads on TV.

Truth got dreary, filled with fear

The mutants took over the wheel.

We gave them our power, devoted to adhere. 

They took our minds, and tried to tell us how to be F.I.N.E., fine.

It didn’t work, the box was infected, 

Listen close they already detected.

They meant to take us down to our knees.

To pit us against each other so we couldn’t see.

Reaching out, we found out 

new ways life could thaw us from freeze. 

Here we are in this new existance, 

practicing social distance.

Air hugs and quick chats, no pressure to step into story. 

Phone calls and long letters,

The internet just might save the world,

Who knew social media would make us feel better?

Creativity sparks and the desire from nature to interact with our hearts

To reach past those things we never had time for,

Music and the arts.

Some places hit harder than others

New places promise an incoming wave

We can’t predict how long we might be sick

Our society hemorrhages from within, 

Our only hope is we don’t try to save it.

Let our systems purge their deep dark state they lurk in.

Did this ever feel clear, living life in such fear? 

Will we be able to sustain this change?

Bumping up against our aggressions, the pain we’ve walked thru and left thrashing

Thought we knew all there was to know.

Depressed and upset we kill off what’s left and we flirt with the idea of crashing.

The slow descent in that dark well,

We take a deep breath and let our heads go underwater.

Face those big ones, afraid of no one

We walk out much clearer than ever.

We sit in the bed, to let the rhymes in our head,

Tip toe out thru art and story.

We continue on, dropping bombs

On all those structures and chains.

We find a new freedom, 

Life dreamed anew 

And the death of our life lived in vain.

Our connections much brighter,

Honest and real

We can’t imagine the world we left behind,

We remembered what’s important 

The gang is all here

And our hearts have ascended much lighter. 

by Jennifer Carmack