Week In Review -- Deeper

Everyone has been saying that it's been a week from hell. I tend to find that sort of gossip comforting, since I observe a real quality relation between human experince and the alignment of the stars. But that comfort comes a week too late, and barely scratches the surface of the energy twist compacting heart fuck that has been my life this past week. It was nice, though, to end the week with that thought.

The start of the week began, let's say on Saturday. That coincides with the beginning of my cycle. I began bleeding that morning, just in time to drum for a soul retrieval. Apparently I needed the protection. After a *long* session, lasting almost six hours, the practitioner and I were winding down, sharing stories. Then she totally blows my mind (probably hers was blown as well) when she suddenly tells me to close my eyes, that she's got a gift for me. When I open my eyes, she's offering up her Owl wing to the four directions, Mother Earth, Father, Sky and Mystery before placing it in my hands.

It's times like this that I wish I could feel deeper, that I could allow myself to feel as moved as I "should" be. I wanted to be so moved in that moment that I cried. She was definitely crying; this was a wing she had done ceremony on herself and worked closely with for over two years. Instead I laughed. In some ways, laughing is like crying, I suppose. It's possibly just our social norms that deem laughter an inappropriate expression of whatever. So that's how Owl came into my life. The practitioner advised that I sleep with it nearby and let it teach me through my dreams. So that's what I did.

Sunday: I meet up with my aunt and uncle for breakfast. It's deper than that though. This particular aunt and uncle are the "long-lost" ones. The aunt is the twin sister of my biological father, with whom I've had a total of two weeks of personal contact in my whole life. I just met my aunt, uncle, and cousin a month ago. It's cool that they live relatively close; ironic that out of the whole big ass country, I unknowingly pick to move to the spot where 85% of the biological paternal lineage has resided for decades. With my aunt and uncle are two cousins that I have met only days ago, very briefly. My aunt, my cousin Joe and I all have the exact dame smile; a smile that streches from one corner of your face to another, and just kinda lights up your heart. We eat french toast and eggs benedict, then take a lap around Green Lake. We eat ice cream (it's two degrees above freezing, mind you) then head back to the house for some lounging. My aunt and uncle go off to do some shopping, and my cousins and I take another lap around Green Lake.

It's amazing what you learn about people when you walk with them. Like the movement of their body facilitates the movement of their soul. Like a violin string being rubbed by a rosined bow, the soul begins to vibrate and sing. I really like my cousins. We reverberate.

I leave. Back home. I have been reading up on the history of health care all week for a midterm in public health. I am surprisingly more interested in this subject than I predicted. That's always exciting.

Monday. I continue to read up on health care policy, and write up my midterm. I forgo the gym today, because I'm bleeding. Instead, I call my biological father. It's only been nine years. It sounded like it, too. I could've crank called some random person and had a conversation quite similar to the one I had with Jim. It's like we both sense that we should know more about each other, and possibly even be interested in the other person's life, but it's just not there. At least, I don't feel it. And I feel a lot of things, usually without trying.

Apparently, it's a snow day, and the school is closed. Thankfully I get this message via email as I'm sendong off my midterm, and I rejoice in getting to spend an entire day in my jammies. I celebrate by watching four episodes of the L word back to back (God bless Netflix). I go to bed at 2am.

Tuesday. School. A day at school is like three days of manual labor. Something about it is neverending, and strikes a deep chord of inadequacy and humility amidst the marinated tofu and relfection pond. People still tend to have fleeting moments of fun or freedom, but it's rare: the collective consciousness of the place can feel like a cross between a prison and a mental institution. This particular day at school, I learned that I hadn't performed well enough to receive advanced standing in a certification class I had been taking for months. The teacher said multiple times, not to take it personal, and I didn't. I mean, I wasn't mad at him. I was, however, furious with myself. God, if I were my domme, my sub would be black, blue, bleeding and broken, I'm that good at being ruthless with myself. Today I guess I couldn't take it that well. But boy did I shove it. Later I'm at Liberty, chomping on sushi and negotiating a bondage-and-blood scene with a marvelously sweet sexy kinky couple. The scene was to happen that night. In retrospect, I might have acknowledged that I was already feeling a little shitty, but I thought at the time that the scene would cheer me up. I wound up pretty deep in the headspace of my youth, unquestionably the darkest years of my life to date. Themes of shame and defiance bubbled up over the emergent property of the night: inadequacy. The couple assured me they had fun, and I've no choice but to believe them. I worry about being seen. About being seen, judged, and dismissed, like "Whoa! Don't want to go there again." But I know this couple can handle deep space, I'm confident in that. But what will convince me for certain is a return office call, so to speak. And this is how time builds trust in others.

Wednesday. I don't remember much about Wednesday, other than I went to the gym and swam until I pulled my scalenes on the left side.

Thursday. Whoa. All I wanted was needles in my wrist. Instead, I got to sit through seven hours of class, three of which were nearly the most frustrating in my career.

I can't remember when the chest pains started. I'm pretty sure I woke up with them on Thursday. I'm pretty sure they started before that, but since this is a recurring theme, I didn't start paying attention to them until they had me nearly doubling over. That was on Thursday. Shock waves. That's what it felt like. Shock waves shooting straight into my heart. I was having trouble breathing, and I was so agitated. I wondered if the adrenaline of Tuesday had caught up with me and I had become a junkie of sorts looking for a decent wallop of pain to make it through another day in the fiery pit of med school. Every moment was like sitting on wiggling red hot nails. I got to my preceptor and the concerned office manager had me take my blood pressure three times consecutively. Even I was floored when I averaged 130/90, unheard of for me. The doc said I was having an anxiety attack and suggested I either pop a Xanax or drink a beer. From past experience, I know there's no use in being either righteous or snotty with this guy, so I just laughed it off. He doesn't really know me anyway, that's clear. But who really knows anyone? The best we can hope for in this life is to know ourselves. Everyone else is their business. I leave the office with a bottle of Stress X and sit in an hour of traffic on the 520 bridge.

Friday. I wake up and cringe. I don't wanna. I am exhausted and the pain in my chest had gotten worse, so the exhaustion is quickly compounded by mild panic. It crosses my mind that I have tried just about every trick I know of to get me back to good: exercise, good diet, detox tea, gingko shot...what was I missing? I go to school, into Herbal Ways and lament my circumstances to my dear friend Rob. We make a tea that helps (Rose for the heart, Vervain for the throat, Motherwort for the heart and nervine properties, Fennel because Rob said so, and Cinnamon because I said so), and I also snag some Sticta to work the grief out of my lung while I'm at it. It works for maybe an hour, then the tension is back, along with the heart pain. I float off during homeopathy class and flip to remedy that has caught my eye recently. The mental-emotional keynote is inadequacy, after all, and today I just can't seem to think of another way to tackle this predicament. I wonder if Spirit was saying, Hey, if you are so into homeopathy, let's see how far you can trust yourself with it" or something. The remedy moved a lot: it felt like my head was a toilet that finally got flushed. It was a very forlorn feeling as I meandered the halls, looking for something or someone, guidance, direction, support, help. I finally sat down in the caf, and my friend Lisa joined me. The angel that she is, her message so clear: "Be gentle with yourself" The tears responded to that, as I recognized the part of me that felt like I deserved abuse, if not from anyone else, then certainly from myself.

We decided a walk to the lake was in order. As we slopped down the muddy hill, Lisa in her stockings and Mary Janes led me into the woods, back into my soul. The remedy was working, the chest pain fading, the tolerance to cold returning. Lisa fell square on her ass, and laughed out loud, bounced up again and kept on down the hill. We got to the edge of the lake, and I turned to her and confessed that I was always subject to this insatiable urge to jump in the lake every time I was down here. And this I why I love Lisa. Her face lit up and she said "Sure! Let's go!" So this is how Lisa and I celebrated a new month (that month being February) in the PNW with temps once again hovering around freezing. We stripped off our clothes and barreled into the water, screeching the entire way. "This is why I love you," she said. And this is why I love her too.

We walked back in the dark. We decided that the woods at night merely amplifies the internal state of the observer. If you're freaking yourself out with your demons and haunts, the woods will convince you that you will never leave it alive. Conversely, one who is at ease and in a state of inner peace moves through the woods at night like it's a warm bath.

That evening, and the following day, Saturday: Cell Salts with Louise Edwards. Great class, lots of info, less heart pressure, although still seeking out a one-drop remedy. How much time is alotted for healing? Til results come barreling in? How do you know when you're done? When it's time to just wait, or time to redose?

All of these fucking questions.

I ended Saturday with lots of chocolate cake, a Guiness, a cigarette, jamming on the djembe and spanking a beautiful sweet birthday girl.

It's 2am. That is just one week.