Before I got married and had kids, my life was spontaneous and dynamic and changed so fast I could barely keep up with myself. Someone told me that I had my "finger pressed on the jugular of transformation." That's what I felt like--I was all about the self; self-edification--self-absorption--self-awareness. Selfish, most certainly.
After I had kids, I did a 180 and entered a stage entirely opposite. I became unselfish; my baby always came first, and my individual identity was destroyed in favor of becoming mother-identity, a state of constant sacrifice and nurturing until there is barely enough to care for one's own needs. Because children need stability, I became stagnant, and it became near impossible for me to change, inside or out. Getting anything to happen at all was a Sisyphean task. I realized also that I had married someone who had never learned how to change, and had no interest in self-edification. And that when two people don't have an agreement to grow and evolve together, their default is to shrink together to the lowest common denominator of where they get along, and the sum of the two becomes something less than one individual + one individual.
Things gradually began to shift again when I moved to Minnesota two years ago and separated from my husband. I still felt constrained, and being a single mother I've been limited physically in so many ways--but in my consciousness I had freed myself from an old belief system about how much of myself I needed to give up when I was in a position of responsibility for others.
This summer has been about having my finger slowly find the jugular of transformation once again, and to press it, ever so slowly, so I can now feel the pulse of the blood, the flow of life. It's exhilarating and terrifying--we have so much power, but when we decide to take up the reins and start urging the horse to go faster, a lot can go wrong.
This post isn't much about writing...I've been a bit stuck in that arena lately, both with new projects and with marketing Dysmorphic Kingdom. I haven't done so much of what I should have, but that's the thing--I think that if I do something out of the energy of "should," I'll be fighting myself as I do it. If something isn't expressed in an energy of joy and abundance, it'll come back in the same penurious manner it went out on. That's what this post is about. That when we take the reins and invite our higher selves to let go into whatever their next steps may be, we have to be authentic about our desires and our feelings, which will always be indicators of speed bumps or blockages in the way of letting go, of manifesting.
I had this dream this morning:
I went to an auditorium where I lined up to get a five-minute psychic reading in front of three readers. I couldn't think of anything to ask, so I was going to ask some vague question about my future, and I was going to couch it in fancy language that felt kind of pretentious but sounded substantial. I moved up closer in the auditorium seats. When it was my turn, they put me in one of the seats to read instead of being read. I had taken the seat of my old clairvoyant program director, Wayne.
Then my sister was showing me things she'd done to damage some of my personal effects. I pretended I didn't care. For the most part I didn't, until she showed me my stuffed animal rabbit with the checkered bodysuit. She'd done something to make the rabbit's head really skinny. I got really upset and I started hitting her on the head with the stuffed animal rabbit I was already holding, a much fluffier bunny.This is the first dream I've remembered in a while. Remembering it is a sign that I'm going internal. The dream itself--both scenes are about me being pretentious about something in order to keep up a certain image. Then being authentic instead.