I was in my car the other day, breathing, and thinking about my heart, when I saw a license plate on a van that said HELD. I wanted to laugh and cry at once, because it is exactly how I felt, HELD. The truth of me hammocked in the filament of love from the Divine, cozied up to all who support me, and in my leaning, I support them as well.
A few weeks ago, I felt more love from within than I’ve ever felt. Truly felt it was miraculous that my physical body remained intact, I was so full and brimming over, opening and opening, point of no return. Excited, inspired, aflame.
Then, something happened. I folded, fell. Somehow, somewhere, my pathology had taken hold, and I shrunk myself.
For three days I spun around in a turmoil I cannot describe. I tried so hard to get back to the place of love where I had been. I remembered it, but was outside it, longing, cringing. I felt like I was going up, needed to go up, but there was a ceiling above me, suddenly. My head hurt for my lack of rising, the ceiling pressing against my head. It felt like a battle. I had a session with Marc and it became about how I needed to be big, how it is who I am, but old shame came up around it, and I was trying to make myself small, to deny my heart the space the voice the volume it needs to explode me into the next place within.
In the dream that followed that session, two people I love mightily came to me and draped an enormous python around my neck, and quietly walked away. At first I was freaked out about it, but I didn’t want to let on, in case the snake was bothered by that and would squeeze and/or bite in response. So I walked, and held the snake at my shoulders, until our breath matched and I could feel its body growing into my skin. I was flooded with love for it, with acceptance, arousal. Suddenly these people in white coats came running at us yelling about the snake. One had a sedative and pointed it at the snake. I was yelling, “No, it’s fine! I love it, we’re fine!” but the woman lunged and poked the needle into the snake, who immediately shrunk and fell off my shoulders onto the floor. I fell to my knees and wept, telling everyone to leave us alone.
And there I was with my little passion, wanting it to be big again, waiting for the sedative to wear off, so we could be one again.
A week after that, and I find myself on an edge I never knew existed. I need a push, a bullet, a whisper.
I wake with a longing, a yearning that pretends it’s despair. And in my head, my heart, everything that I am repeats, “This is not it. This is not where you belong.”
I yowl and ache because I am holding on in a place so small and tricky that I can’t find it to let go. I ask my inner family, my true loves, to help me, but I am still here, vibrating at such a frequency, waiting to be taken. To be free.