Good Morning Starlight,
Recently, I was invited to write a post for a somatic related blog. I've felt honored but hesitant, unsure if I could effectively write about the sensation of feeling in the body. I can, however, write about the absence of feelings in the body. I've been wondering if the absence of feeling is itself a feeling.
However, on Wednesday, I awoke with a familiar, unwelcome pain in my stomach. It has persisted, waking me each night and clinging to my insides like a crusty barnacle.
I remembered having this pain daily and for years when I started Instar Lodge. I sought medical attention to relieve me from the phantom monster. Nothing would get it to let go of its grip. No acupuncture, no breathing, no adrenal supplements. Nothing worked until I stopped holding the weight of too much responsibility. Meaning, the pain went away when I let go of unnecessary burdens of my own creation.
Can I tell you a secret? When the pain started back then, I also had pain in my neck and under my shoulder. These body feelings kind of felt good. Sore muscles celebrated how a bodybuilder might say with pride, "My muscles are so sore today!". They made me feel like I was working hard. I could trust the pain as a barometer of my efforts and worthiness. I could feel something.
Wednesday, when the barnacle gripped again, I was aghast. How funny, not funny to feel you again, friend!
It's been a tarot tower two weeks. In other words, breakdowns abound around me. The stars twinkled this would happen–not how, who, or what, but I was given the forecast.
The star card appeared this morning when I asked the Tarot: What in me is becoming visible, known, here now? Who in me can I be? Who in me can I not see? I'm looking now at the Star figure who gazes down into a rippling pool of water at her feet. She cannot see herself reflected in the movement she creates and yet she trusts her efforts. She moves peacefully and purposefully. Flowers bloom near her. She is guided by starlight. She is naked.
How strange it is to loop through life and meet yourself in similar situations over and over. Or to pull the Star card over and over.
Oh! A harrowing merry-go-round, huzzah, let’s go! This time let's do breakdown again for millionth gazillionth time!
Tuesday, someone near and dear broke down.
Tuesday, my lead staff got sick, making me responsible for my workload and theirs.
Tuesday came on the waves of the Tuesday before. A week where someone young in my sphere of work became homeless without anyone near but us to help them.
Wednesday, I got a call from my car dealership saying that my new car had arrived which I had ordered in July. Because I was covering for my colleague, I told them I would be able to pick it up on Friday.
Thursday, my car broke down at an intersection on my way to work. A friend surprisingly drove around the bend as I sat in the car roadside, making up puns about breakdowns. She pulled over and shared encouraging words from an author she loves, and we marveled at how someone's words find their way into our lives to buoy us beyond the author's imagination at the right time. She left and then shortly returned with coffee and a banana. An angel she is I’m sure. I sat on the side of the road for two hours, resting and waiting for triple-A. I marveled at how I had already canceled my Plan A work week because I had to make Plan B. But Plan B had the one remaining employee leading the Thursday morning session, so everything could go as planned except for me resting on the side of the road. Resting on the side of the road seemed to be planned by something greater than me. Sitting in the car, I reviewed my stars and read an astrologer's words. I misread them because I needed my glasses. But what I read through them was: Don't always adopt external circumstances as your responsibility and don't always move with distress. You have a choice.
Last summer I knew I would need a new vehicle as the old one I was driving was breaking down slowly. The car was a 2003 Lincoln Aviator that I inherited from a friend who’s mother had passed it to her. It was a hand-me-down that I welcomed. Last summer when I considered getting a new car I knew I wanted a particular model which I would have to wait for to be built. This was the first time in my adult life that I would buy a new car and a car that I specifically wanted for my lifestyle. Having a new car and the car I wanted was my choice, but I couldn’t control the timing of when it would be ready. Having it ready when I needed it most was divine.
Friday I picked up my new car and scrapped the old broken model.
The pain in my stomach means something. Maybe it’s like the sound of my old car the day before it broke down when it lurched in reverse.
In my past I tried to save people from their breakdowns. In the end I didn’t save them or fix them but I sure as fuck wore myself out. This week when my near and dear was headed in the direction of the hospital there was a foreshadow and alarm bells rang in my belly. I rang the phones of those other near and dear and we all cried “What do we do?” When the inevitable happened, the break down, we collectively gathered the evidence of the mechanics not performing correctly and wondered “What could we have done?”
When I sat by the road waiting for the tow truck I didn’t wonder if I could fix my car. I didn’t feel it was my responsibility to change a transmission. I know my limits with auto mechanics. Maybe all we can do is let the people we love know we love them and let the mechanics of the world know we appreciate their care of who and what we love. (And maybe mechanics and social workers should be paid a little more like doctors too.)
I feel differently now. I don’t feel that the pain in my stomach is a sign that I’m a good hard working girl. Instead I feel that it’s telling me “whoa child you need a break or else you’ll break down too.” What I can do and a choice I can make is to take a break from taking responsibility for what I cannot fix.