I've been sick. Found a tick on me a month ago that tested positive for a nasty illness. Three weeks of antibiotics have now landed me with my first case of bronchitis. For days now I've had energy only to rise for 15 minutes at a time, then back to bed for a couple more hours.
It's been gradually sinking in to me that this can be a renewal process for me, if I choose to make it be. My base instinct is to bemoan my inability to go out, play with the boy, spend time with my husband, soak in the summer and the world. But there is also the option of learning all during this time. Opening myself up to what messages are coming through to me, what lessons come from the weakness, the rattled breathing, the infirmity, the physical restrictions.
What came today, as I lay flat, listening to my husband goofing around with our boy, was that I am being directed to move into a scary new lifestyle of being open and public with my spirituality, and that this illness is my rest before my new way of living. The idea of ceasing to hide my prayerful self has frightened me ever since I was a child; as I prayed outside with the trees and the earth at night, I believed fully that what I was doing was not something to share - I don't believe I ever even told anyone about it until years later, when I visited the Cherokee and learned that I am not alone.
So, though this post is not a lovely one, it being written quickly before I retire again, I am using it to further cement my decision to live myself fully, my life fully. To allow others to see me offer my prayers when I am called to offer them, whatever scorn, pity, judgment comes as a result. I am strong enough to face turned backs, and am stronger -and a better force in the world - when I heed my calling.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Lessons from Prayer
Giving thanks tonight, in the dark and the quiet under the stars, I gave thanks for a recent resurgence I've had in my belief in myself, in my commitment to live out my spiritual directions to their fullest, despite my worries about how I will be seen and judged by other people. I'd gone outside on an urge to give thanks to the cow whose meat - or rather, a quarter of whose meat - has been feeding my family since last Autumn. I was thanking it for its sacrifice, from which we have all been benefiting.
I was reminded that creatures and plants the world over sacrifice themselves, their bodies and lives, so that others can be fed and nourished by them, and I gave thanks to all of the beings who offer themselves up in such a way, who share what they have so that others may benefit. And it settled upon me that my strong connection to the Earth, to spirits, to energy, to Creator is the gift that I have to give, and that the sacrifice I must make in order to be able to live and share this gift is my ego's control.
When I choose that my personality, my ego, will decide my actions, I abide by our culture's rules about what is considered normal behavior, what is considered healthy behavior. When I let my ego down a notch or two and allow my spirit to move me more, I become sensitive to the callings I don't otherwise hear. These are the tugs of Spirits who have messages for me, of Creator who has lessons for me, of nights in which I am supposed to be out of bed, listening and learning. It is in these communications that I learn the lessons I need. It is from this commitment, this willingness to sacrifice in a way that makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, that my strength rises up. On the heels of the praying comes a creative wave that washes away the monotony into which I've settled and opens up endless possibilities for how I respond to my world and my life. On the heels of my embarrassment and sense of exposure comes a foundation of strength, a firm belief in my right to be who and how I am, nothing less. On the heels of going out into the dark when what I want is to go to bed comes a reconnection with Creator, with the spirits who live around me, with my ability to bring new things, good things, to the world. Things that only I can bring.
I took this picture tonight of our soup pot after simmering short ribs.
Yes, the sides of the pot are a little gross, but what I see in it that thrills me is a planet, or a dark sun, or a fertilized egg about to explode into growing. What else? What else? What else do we find when we allow ourselves to be fully, completely ourselves?
I was reminded that creatures and plants the world over sacrifice themselves, their bodies and lives, so that others can be fed and nourished by them, and I gave thanks to all of the beings who offer themselves up in such a way, who share what they have so that others may benefit. And it settled upon me that my strong connection to the Earth, to spirits, to energy, to Creator is the gift that I have to give, and that the sacrifice I must make in order to be able to live and share this gift is my ego's control.
When I choose that my personality, my ego, will decide my actions, I abide by our culture's rules about what is considered normal behavior, what is considered healthy behavior. When I let my ego down a notch or two and allow my spirit to move me more, I become sensitive to the callings I don't otherwise hear. These are the tugs of Spirits who have messages for me, of Creator who has lessons for me, of nights in which I am supposed to be out of bed, listening and learning. It is in these communications that I learn the lessons I need. It is from this commitment, this willingness to sacrifice in a way that makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, that my strength rises up. On the heels of the praying comes a creative wave that washes away the monotony into which I've settled and opens up endless possibilities for how I respond to my world and my life. On the heels of my embarrassment and sense of exposure comes a foundation of strength, a firm belief in my right to be who and how I am, nothing less. On the heels of going out into the dark when what I want is to go to bed comes a reconnection with Creator, with the spirits who live around me, with my ability to bring new things, good things, to the world. Things that only I can bring.
I took this picture tonight of our soup pot after simmering short ribs.
Yes, the sides of the pot are a little gross, but what I see in it that thrills me is a planet, or a dark sun, or a fertilized egg about to explode into growing. What else? What else? What else do we find when we allow ourselves to be fully, completely ourselves?
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