Coccoon

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.