It’s startling how hard it is swallowing truth
I’m dry-heaving on the daily need to water my roots
I’m supposed to be the type of soldier that God would recruit
But I lost my troops and it’s so hard to regroup
This past Saturday, the 18th — the New Moon in Aries, in fact — I underwent a 60-minute healing session from a self-proclaimed reiki master: one-half tarot reading, one-half reiki / raju healing and blessing.
My intuition — oh, how I ceaselessly ignore you! And for what? The perceived comforts of security and intellect, the same stains of civilization my spiritual practices actively train me to wash myself of? — had been nudging me for weeks to partake in some kind of spiritual outreach. But it was only a dream, easily the most intense dream of my life, that convinced me to do this now. While I did not receive any (conscious) insight into my dream, I did receive a hell of a reading.
The first thing Marina from GypsyLuv asked me was: what is going on in your home life?
Bingo. A lot, that’s what. My Dad is dying. I don’t know how I feel about it. On one hand, I am detached and — here’s that favorite word of mine — numb. He was/is an abuser, and I no longer sign up for abusive relationships. He is suffering from kidney failure and congestive heart disease, amongst other ailments, I’m sure. (Fluid in his lungs, for one.) Yet that is the byproduct of decades of abusing — what else? — his own body: smoking, drinking, and indulging in fast food, with nary a day of intended exercise in his life. It’s a testament to incredible genes and a bull-like stubbornness, I’m sure, that he is still alive (he is 68, I think) and not morbidly obese (he’s about 140 pounds).
He did it to himself. He ostracized everyone who could possibly have been close to him — friends, family — through behavior alternating aggressive and alienating, with a corrosive, all-consuming miasma of negativity. I never knew my father; he died long ago.
Yet I contest that my feelings are not callous. I don’t consciously hate him. Obviously there’s a reservoir of resentment build up from my childhood and on, wounds slowly uncovering, knots gradually untangling. When I look at him now, my feelings alternate between pity and empathy. Send him out to pasture already. He’s regressed to little more than adult-sized infancy.
Unfortunately — to my perception, anyway — my mother, who, by my amateur opinion, is still suffering from the residue of Stockholm Syndrome, sees to it to be his caregiver. He’s living in our house, adding a toxic pulse to the environment.
No wonder my energy has been off-kilter.
Marina predictably said that there are a lot of issues — past anger and resentment — that I am not looking at, that I am choosing not to look at. I contend that I don’t know what I don’t know — I don’t even know what it is I’m missing! I’m doing the best I can, or close to it.
Many times Marina rubbed me the wrong way. Not sure what it was.
A few themes emerged: one, work (I confessed to her what I do — this was another moment where she rubbed me the wrong way) portends to be excellent. Great entrepreneurial energy. Everything I’m aiming to do I shall accomplish, more or less. This was a recurring theme, continually reaffirmed.
Secondly, she asked me if I was seeing someone, or otherwise had any love interests. No, I was not (and am not). She said that would change soon, that love was on the horizon, even despite my reluctance. Reluctance indeed! The other week I had just finally come to grips with embracing being single, and all that entails: the extra, exuberant energy to work on myself, to pool my resources and save, to practice discipline without temptations, and so on. Now she tells me — and, remember, this was also seen by Magda, when she gave me a reading eight or ten weeks ago — that not only is love right around the corner, but this person will be great for me, and should even help take my work to new heights?
That makes me feel ambivalent.
She said my energy was pretty dirty. I am procrastinating on things. I am operating out of fear, and it is hamstringing my potential. None of this was particularly surprising.
This was not the most pleasant of readings. It had a few strong positives, but also a lot of negatives. Negatives that rang true, but that also left me more confused than when I came in. What do I do? The only answer I felt was, Listen to your intuition.
Not in the present
I’m present, but not my essence
I have been in a foul mood today. I haven’t felt this morose in quite some time. Yoga did not help one bit. It’s obviously connected to Jill. My thoughts were tumultuous in my practice, and for most of the morning. My mind wants to come to many a potentially rash conclusion. I am definitely trying to play both sides here.
Gil says I am irked from her flip-flopping, and that I am disappointed, more disappointed than I am allowing myself to consciously feel. “Do right by you. The friendship will be there waiting if there’s one to build upon.”
What does my intuition say? That there is no friendship to be built upon. That the charts are right and that I should feel lucky to have escaped this situation, that it would have been disastrous, that the last thing I need is another wound to lick. That there are lessons to be learned here. That tarot cannot be taken too literally; what does “soon” mean? As Andy said, “soon” to a kid means a couple of minutes. What is “soon” to a human life? To the cosmos? One makes plans for the divine to dissipate and laugh at.
Part of me wants to say, “Here’s someone who is still attached to her ex. She hasn’t let go from him; actions speak louder than words. Here’s someone who is suffering from depression. Here is someone that has a lot of problems: anxiety, familial, insecurity issues, possible addiction/dependency issues. Sure, everyone has problems, but are these problems you want to deal with? Are prepared to deal with? Need to deal with? Or are you seeking them out of desperation? Out of a past homeostasis that you are simultaneously striving to break free from?”
When she said she still fools around with her ex, I thought: she’s stagnant. Either have the courage to completely move on or don’t. It’s also self-delusion if she really thinks there isn’t emotion. One, she’s a double Cancer. Two, good luck not having emotion when you’re having sex with someone you were with for eight years. That was a complete turn-off.
“Would you really not want to change her? Are you perfectly okay with accepting her as she is right now?”
No. I am not. I would want to change her.
Then move on.
If I hear from her ever again, I would be cautiously receptive. But I am not going to make the next gesture. (Yes, she is probably reading this.)
Despite our great communication, I have no urge to be her friend. I want something more. In that sense, I ought to give validating to my feelings. It’s okay to be hurt. I wanted something more and didn’t get it. It’s simply not meant to be.
Oh, I almost forgot: Marina said my experience with Caitlin is not done. She said she was getting a sense that there was something to be continued, some kind of love issue surrounding intimacy and trust issues. She said I have trouble trusting. I begrudgingly admit that, although at the same time I partially disagree. I said, Are you sure it’s not Ashley? And gave some brief background with Ashley. But she said no, she thinks it’s Caitlin.
I did not like this news at all. I do not want to hear from Caitlin. Ever. If you are reading this (doubtful), please don’t ever contact me.
Yeah, I still have a lot of issues to work out there. I understand and accept that. I am carrying resentment with me. But at least I can admit it. I don’t want anything to do with her. She is a boil, a stain on my life.
All the same, I know what kind of person I am. Like Jill, I would not make the first gesture, but I would be cautiously receptive. Very cautious. Ready to flee at the first sign.
There is still much more to write about. Maybe more about my Dad, to uncover some feelings there. And my Mom. And my family.
Write about Meredith and how that dynamic is playing out.
Write about coming back to Smash.
Write about yoga, natch. Non-attachment.
Write about school.
Write about my short-term goals.
Write about the incredible Doomtree concert! And the significantly less incredible Cunninlynguists show.
Write about your trip to Seattle.
Just keep writing, mah duke.