It is with great difficulty that I begin writing. I have been avoiding the task for days while my emotional body has been ground painfully into the sand under the crashing weight of a heavy tidal wave – a wave of frightening growth through which I was still passing.
Yes, the emotional tide has been deep and swift, filled with treacherous jagged rocks and strong undercurrents. Many of the things that I must write about are quite daunting. I have been stuck in deep pain and judgment – self-deprecating judgment that was often projected outward.
Through it all, I have struggled to remain the impartial observer – through it all I have often felt as if I were stuck and drowning in the quicksand of guilt, blame, and self-hatred.
The story is a long one – a story having many unexpected twists and turns – a story that must be told.
Momo Markets
It feels like more than a year ago. The emotions seem so distant, yet painfully real and lingering. It was to be a beautiful day – the last Saturday of January – a day of friends exploring the unique and beautiful culture of Guatemala.
Six of us crowd into Keith’s trusty little pickup – Keith, Ambe, and Skye squeeze into the front seat, while Moses, Rae and myself are squished tightly in the camper-like shell-covered bed of the truck, lying on thick foam pads while wrapped up in warm blankets and sleeping bags. The air at 6:00 a.m. is chilly and crisp, especially when crossing over an 11,000 foot mountain pass on the way to Xela.
But Xela is not our first destination. Shortly after 9:00 a.m., after a beautiful and winding drive through pine-covered mountains, Keith parks his trusty truck in the town square of Momostenango (Momo for short) – a place that none of us had ever before visited. This beautiful little mountain village is famous for its handmade woolen products – products such as blankets, ponchos, carpets, purses, etc… Taking our chances, while not having any concrete idea regarding specific market days, we simply show up, park the truck by a small fruit vendor, and begin to explore.
All local eyes immediately focus on our group. We appear to be the only gringos in town. Rather than being tourists ourselves, I instead feel as if we immediately become the main center of attraction. We are the tall, funny-looking, light-skinned fish swimming around in a glass bowl. The local Mayan people are the tourists, looking on with smiles and finger-pointing curiosity. I get the distinct feeling that these beautiful Mayans are not accustomed to seeing such a strange sight as us.
After a delightful breakfast of tortillas and cheese in the local market, we set out to discover just where the woolen goods might be found. We quickly learn that Saturday is not a market day for the local wool artisans – but we do not give up easily.
An hour later, after following a chain of synchronous events, we find ourselves being guided by a short middle-aged Mayan woman to a small family home about a twenty-minute walk outside the center of town. For close to three hours, we enjoy this extended family’s hospitality – watching the grandfather spin wool by hand – playing with the grandchildren – observing with fascination as family members show us how the various fabrics are made on the large assortment of various hand-operated wooden looms.
Several in our group purchase blankets, ponchos, and carpets. I am just along for the fascinating ride, thrilled to see that this large extended family is being rewarded for their generous hospitality.
But my heart tightens considerably as the price bargaining begins. A couple of members of our group are skilled bargainers. It breaks my heart to see them firmly haggle over prices – taking the purchase prices down to as low as one-third of the original quoted price. I think of how it takes an entire week’s worth of labor to make a single blanket – I ponder about how little profit these beautiful people must be making for their tedious labor – and I silently begin to judge my friends for seeming so heartless.
I know that these beautiful artisans would never sell their wares for prices in which they did not receive enough money to compensate their time and resources … yet I simultaneously experience a sense of repressed disappointment aimed at my friends.
The inner battle begins.
Xela or Bust
While I had eagerly looked forward to visiting Momo, I am also keeping a watchful but silent eye on the clock. My heart is interested in only two things. I want Rae to have an opportunity to film Keith purchasing some cacao at the Xela market, and I crave another beautiful and peaceful experience in the hot springs of Almolonga – the very same place where Keith and I had visited in early December – the energizing place about which I wrote in my blog entitled “Surrendering to Love”.
It is already after 1:30 p.m. when we bounce down pothole filled roads, descending the tall mountain where Momostenango is situated. The back of the truck is beginning to feel quite hot and uncomfortable. The victim in me begins to wonder if I will ever get a turn in the front seat. I quietly refuse to say anything about my growing discomfort. Instead, I just stuff my feelings, putting a pleasant smile on my face.
“Just get over it Brenda.” I gently tell myself with loving patience.
I begin to feel even more agitated as I realize that Keith has detoured for a tourist stop in another small mountain village on the way to Xela. The back of the truck is becoming uncomfortable – crowded by purchases, increasingly hotter, and bumpier as we pass over poorly-maintained pothole-filled roads. Adding to my state of growing discontent, Keith eagerly proceeds to take an unknown “shortcut” to Xela.
“We might get lost.” Keith announces as we begin the next leg of our journey.
For what feels like another hour, we bounce relentlessly over rocky dirt roads. The dust rushing in through the back window causes those of us in the bed of the truck to face two distinct choices: Eat dust or tolerate the stuffy heat. We choose the latter option.
Stuffing my emotions, I smile joyfully, and pretend to be having a good time. After all, the last thing I want to do is rock the boat. Making waves is just not in my nature.
Relief fills my soul as Keith finally parks at the large outdoor market in Xela. Solid ground and fresh air never felt so good. With frustrations successfully buried, the mask on my face feels happy and content.
Shoulder Ouchies
With the afternoon already half over, our whirlwind tour through the Xela market is quite brief. Some fruits and veggies are purchased, but the main prize is 225 pounds of cacao beans – a treasured payload that further cramps the already-tight wiggle-room in back.
Soon we are all rushing around the ‘Hiper Pais’ store and adjacent mall, using the ATM machine and grabbing a few quick food staples at this luxurious shopping opportunity. With my eyes still glancing nervously at the watch hidden in my pocket, I note that it is after 4:30 p.m. when we finally hit the roads on the way to the only segment of our journey that is calling deeply to my heart.
The next thirty minutes pushes my good nature to the limit. One person in the back of the truck is occupying nearly half of the space. Combining that fact with two large sacks of cacao beans, traveling conditions are extremely cramped. I keep a smile on my face and my mouth shut. I am determined to work through this growing discontent on my own, intuitively knowing that it is all an ‘inside job’.
By the time we pull into the hot springs at Almolonga, my squished body is extremely sore and my patience is wearing thin.
“My shoulder is absolutely killing me,” I grumble through a forced smile as I finally climb out the back of Keith’s truck, “I won’t be able to ride home like this.”
I am tired of sacrificing my comfort in the name of being nice and pleasant, but am also determined not to make waves. Again I push my emotional cork down securely as the discontent and judgment inside of my solar plexus continues to boil.
Such deep frustration profoundly confuses me, given that I am usually skilled at finding genuine peace and love in any situation, no matter how disconcerting it may seem.
“Why is this intense judgment surfacing now?” I ask myself, feeling thoroughly puzzled by the growing inner chatter.
I know in my heart that everything is OK – that I am merely projecting onto others – but a long suppressed part of me is waking up, demanding to be heard, refusing to be ignored any longer.
Hot Springs Anger
After a thirty minute wait, it is nearly 5:30 p.m. when we finally get a small concrete hot-tub room. Keith suggests that today must be some type of holiday or something, indicating that he has never seen the place so crowded.
I am eager to quietly slide into the hot relaxing water, wanting nothing more than to drink a little chocolate and sink into meditation. I am not in any way attached to repeating my previous amazing experience from early December – an experience that involved several hours of deep spiritual and meditative oneness – but I am definitely looking forward to a quiet relaxing peace.
“Can you please make the water a little cooler?” I beg Ambe as she hurriedly fills up the concrete tub with the hottest water possible. “I really can’t handle the extreme heat.”
“Trust me.” Ambe responds in a tone that I interpret as deeply condescending, inconsiderate and uncaring of my genuine request. “You will get used to the temperature soon, and the water will cool down on its own.”
“I know my body.” I reply with weak power. “I do not do well in extremely hot water. I need it to be cooler or I won’t be able to tolerate it.”
I feel as if Ambe completely ignores me, continuing to fill up the tub in her own way. To make matters worse, I am sitting in the corner nearest to the rushing faucet. My whole body is burning and I can barely breathe, but I again stuff my feelings, opting to wait for a few minutes to see if I can somehow find a way to tolerate the extremely unpleasant experience.
Keith soon walks into the room, takes one look at my stress-filled face, and asks if I want to trade him places. He will sit in the corner while I sit further away from the faucet, over on the steps.
“Yes, please.” I respond quietly.
I am beginning to emotionally shut down.
As I move over to sit on the steps, I am so incredibly angry that I can hardly look anyone in the eye. I know in my heart that my fury is an “inside job” – that it is a deeply-rooted, self-directed anger projected outward. With this knowing in mind, I am determined to not make a scene – determined to stuff the feelings down until a later time where I can deal with the emotion safely.
“If I try to say any more right now,” I think to myself, “I might just explode into angry tears, launching hurtful statements all over everyone that I love. I simply won’t allow myself to do that.”
Seeing my discomfort, Keith fully opens the cold water tap as the tub continues to fill. Ambe again turns off the cold, continuing to fill the tub with hotter water.
“The cold water tap is under water.” Ambe points out to Keith, while holding a small round plastic tub in her hand. “We won’t be able to fill the tub with cold water to dump it over our heads.”
“If you would allow the water in the pool to be a little cooler,” I angrily jab back, “you wouldn’t need to be pouring cold water over your head.”
Shocked by my brief slip of expressed sarcasm, I shut my mouth tightly, and slip up two steps higher. The water is so hot that I can no longer sit with my whole body in the pool. The skin on my face feels as if I have been scalded by hot steam. To me, the temperature is increasingly intolerable.
By now, I am completely shut down emotionally. Anger rages inside. Using my hands to cover my eyes, I simply stare slightly down and forward, refusing to look anyone in the eye, not even Keith. My intense emotion is accompanied by confusion, victimization, resentment, and embarrassment. I am terrified that my emotions might explode all over everyone, making a huge mess that I will never be able to clean up. I go into a deeper state of shutdown, desperately trying to stuff, to bury, to push all of the unwanted emotion back down to where it came from.
Even when I move to the very top step, with only my ankles and feet in the water, my face is so hot that I can hardly tolerate the heat.
“Does anyone mind if I add more hot water to the pool?” Ambe asks quietly, indicating that the pool is getting too cold for her.
One by one, everyone indicates that they are OK with that idea. My response is to mumble a muffled “go ahead” while punctuating my anger by climbing completely out of the pool. I still cannot handle the heat, but feel as if my feelings literally do not matter to anyone. I sit pouting with my back to the wall, hands over my eyes, my head bent over my knees, simply staring at the ground while trying to understand and control my anger.
I wish I could run away, requesting my own private hot-tub room. I would fill the tub with a tolerable temperature and simply sit in meditative silence.
But the Universe has made getting my own room impossible. The hallway outside is packed with people waiting for a free room to become available – waiting for their own turns in the relaxing hot waters.
Whenever I peek through the slits in my fingers, I notice that Keith is sitting quietly at the far side of the pool, relaxing in deep meditation. The others are moving around as if I were not there. I do not necessarily know who is making the noise, but the room is filled with what feels to me like incessant, almost mindless chatter. Deep resentment builds in my heart – resentment that is aimed directly at Ambe and even Moses. It breaks my heart that I am projecting such anger onto my friends.
New Power, New Voice
“Brenda, I am following your emotions very closely.” Keith finally interrupts during a brief moment when no one else is talking. There is a strong emotional blockage building in your abdomen. I am being guided to advise you that you need to make a little noise in order to help release that blockage.”
“I don’t feel like it.” I whine back. “I can’t do it … I don’t want to do it.”
For what must be at least an hour, I sit numbly staring at the floor, emotions boiling uncontrollably inside.
Finally, I have had enough of my self pity and wallowing. I feebly attempt what Keith asked me to do – I try to use my voice to express my feelings.
“ooohhhhmmmm,” I weakly sound in a way that is barely audible.
I hear the noisy room go silent. For the first time all evening, I feel as if others are respecting my needs and feelings.
“OOooohhhhhhmmmmm,” I again sound in a low alto note, barely resonating with a tiny bit more power, my voice still slightly shaky.
Soon, the others in the pool begin to sound and chant with me. As they do so, I get louder and increasingly more powerful.
After a few minutes, as my breath weakens, I take a brief pause. Most people in the room soon return to noisy chatter.
In anger, I burst out a powerful “OOOOHHHHHMMMMMM”, attempting to drown out what I consider to be extremely inconsiderate noise. I want to be heard. I want to have a spiritual experience. I am angry at those who seem determined to ignore my needs.
The others in the room again respond, joining me in beautiful harmonious toning and chanting – amazing sounds that go on for nearly ten minutes.
As the sounds gradually die down, many of the others again begin talking and partying loudly.
“OOOHHHMMM,” I begin again … but this time I can hardly get the sound out. My belly begins to shake with angry rage as sobbing tears attempt to burst forth. I am determined to NOT express my anger via words or tears. As soon as I can control the surging emotion, I again replace the tears with a loud and forceful “OOOHHHMMM.”
Repeatedly, the tears attempt to overwhelm me. Each time as my belly begins to shake I gradually convert the emotion back into a powerful expression of verbal toning. When the conversational noise in the room again begins to go up, I increase my volume as a way of expressing my emotion and power. I am tired of being silent. I am weary of allowing my needs to go un-noticed and un-respected. I love the newfound power that is billowing inside of me – power that is demanding expression, demanding respect.
For another thirty minutes or so, I sit in silence, ignoring the room’s return to noise, allowing higher vibration energies of light to filter into my soul. I invite the light to fill my empty spaces, to transmute the anger that has now mostly converted to peace and powerful unconditional love.
I have absolutely no desire to speak with anyone. Continuing to sit on the floor with my eyes closed, I simply meditate while some others in the pool talk incessantly.
I am no longer the victim. I feel strangely empowered, satisfyingly filled with new courage, having found a new way to process emotions, to move beyond my anger. Without stepping on any toes, I simply do what I want, doing it with power and conviction, doing it without fear of what anyone else might think.
Something inside has shifted, but I am not yet sure just what it might be. It is like a small crack has been opened up in a very thick and invisible wall.
When I overhear others begin to talk about leaving, I quietly get up, grab my things, and walk silently down to the restroom to change. I am happy and peaceful, but I simply want to invisibly integrate what just happened.
Unexpected Guidance
“Brenda,” Keith apologizes lovingly in the parking lot. “I’m sorry for remaining mostly silent tonight – but I need to explain. This morning, even before we began our trip, I was guided that uncomfortable things might happen today. My guides did not give me any clarity on exactly what that might mean, but I was definitely guided that I needed to stay out of the way and to allow whatever it was to simply occur unobstructed.”
“Thanks,” I tell Keith with a hug, “I am still not sure what it is, but I know that whatever I am dealing with is deeply rooted at my core. I know that things happened tonight exactly the way they needed to happen. I feel new growth and new power emerging inside of me.”
Later, as I attempt to climb into the back of the truck, Moses asks me to sit in the front, indicating that I will be more comfortable there.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I tell Keith, “but I need to be in silence. I am not ready to talk about anything that happened today. I need time to integrate, to feel, to meditate, and to seek understanding.”
“Tomorrow, I will do what I want to do”, I continue speaking to Keith. “It is highly unlikely that I will come to the chocolate ceremony. I need to stay home for a day – to take care of me, to write and to be in silence. I don’t think I am capable of helping others until I help myself first.”
Silence is Golden
I do not utter more than a few sentences during the entire trip home. As Rae and Skye are preparing for bed, I momentarily walk into their room. After apologizing for my still-confusing emotional outbursts, I explain that I am actually in a very good place, but that I need to be in silence on Sunday. I am grateful for their unconditionally loving support as they promise to honor and respect my silence.
I go to sleep with three profound statements running through my mind – statements dealing with emotional struggles that appear to be rooted in relationships.
“It is never about the other person.”
“It is never about what it is about.”
“Nothing changes until you do.”
Yes, I know that my emotional pain today has absolutely nothing to do about anyone else. I am determined to look inward, to find the source of my projections, and to change my own inner beliefs.
I am not at all prepared for just how difficult this task will prove to be.
Silly Sunday Silence
Sunday begins as a day of reflection. Rather than writing, I opt to reread some of my own writings, hoping to refuel my heart. Later in the morning, I give myself permission to do nothing – to casually meditate – to listen to music – to simply lie in bed.
But to my surprise, as I meditate about what I really want to do with my day, my heart screams loudly “I want to go to the chocolate ceremony.”
With happy and stable emotions, I soon find myself sitting on Keith’s magical porch with a cute little note taped to my shirt reading, “In Silence.”
I do not know how long the silence will last, but I am committed to maintain it as long as my heart believes it to be necessary.
As Keith makes his introductions in what turns out to be a huge ceremony with 35 people crowded on the porch, he introduces me as one of his students who is capable of helping others.
“Brenda,” Keith asks me in front of the group, “will you be doing your own work today or will you be assisting others?”
“I will be assisting others.” I reply as others in the group gasp at the fact that I broke my silence.
“And I will be talking whenever I need to do so.” I add with a grin.
From that point on, my silence is pretty much history. The afternoon is amazing. Unconditional love overflows from my heart at every turn. I feel more tingling energy in my hands than I ever believed possible, and I receive considerable feedback that continues to aid me in building trust regarding my energy/intuitive connections.
I begin to recognize that whatever I cleared out last night did indeed fill me with a new confidence and a new sense of power. I cannot wait to see were this new growth leads.
Monday Meltdown
The roller coaster ride continues.
As Monday afternoon’s chocolate gathering commences on Keith’s porch, I feel a strong urge to pick up a large quartz crystal – the same “teacher crystal” that I held a few days ago.
As I stare into the crystal, meditating deeply on my feelings, a strong sense of knowing surges in my heart. The powerful intuition terrifies me, driving me into a state of inner panic, nearly pushing me back into the same state of shutdown that I experienced on Saturday night.
“I don’t want to do it!” I silently protest to the crystal.
I cannot explain why, but a strong sense of inner guidance is literally forcing me to return to the same empowered state that I felt at the end of the hot springs experience on Saturday night – but this time the intuitive knowing is guiding me to speak with words – insisting that I must actually express the judgmental feelings that are again unexpectedly surging through my veins with renewed intensity.
I recognize the entire situation as a setup created by the Universe, created for my own growth and empowerment by my Higher Self, but the emotions are so intense and so powerfully real that I am presently incapable of seeing through the eyes of love.
My unexpected buildup of judgment is projected onto Ambe and Moses. Part of the anger is related to my interpretation of their behavior on Saturday – an interpretation wildly insisting that their actions had been extremely inconsiderate and disrespectful. I am surprised by this residual anger. I had thought it to be already resolved.
The remainder of the anger toward Ambe and Moses is triggered by my perceptions of their behavior today in group.
* * * * *
NOTE – Please Read this clarification: As of this writing I have now fully let go of all of this anger and judgment. I love Ambe and Moses with all of my heart and believe that one reason I manifest them into my life was for the purpose of being beautiful triggers for me – triggers to show me areas of myself that I needed to look at and to heal. For this, I am deeply grateful.
In this writing I will not delve into further details regarding my projections onto Ambe and Moses. Suffice it to say that my judgments had been building for a few weeks.
Verbal Vomiting
“Speak your truth” I feel the crystal silently screaming to my heart as Keith finally brings the group focus to my seat.
“You don’t need to film this.” I tell Rae as I ask her to turn off her camera. I am terrified by what is about to come out of my mouth
“I’m dealing with my own shit.” I tell Keith after a long hesitation. “Inner lies are streaming around inside, begging me to project onto others … but this crystal is demanding that I need to learn to speak up – to speak my truth – so here goes …”
A sense of inner knowing tells me that Ambe and Moses need to hear what I have to say. I don’t know if my words are more for them or for me, but I know with all my heart that I have to say them.
Trying to remain respectful, I express my angry disappointment over the perceived behaviors that are bothering me. Between sentences, I frequently repeat phrases such as “I love you, but I am so angry at you!”
When I am done verbally vomiting, I feel horrible. I feel as if I have walked through a sacred temple wielding a sharp double-edge machete, shredding every sacred object in sight using the razor-sharp edges of my blade. I know that I have committed the cardinal sin. I am evil. I deserve to be punished. Yes, I will probably be banished from Keith’s porch forever.
The Muppet Show
I feel like a total fool as no one directly responds to my statements, neither denying them nor validating them. I almost feel angry at the non-response. I cannot seem to look anyone in the eye – especially not Ambe and Moses.
“They must hate me now.” I think to myself.
A minute later, one beautiful woman in the group congratulates me for having had the courage to speak my feelings. For more than an hour, Keith works directly with this woman as she delves into powerful work that was triggered by my own courageous outburst. Another woman also jumps up and thanks me, telling me that my words helped her too, in a very profound way.
Even with the feedback that my painful outburst has helped others, I continue to feel like an evil piece of worthless garbage.
As I continue to stew in my mental state of self-flogging, Keith wanders over in my direction. Ambe is now actively working with a woman on the other side of the circle as Keith silently maneuvers onto a bench directly behind my chair. With his right hand, Keith reaches around my shoulder and rests his bunched-up fingers all together in a small spot on my sternum, directly above my heart chakra. Then, after gently placing his left hand on mine, Keith simply sits in silence holding a high-vibration energy space for me.
Almost immediately, I picture myself in the audience of the Muppet Show, sitting with Statler and Waldorf, the two hilarious old men who are often portrayed as reviewing the stage show from a private balcony. I had first shared this metaphor with Conny while in Valladolid a year ago. During her visit last month, she had reminded me of how powerful it is for her to visualize unfolding events around her as simply being part of The Muppet Show – seeing them as unreal, as part of the illusion, as part of a stage play where everyone is merely playing their role.
Keith continues to silently hold space, not uttering a single word while I gradually return to a place of energized empowerment – little by little reconnecting to the life-giving flow of high-vibration energies that always bring me back to peaceful joy – little by little remembering that everything going on around me on this magical porch is a beautiful divine setup, giving me an opportunity to safely explore my growth and healing in a powerful way.
The Cardinal Sin
As Keith leaves me alone again, I am actually in a very positive and high-energy space, fully recognizing everything as a mere episode of The Muppet Show.
But my centeredness does not last. I slowly return to a feeling of “I need to be punished.” I began to remember the fear and emotion of my parents either washing my mouth out with soap or placing cayenne pepper on my tongue – something they often did when I expressed any flavor of angry words.
“I feel like I just shot the Pope.” I exclaim to Keith when he later asks how I am doing. “I feel like I have ruined everything … like I just need to run away and never come back … like I deserve severe punishment for expressing such anger.”
“Look into Ambe’s eyes.” Keith directs my gaze.
I can only briefly connect with Ambe’s beautiful loving eyes. I feel angry that she is showing me love – feeling as if her love cannot possibly be genuine.
“She is supposed to be mad at me – to punish me by withholding her love.” I think to myself with deep frustration. “She must just be faking it … or maybe I am the one who is a fake.”
Emotional numbness again consumes my soul as the two women whose powerful work I triggered run over to give me hugs, telling me again how much I helped them today. I begin to sob. I again think of running away … of never coming back to this magical porch. I cannot face my shame.
Parental Programming
“Brenda, scream into the pillow,” one of the women tells me as she places a foam cushion on my lap. Keith has momentarily left the porch to speak with someone at his gate.
“You are always telling me to just let the emotion out,” the woman continues, “so now it is your turn. Just let it out. Do it now.”
“I can’t do it.” I reply as I stare blankly at the pillow.
When Keith returns to the porch, he sits beside me and lightly places his hand on my back. Seconds later, I collapse forward, feeling like a little baby that simply wants throw a tantrum – wanting to cry and scream.
“I want a glass of water.” I think to myself.
This thought brings back deeply buried and long-forgotten childhood memories. I used to cry uncontrollably, and the only way my mother could get me to stop was if she offered me a glass of water. Somehow the cool wet water flowing through my mouth and down my throat always had a way of bringing me back to a place of comfort.
I immediately begin to sob – deep gut-wrenching screaming sobs. Again, I want to run away. I don’t want to be doing this. I feel so stupid, like a dramatic crybaby immersed in meaningless trauma drama.
“Brenda,” Keith speaks lovingly, “you are regressing into a period of your childhood when you were being programmed by your parents. This is very powerful work.”
Keith’s kind validating words are exactly what I need to hear – words giving me permission to allow myself to continue. I almost vomit as memories of my loving childhood conditioning flash through my awareness – memories of being taught to be a ‘Sunbeam’ – to be a good little helper who was happy, obedient and self-sacrificing.
Anger surges in my heart as I remember how I was lovingly coerced into believing that it is not OK to speak and/or defend my own truth if it conflicts with the deeply held beliefs of my parents.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim with shock after quietly meditating for a few minutes. “I did it to my own children!”
I break out in a new round of sobs as I bend back over the pillow, contemplating how I had programmed my own children in the very same way in which my parents taught me. The guilt and sorrow momentarily overwhelm me.
Highs and Lows
The rest of the day feels like a violent roller coaster ride.
By the time the Monday chocolate session is over, I feel deeply connected to the light. Love fills my heart and powerful energy radiates in my back as I assist others in their own healing processes.
But as I walk home, I again sink into disconnected despair and sadness. After a quick peanut butter and honey sandwich, I isolate myself in my room, sliding down the slippery-slope of self pity. I want to run away from San Marcos, never returning to Keith’s porch. I feel ashamed and humiliated.
I know the emotions are not real, but they are extremely powerful. Rather then fighting and suppressing the feelings, I allow them to surface, allowing them to run rampant through my consciousness. As I curl up in a fetal position, a little internal voice reassures me that all is exactly as it needs to be. Soon, I am fast asleep.
Basket Case
After blubbering my continued emotions all over Rae on Tuesday morning, I again return to my bed, sleeping numbly till early afternoon.
With a feeling of hopeful hopelessness, I finally walk over to my favorite porch for an afternoon private session that had been arranged through a late-night email – an email that was also a lonely and desperate cry for help on Keith’s normal day off.
“I feel as if I am drowning in quicksand.” I exclaim to Keith. “I know I am projecting … I know that my process is all an inside job … yet I seem totally incapable of dealing with this by myself. I am completely overwhelmed by the intensity of this emotion, on the edge of losing my mind.”
Keith attempts to help by guiding me to meditate on a basket.
“What do you find inside the basket?” Keith asks with love.
“The only thing I can find is a gun.” I respond glumly after a few minutes of feeling totally disconnected.
“I am not suicidal, yet I feel as if I deserve to be shot.” I mumble to Keith. “I still feel as if I need to be deeply punished for my angry outburst yesterday.”
I am a literal basket case. I am so disconnected from source that meditating for answers seems hopelessly futile.
Dancing Around The Edges
“Brenda,” Keith soon tells me, “I have been observing for a couple of weeks now as you seem to be increasingly dancing around the edges of what I believe to be a deeply rooted core issue.”
Keith goes on to explain that my behavior is very indicative of what people go through when they get close to uncovering their deepest fears and dysfunctional belief systems.
“What you need to do now,” Keith lovingly coaches me, “is to simply remain the observer – remaining detached from the emotions as you observe the patterns of your defense mechanisms – feelings such as wanting to project, to blame, to withdraw, to run away, or to just give up and never come back, etc.”
My sense of hope goes up considerably as Keith repeatedly reassures me that I am very close to some major breakthroughs – that my emotional extremes are very typical at this stage of deep growth. Our three-hour session is filled with mostly rational-mind discussion – discussion that I desperately crave to help quiet my mental self-judgment.
“Can you give me a hint as to what my core issues might be?” I ask Keith inquisitively, hoping he can shorten my extremely painful process.
A slight frown consumes my face as Keith simply reiterates his strong belief that I am very close to a breakthrough, but that the answers must flow through me.
The Waiting Game
As the first three days of February enter the record book, I gradually return to a state of emotional stability and strength.
The remainder of Tuesday proves difficult but uneventful. Powerful waves of emotions continue to crash down on my soul, but my discussions with Keith have locked me firmly into the role of observer. The powerful waves no longer not have power over my behavior. Instead, I simply observe impartially regarding how the emotions attempt to manipulate me.
Wednesday proves to be a beautiful day as I joyfully participate in another incredible chocolate ceremony – a ceremony in which I lovingly observe my judgments melt away to nothingness. I seem to find new internal power as I move around Keith’s magical porch, doing a little Reiki here, providing quiet loving support there. Profound gratitude and unconditional love for my dear friends completely overwhelms my heart and soul. My love for Ambe and Moses is deeply reaffirmed – I am so grateful for the way they had lovingly allowed me to project onto them during my deepest struggles.
Thursday also brings powerful growth – a day in which I practice writing in the midst of seeming ambient chaos. It is also a day of creative expression in which I again face what were once deep fears – fears replaced by the joy of uninhibitedly participating in yet another Ecstatic dance class taught by Ambe and Moses.
Given my peaceful state, I half begin to wonder if my current round of growth might perhaps be complete. The Universe must be laughing at my silly assumption. Unbeknownst to me, another tidal wave of growth is about to blind-side me on Friday.
Copyright © 2011 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved