“Guided” Meditation.

fire

Self amusement. This morning, I read the following wise words:

“who are you becoming?

she is your spirit guide. she is your truth. she is beckoning you, ever so gently.

what does she want to invite you towards?

let her speak, guide, open.

she is your true name as was your past self. you grow of each. bow to your now as the prayer of who you are becoming is told. record the prayer.” H. Marcotti

Upon which, I decided to dedicate my meditation time to, being infused with the essence of such pondering. The mind chatter that followed went something like this:

“All I know is, something, everything is shifting inside of me. I don’t know where it’s taking me I don’t know where I’ll end up. I only know I’m going. Is it strange in the infinite abyss of grief to feel so much hope, so much traction? Where does it come from? What is it made from? My mind wants to make sense of this inner knowing, to judge or rationalize it, both sacred & profane~my hips are tight!!!

“you have learned how truly precious life is”

“necessity is the mother of reinvention”

“it’s never too late to be what you might have been”

“you have more time on your hands than you have in 18 years”

“daydreams are a great distraction”

“you aren’t doing enough by simply grieving, healing”

“you must always be accomplishing SOMETHING”

“take time spent doing nothing to think about what to do next”

“Ringo! Please quit licking your balls while I’m trying to focus!”

It is the sudden pressure that kept me up most nights of my 20’s. ambition. obsession. on fire. call it what you will. But I feel something strong & raw brewing.

Maybe it is creative fire.

Maybe it is runaway mojo?

Maybe it is anger rising?

It feels transformational. Alchemical. It is not clearly good nor bad, but feels benevolent as I squint trying to access clarity. I see: Many deaths; death of my child, death of my role, death of illusions, death of security. I squint harder I see a flower, opening. a vessel filling & overflowing. A surrendering, on my knees dark night of the soul begging for mercy and then surrendering…it pulls me down, a yank, a drop, and then I am a feather, floating on slight breeze, on breath. I am free from internal pressure, I walk with confidence in my inner compass, I am compassion to all, even myself. There are candles lit and a circle surrounding me and I am speaking from my heart. What’s going on with my hair? I think I should have some granola with the yogurt Aubrey brought. The sun feels so warm. Where was I? Squirrel!”

and so it goes……Om Shanti Om

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Published by: christinaryanstoltz

I write to touch the supple center of unguarded ache~ To release myself from the pressure of not knowing how to move forward from the unfathomable loss of my beloved son, my beautiful boy Isaac, to suicide, of not knowing how to release my grip on of the past, both the worshipping of it as well as the beating myself up for it, and letting go of the need to know what I could’ve done or what on earth I will do now. I write to heal.

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