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Hard times require serious dancing. – Alice Walker

No. I don’t have a pretty picture like a great ship sailing in stormy waters or an image of a physical body’s particles dissolving into eternal, ecstatic light. This is my latest injury. My right leg sustained yet another injury last Friday while transferring to the stationary bike. (I know it’s bad when the hospice nurse cries.) What will I do when my legs can no longer support any of my weight, when I cannot stand or ride my bike or even take care of the basic daily living skills? My body is known for healing quickly, but each injury is more debilitating and each recovery finds a new baseline with less ability.

The night before the injury, I slept ten hours which is nearly a record. My sleeping has been getting better and even my occasional naps are becoming longer. I’ve heard that as people move toward dying they sleep more. I believe we are given much preparation for our transition in our sleep, whether it is received consciously or unconsciously. The day after the injury I woke up from a dream that was partially autobiographical, but with dreamlike embellishments. I believe they – the Voice I’ve spoken of previously– wake me early some nights, because there is something I am needing to acknowledge and/or process that in waking hours I cannot access. In my dream, my former husband was becoming more distant from me with coldness and resentment. I tried to call him near, but he told me that he was closer to his new girlfriend’s family than my family. When he told me this, I cried desperately from the grief and fear of going forward alone with this illness. This was mostly biographically accurate, but I received it as a reminder to grieve. Being able to grieve is so important in our bittersweet, human lives and I believe it’s necessary to grieve well in order to truly feel joy. Since I began psychotherapy in my 20s and through fifteen years of Holotropic Breathwork practice and becoming a trainer, I have become more comfortable with grief knowing that joy is just on the other side. David was unable to process grief openly during the eleven years we were together. No one could navigate this curriculum without the capacity for grief/joy. I understand that this is an accelerated course in life and not for everybody. It is not a failing to be overwhelmed by my life. Believe me, I get it.

In her seminal book, The Hero Within, Carol Pearson, presents six heroic archetypes that exist in all of us. To access this best-selling classic with strong Jungian influence, click here. According to her teachings, we all have access to each archetype, or ally, and when made conscious they can elevate our self-awareness. The archetypes evolve developmentally as we evolve.

Suddenly in the dream, I slapped my face. Referring to Pearson’s archetypes, I realize that I have been avoiding the feelings of the Orphan archetype (vulnerability, innocence, fear of abandonment), wanting more the Warrior archetype (strength and physical persistence). This translates literally to my waking life. Authors like Carol Pearson and Michael Brown offer us so many tools to aid in our evolution.

By waking up 2 1/2 hours early, I had the time to explore the meaning within the dream. I remembered an earlier time when I sustained multiple injuries while I was avoiding the use of a wheelchair. If you know anyone with a progressive neurological illness, as the disease progresses and one’s equilibrium is affected, one may tend to wall-walk in order to stay upright. I became adept at wall-walking, that is, until I fell with my computer landing on my knee to avoid damage to my laptop. My kneecap cracked with the force. Still, I persevered and dragged myself onto the tractor. If will could have kept this illness at bay, I might have dragged myself up Mount Everest. Climbing off the tractor, I fell on my knee again and broke my patella in half! I have always minimized my injuries, that is until I couldn’t.

I required crutches and then a walker while the injury healed. Soon, I fell onto my computer desk and cracked my sternum! When I finally sat in the freaking wheelchair, I felt the relief of surrender. The dream last night and my time in contemplation allowed me to wonder if the series of injuries I’m experiencing now is an indication that I am needing to surrender once again.

The Orphan archetype, an ally that brings resilience and realism to situations through a willingness to feel vulnerable might be the exact medicine I most need now. Ironically, the illusion of abandonment is the pitfall of the Orphan when life is not met head-on. So it seems that these recurring injuries may be a message that I am needing to meet what is head-on.

Ultimately, letting go of my will means letting go of the illusion of control, an illusion we share as humans and seems to be a recurring theme in my life. Feeling the grief of what I am leaving behind is part of the work of moving from Orphan to Innocent to Warrior to Magician, to ultimately allow myself to be transformed, to be more of who I truly Am.

My dear friends tell me daily how courageous I am and what an inspiration I am for their lives. If you are reading this, you are one of them. I appreciate being received as inspiring, but I know everybody will be facing this level of surrender eventually in our lives. I am just doing it earlier than most, in slow motion, and reporting in real-time.

I am moving into the next level of this heartbreaking and joyfully sacred path we call life, which includes death. May I do it all with Grace and Gratitude. Namaste.

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“Joy is the most infallible sign of the existence of God.” – Stephen Colbert1924-Ford-Model-T-PO

At my friends’ design, I began a five day personal retreat. Due to my physical constraints, I modified it to be solitary, and concurrent with my nine friends’. For me, beginning a new year is always joyful and auspicious. Consciously honoring the passage of another year is a feat I choose to highlight. During my first meditation I had some fond memories beginning in my latency years through adulthood and I wanted to share them.

Someone said to me the other day, “You have an engineer’s mind.” I never really thought about that, because psychology and spirituality are so central to my Being. However, mathematics was my best subject and I did very well in statistics, a subject that I notice was cringe-worthy to others in graduate school. I was the person in the family who frequently assembled washers and dryers and the toys for the children. Upon seeing a hammer at a friend’s house when he was around six years old, Jordan excitedly exclaimed, “You have a hammer like my mother’s!”

My family was a doing family. I haven’t identified with doing for quite a long time, given my physical circumstances, but I remembered my father collecting antique cars. He had a 1929 Model A Ford and a 1924 Model T Ford touring car. I remember around age eight filing the rust off of tiny parts of the engine that was splayed all over the garage floor at the lake where I grew up. Doesn’t everybody work on antique cars and learn mechanics by osmosis? I was horrified when my father acquired a 1950 Silver Dawn Rolls-Royce. My 16-year-old self found it ostentatious and refused to ride in it in daylight. It was actually pretty cool, as the turn signals raised out near the side doors and were lighted. The back seats had a glass desk that dropped down like tables on airplanes. The class tabletops were perfect for separating lines of cocaine, but that is for another blog entry (that will be very short, if you’re curious). My wheels ambulated a ten year old 1962 Willy’s Jeep, my first car. I could take the top and doors off and it was like my Barbie camper as a child. The problem was that it needed a ring job that was worth more than the car, so I had to carry a sixpack of oil around with me. The muffler occasionally fell off and I needed to get under it to clamp it back on, so I always needed tools. What do you mean, other 16 year olds didn’t have this avocation?

I guess we were a mechanical family. When people complain about automobile repairs, I notice that I know quite a bit about the parts, just not much about the inner workings of the engine. I learned to drive a stick shift in my younger older brother’s GTO. He was a good instructor teaching me about the friction point between the clutch and the acceleration and compression when braking, but his car was losing the clutch and if I let it grind at all, he was furious with me so I learned to drive a stick shift very quickly. For a while during college when visiting home, the Rolls-Royce became the party mobile. The transmission was on the column in an H design, very fun to drive. I guess I took for granted that other people didn’t know to be extremely careful when cranking a Model T to be sure you don’t dislocate your shoulder.

My older older brother sold Snap-On tools for a while, an excellent quality tool. He also worked on foreign cars and Harley-Davidson motorcycles. I didn’t get to drive any of those, but I was an avid passenger. While down with the flu in college, I put a Harley-Davidson model motorcycle together in my spare time when not studying math. Perhaps that was preparation for purchasing a Honda 350 modified dirtbike to avoid hitchhiking.

Understanding my propensity for recklessness on my motorcycle, I sold it after six months. I tended to bungee cord my fashionable chunky high heels on the back of the bike and ride barefoot. I never told my children about this behavior until they were beyond the age of danger. I didn’t want to glamorize recklessness. I did however always wear a helmet with a face shield, which came in handy when riding a few hours down to Key West on the weekends from college. I was fortunate that the worst calamity with my motorcycle happened when I got off and forgot to put the kickstand down. I know, that’s why I sold it. I knew the statistics for fatalities in Dade County were high. Math.

During the late 90s, I learned to drive a vintage 1950 Ford tractor pulling a bush hog. A few years later I graduated to a new Kubota tractor. I soon learned to drive a two horse trailer with living quarters to take my horse to the veterinarian at the LSU vet school. I happily could drag the arenas on the horse farm with the harrow and mow the fields for hours at a time. Riding the tractor was almost more joyful than riding horses.

It surprises me when I know things that other girls don’t know. Growing up with brothers did have its advantages.

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Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. more...

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