The fear driven life (Fear of Transformation)

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I needed, or wanted, or.. wanted and needed to write today, either, and, or I’m here, and lucky you!

I’ve been working through a lot of fear recently.

Fear that leaving my recent “occupation” to create my dream online and in the waking realm will be foolish. That I won’t be valuable outside of, well, the bedroom.

Fear that financially I should wait, or save up, or just suck it up (and ok, not entirely literally there) and sloooowly take one step at a time to get my new plan in motion.

Fear that if I don’t take steps on it now, it will fade away and be too late.

Fear that continuing down that other path would lead me to hate the world, or die of it, or both.

Fear that others will think this a silly idea of mine and won’t support it. (Though so far I’ve met amazing support)

Fear that I’m not taking care of others by taking care of myself.

I’ve been meditating, walking, talking (as my therapist can attest to, and my dear S.O.), thinking, pondering, letting go, waking up, moving on, and finally.. meeting myself in the place where I am truly terrified.

There is a crossroads within, in which several of me from the past are gathered, and they are afraid.

They are the me of my younger years, about 5-8 I’d say.

Afraid of speaking up, of making others uncomfortable with my truths.

Afraid of asking for more, never sure where food will come from or if the phone bill will be paid without my suffering.

Afraid because I feel unworthy.

Afraid that there may not even be a car, or a tent, to sleep in tomorrow.

Afraid that my stepfather will come back in our life, that she won’t be strong enough to say no.

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Though I’ve touched on it in other posts, I suppose the time has come within me, to say more.

When I was just a little girl (and actually I hear the song Que Sera start up in my head here.. oy), about 4 years old, and my mother married my stepfather, my life as a happy, cheery, upbeat child ended. Not only was he violent, and verbally abusive with a wicked alcohol problem, but somehow he found his way to know folks involved in child pornography and so this way, did I.

These are details I can’t go into, and perhaps I wouldn’t if I could, maybe, simply because I don’t recall much. I simply recall long car trips with him feeling so lost, so sad, wishing I could disappear or die. He’d tell my mom we were going to Disneyland, but we never made it that far.

I remember old warehouses, an abandoned artichoke factory I believe, dirty mattresses and cameras. And that, is about it.

My behavior changed, of course. I no longer loved to run around naked as a jay bird, happy with the sun on my skin. I hated to see photos of myself, particularly partially undressed (as most babies and toddlers are in pictures now and then), even a bathing suit was too much skin, even years later.. I destroyed every picture I could find like that. I stopped singing. I felt completely alone even surrounded by others.

During this time my mother was in a deep depression and my family was afraid (there’s that fear again) of speaking up and saying something that would upset her. She didn’t always find herself able to work, and so the income of my stepfather was all there was for a while, and some of that came from what I did I know.

But in this lack I was afraid.

Afraid of eating too much, of not being able to afford more, of not being worthy of more.

Afraid of only being worth someone elses pleasure, and not my own.

Afraid of his temper. (You couldn’t even wake him up.. my mother would prod him awake with a broom handle, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed)
Afraid of speaking up and making my family uncomfortable, or sad.

When I was 7 I started taking food from other kids lunch bags at school, my mother was baffled because she packed me a full lunch, but I was always hungry for more.

Eventually I went to see my own therapist, as I’d started to tell my mother I wished I could die.

After she finally left him around 8 years old, we were homeless for about a year. Occasionally we’d stay at a friends for a week or a month or so, but usually there were limits on how long we could stay. We often stayed at motels down by the beach, due to a voucher program at the time; funny how staying in one of the most beautiful places in the world could really be so dark and frightening.

My 9th birthday we were “camping”, because some friends had a tent and sleeping bags we could borrow. My friends didn’t know those particular details, but they showed up and we had a camping party.

I remember after my mother went to the food bank around this time, finding some exceptionally nice treat in the bag, and feeling like I had to eat it slowly, carefully, because I might not get it again, ever.

So much of this was created by my mothers own fears. Of being alone, of not being worthy, of not being good enough that someone like my stepfather, so bruised and battered, would change, or heal for her, of not being enough, of being successful on her own, of being deemed an unfit mother (I didn’t often go to the doctor, and was treated for many things at home).

And here I am, at 35, finding that my fear now? Is centered there.

Afraid that without giving my body away, I won’t be liked.

Afraid that I won’t be worthy of another income, of making it on my own, with my own business.

Afraid that asking for more, more money, more health, more food, more support, more guidance; is asking too much, and that I’m … selfish, and bad for even thinking of it.

Afraid to share my story, my stories, be they pleasant or otherwise, for fear of not saying it perfectly the way they want to hear it.

Afraid to share my dreams, should they be too grand, too bright, too filled with joy and life.

Afraid to stand on my own and be capable, powerful, loved. That the only way to survive is by the grace and gifts of others, not my own.

Yet here we sit, at this crossroads, my younger selves and I. I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to create a new world. After all, there is a new way to see this world and I can see it, live it, and breathe it; if only I can release the fear that doesn’t just slow me down, it holds me back, it drags me down under the water, so fast, and so fierce, so that I’m drowning with no way up.

I’ve been taking baby steps forward, beyond the fear. Though I feel it still, sometimes overwhelmingly so. I’ve run from it my whole life, hidden from it, treated it like the black sheep in the room and done whatever I had to do to keep my head above water, so that I didn’t have to face it.

So I sit with it, with them, and I allow that fear, their fears, to be acknowledged, to be loved, to be acceptable and worthy. There is nothing more I can do for them, but offer them all I am now, the knowledge, the love, the hope I have here, in this moment, that everything will be ok. That they can walk away from the fear and in to light.

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And I leave with that, and lead with this, one of my favorite writings of all time:

Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I’m either hanging on to a trapeze bar or swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, I’m hurtling across space in between trapeze bars. Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar- of-the-moment. It carries me along a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I’m in control of my life. I know most of the right questions and even some of the right answers.

But once in a while, as I’m merrily (or not so merrily) swinging along, I look ahead of me into the distance, and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward me. It’s empty, and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart- of-hearts, I know that for me to grow, I must release my grip on the present, well-know bar to move to the new one.

Each time it happens to me, I hope (no, I pray) that I won’t have to grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moment in time, I must hurtle across space before I can grab onto the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn’t matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing, I have always made it. Each time I am afraid I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between the bars.

But I do it anyway.

Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantee, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow, to keep hanging onto that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives. And so for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of “the past is gone, the future is not yet here.”

Its called transition. I have come to believe that it is the only place that real change occurs. I mean real change, not the pseudo-change that only lasts until the next time my old buttons get punched.

I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as “nothing”, a no-place between places. Sure the old trapeze-bar was real, and that new coming towards me, I hope, that’s real, too.

But the void in between? That’s just a scary, confusing, disorienting “nowhere” that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible.

What a waste! I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing, and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void, where the real change, the real growth occurs for us. Whether or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out-of-control that can (but necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive moments in our lives.

And so, transformation of fear may have nothing to do with making fear go away, but rather with giving ourselves permission to “hang out” in the transition between the trapeze bars. Transforming our need to grab that new bar, any bar, is allowing ourselves to dwell in the only place where change really happens. It can be terrifying. It can be enlightening, in the true sense of the word.

Hurtling through the void, we just may learn how to fly.

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If I should never come back…

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I’m going somewhere soon, moving on, and away.

To a land with high reaching mountains, with caps of snow, even here in the middle of these hot, sunny days.

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Without a ticket in hand, or a destination in mind, I will be on my way.

To a beach, with deep blue seas, as far as the eyes can imagine they see.

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I’m going somewhere soon, far, far away.

I will stare at the departure board, and wait for a flicker, for a sign. A light in the darkness.

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Then I will be off, on my own, with just this bag on my back and these words in my head.

To a meadow, vast and infinite, in it’s green beauty. Where purple flowers dance with blackberries.

 

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Where the softest sigh comes floating in, just a breeze to show the way.

Taking me down, down a hidden path, to the waters edge.

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And away, away I will go.

Over the land I call home, up, up and beyond the borders laid down by men, and women, to keep people out, to keep some of us in.

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I will wait in line to board that plane, not knowing if the way I am going is forward, or back.

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Off, on my own, I will go on – up, up and away.

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Soon, goodbye shall be on my lips.

 

I’m going somewhere, where there will be no looking back, no wondering at the choices I’ve made, no doubting if I should ever come back.

 

 

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Oh, the Places you’ll Go!

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Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
by Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

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And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

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You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

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And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

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And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

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Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

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But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Dancing with the Ghosts

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I have been so angry, for so long, at so many people – including myself.

It wasn’t something that you’d see from just looking at me, it was something that was simmering, submerged deep within.

I remember when I was 12, and in Childrens Hospital for a while, I told them how angry I felt. They suggested I take it out on one of those large, exercise balls (you know the kind people can sit on), hit it and not hurt it.. and I was getting more and more frustrated with them as we discussed this, because taking out this rage, this anger, on a bouncy ball.. was not going to be enough.

I wanted to break something, I wanted to take a glass and throw it, watch it shatter in to a million tiny pieces – something you couldn’t fix. I wanted to do this over and over.

They looked at me, alarmed, as though somehow they saw someone much larger, much .. more, than a 12 year old girl, in front of them. I don’t think that I ever expressed the depth of my anger again to someone, anyone, for over 20 years. Somehow it was easier to add it all to the growing rock of anger held deep within.

And up until recently, that’s what I did. Even when my therapist/guide suggested we have a special session to address the anger, I held back.

My dreams were even, clearly, showing me a need to work on it, to let it go.
I’d be traveling somewhere, ready to go, going to move on, when someone or even something, would stop me and tell me that I needed to let go of the anger before I could go to the next place in my journey.
Of course, I’d feel a bit frustrated at that (in my dreams and in waking life), but… I got the messages.

Though I needed to let go of the anger, it felt as though it had taken on an almost super nova capability. And that if I dared to open the door to it, in any way, it would consume me and everyone around me.

As much as I had worked past a lot of anger, a lot of pain, sorrow, hate, hurt and abandonment – I could still feel this amazing ball of terrible energy within.

 

Pissed off at a family that stood by and did nothing, at a mom that was involved more than I’d like to admit, at a father that dissapeared, at all of the people that do nothing… at everyone and everything that wasn’t as my little girl self felt it should be..

I knew that all of these people were simply coming from a place of their own pain, their own fears, their own angers and hurts, but it didn’t matter – they didn’t take care of me, when I needed them most. When they knew I needed them.

I began reading Wishes Fulfilled by Wayne Dyer, and talks about how we hold on to energy (anger, joy, all of it) for so long and that after a while, who we were angry at (or whatever) is gone, even if it was at our self.
That every cell in the body has actually changed and been replaced.

I was feeling this resonate at some level deep within. In a way, it brought so many things together, so many thoughts and memories, so many emotions (energy).

And then something happened this past weekend.

I went in for my, now, regular acupuncture visit and I talked about how my legs were still experiencing so much discomfort and it started in my hips and lower back – it has been a sensation as though my legs are stuck in ice. And it had been getting worse. So he decided to work on my spine this time. My Qi has been out of sync for some time and I felt it.

I felt it there in my lower back. It wasn’t some injury done recently, or sitting poorly in my chair, or not doing enough Yoga… (all of which have some truth though)

I felt my anger, I found where it had been resting. Where it had been hiding, growing, consuming me from inside out.

Then it all came together. And apart.

I discovered I’ve been angry at ghosts. My own and others. That I had held on to them, and they to me. That I’ve been dancing with these ghosts of anger for most of my life, caught up in some sorrow filled angry melody.

I found that I was ready to let them go. Dancing with them as I have, has had it’s own beauty, but that I am ready to dance with the living spirits now.

Now, suddenly, when I try to touch on those ghosts of anger again – they have been my dancing partners for over 30 years after all, I don’t feel them as I once did. I feel them as they are, Ghosts. Wisps floating in the wind. I can’t even manage to conjure them up as I once could, as I once did, even mere days before.

And I can finally see my anger inside (I can SEE it), as a .. piece of darkness, like a lump of coal in my stomach and back. I see it dissolving, slowly, resisting even at times, but it is growing smaller and smaller.

I told my therapist I was afraid of this loss, yet also afraid of calling them back.

I have been dancing with these ghosts for so long, now I wonder if I’m dancing alone. Or who’s dancing with me at all?

Maybe that’s ok though. Maybe.. in dancing alone, I will discover my own dance, a dance of joy, of love, and hope. I know the ghosts are always waiting, but I’ve been waiting too.

Ripples in the Pond

Today, as I sit listening to the wonderful sounds of music on my player, I wonder if we’ll ever know just how much the little things made the biggest differences in someones life.

Listening to Patti Griffin can bring me joy, comfort, and to tears of sorrow and such depth of emotion, one I rarely find myself in recently. And I recall the friend that brought me to her, Jennifer, do you know how important you were? How this one (among many) gift you brought in to my life has echoed over these past 12 years?

Does Darcy know how her enjoyment of Enya (albeit played at a level much higher than was reasonable to us neighbors downstairs) helped to bring this music in to heal me? For some 20 years now…

Does my grandmother quite understand how The Secret Garden saved me as a child? How I would hide away from the pain in the garden, growing, learning, lost in my own secret paradise.

How a trip with a friend to Tokyo could leave me at such peace, utterly lost in a world not my own, yet so at home anywhere I went.

That hypnotherapy with my great aunt, once, has left me with a grove of flowering cherry trees to visit in meditation, dreams, day dreams, any moment I needed safety and calm.

That a conversation between this same aunt and her friend could leave me afraid to share my own gifts in a way that would request any compensation. And lead me to question and ponder how we share our gifts with the world.

How driving up to the last house on a list, in a funky neighborhood, tired and frustrated at the lack of reasonable rentals, could lead me to a little black cat, and an amazingly bright, loving soul, that would change me forever, who would heal me and love me so completely.

How from one afternoon, my friend sitting in an AOL chat room, could bring me to my friend, partner, husband of nearly 20 years. One sentence from her, and I knew someone special had entered my life. Did she understand this ripple at all?

How firing me from a job, as a waitress in a strip club, could take me down the path of office work instead, of HR management, Business administration, from doctors offices, lawyers, to Microsoft, and Amazon, to my own businesses now… what if she hadn’t fired me that day?

Even the seemingly bad moments, led me to some amazing, beautiful memories. Perhaps I would never have been able to grasp the love, the light, the joy in my life without the darkness in it too.

That through the pain, we aren’t just damaged, or broken; we are in fact lifted up, brought to another plane of existence. We are stronger, more capable, aware, and alive, because those ripples of sorrow, of grief, despair, depression and rage, found their way in to our path.

I wonder how it would be, if we realized how powerful our own ripples were. How they transform the world, not just ours, but of others, in ways we may never, ever, see or know of.

Permanent Paw Prints across my soul, or Saying goodbye to best friends

Most days the four legged, furry, paw print leaving friends I’ve had throughout the years will cross my mind – and I will smile, fondly, sometimes bittersweet for they are no longer with me.

I’ve grown up with critters of all sorts around me, I believe that they, and the nature I often found myself wandering in (usually with them or because of their presence), were the saving graces that lifted me out of my dark nights.

We currently have two furry angels honoring us with their lively company (and a third outdoor friend that has decided to adopt us), we recently had to say farewell to a third feline friend. And though I think of him every day, some days the missing him crawls in deeper, the longing for golden glances, soft paws and gentle mews is like an infinite crevace.

I will share someday, soon perhaps, the story of his life with us – it was beautiful, and too short. But today is for saying goodbye, and for the how of it’s coming to us.

We had decided, earlier this year, to move back to our home state of California, to sunshine and green grass – less gray skies and muddy ground. Where I hoped the rays of the sun and the fresh air, sans mold 9 months out of the year, would help my cats as well as myself.

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In early March I had a dream, in which my cat (Mute, the name he was given by others, though he was NEVER Mute) came to me. In this dream he fell asleep on my chest as a I lay on the couch, with the clear message he would never leave my heart and would always be with me. I assumed this was a sweet reminder that while I traveled I need not worry of him, for he would be there.

He had a lump in one of his lymph nodes that had grown a bit, but he was showing no other signs of illness and the two blood tests we did showed only minor elevations – suggesting probable infection but not much else – we were told to just observe and see. When I flew to CA in mid-March to look for a place, Mute began to limp, something he’d never done before.

My husband got him in to the vet immediately, where they discovered he had lung cancer, that had progressed through over 80% of his lungs. The vet, and the specialists, were shocked and amazed he wasn’t showing any other signs of being so sick.

Here I was 900 miles away, trying to find us a place that I hoped would offer healing, unsure of what to do at this point. Keep looking? Stay where we are? Look closer to our old home? Chemo? Surgery? More natural remedies? What… can we do.

I knew now the dream of just a few weeks before was a gift, and a warning. He was letting me know he would always be with me, in my heart, even if not in physical being/presence. Though many of the cats, and dogs, in my life have journeyed with me spiritually, Mute was especially unique and tuned in to my energy in a way no other critter had ever been.

After weeks of watching him, discussions between us, God, the vets, friends & family… it was clear that Chemo** would only prolong his death, and his little body would be even sicker from it, we would gain only months and those months would not be healthy ones for him. We made the appointment for the vet to come out to our house and help us say goodbye there – one of the hardest choices to make.

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I agonized the entire time over this, if perhaps we should take him to CA and see how the healing energies here would help, or if we should stay and give him more time at home, or of course if Chemo was in fact the solution (though the cancer was too far progressed to be cured I thought perhaps that and prayer and energy healing would be … enough).

For days before the vets arrival we took him outside, sans harness & leash as we’d gone out with for years before (he had become a “privileged” indoor kitty with many outdoor walks and adventures), he wouldn’t go more than 20 feets past the house – not typical for him at all. And the sun? Graced us with four wonderful days of sunshine like we hadn’t seen in almost a year…

The day of the vet visit, we spent more time outside. When he wen’t back in to rest (he was sleeping so much more than before) I tried to ply him with his favorite treats, catnip, salmon bits and bonita flakes. He wouldn’t touch any of it. And after I tried the third time he turned and looked at me, in a way that only he could do, and I knew… he was ready to go.

Even if I wasn’t ready to let him go.

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He was barely 8 years old (give or take a year) and we had thought he’d be with us another 8-10+ years, that he would outlive the “senior” cat in our house and be an older brother to the youngest, most recent rescue addition.

His departure was quiet, and peaceful, aside from my tears and sobs after he was gone.

In the months following I would have many dreams after a day of deep sorrow over missing his presence, in which he/his higher self/guide would visit me briefly and let me know I needed to let him go – that holding on to him in this way was holding his soul back from the .. whatever he was doing after he’d moved on. That he would come back in his time, not mine.

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I wished to dream of him, to have him in my life somehow, but I understood. And I would let the tears flow, and then focus on the good, healthy, joyous, light energy of his life, and our lives now before going to sleep – so as to leave his soul to rest. (literally)

He has come back the past couple of months in my dreams, as a visitor and companion, even last week my husband said he had a dream with this beloved cat – he is with us now and then, hanging out with all of us, two legged and four paws.

It is so hard to let go of the illusion of this physical manifestation, that even though I have experienced the energy/souls/spirits of many others (animal and human in particular) throughout my life, I so dearly miss their presence in my waking hours.

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I miss their kind words, the smells in their kitchens, their smiles, their soft fur, gentle purrs, sweet chirps, tender kisses and just their general… presence on this planet. I know that I will see them again, if not in waking hours, or in my dreams, then in the next phase of our friendship – whenever that may be, wherever that may be.

But I still miss them, every day, in little and big ways. And saying goodbye changes, but does not get easier.
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Mute gave to me the example of loving others, even after they’ve hurt you, abused you, abandoned you. That one could still love and be loved. His presence and life, showed me a light in the darkness, and I will be forever honored by his decision to be with us – to make us his family as he did.

Though I still imagine him out in our new, wonderful yard, and sometimes I swear I see him out of the corner of my eye…    I hope, and I pray, I can share that with others as he shared his life, and love, with me.

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**Please know, we had been giving him many natural/herbal supplements for some time before this, due to his ongoing issues with other health concerns (many infections and such from his early life as an almost solely outdoor cat) – Chemo was not the only possible healing route for us – simply one of the only ones the vets could offer beyond what we’d already been doing.

My One Word – What’s yours?

wor·thy
adjective: worthy; comparative adjective: worthier; superlative adjective: worthiest
  1. 1.
    deserving effort, attention, or respect.
    “generous donations to worthy causes”

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Recently I was reading a wonderful book by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Call. In it she talks about how she believes that we all come in to this world with One Word as our .. challenge word if you will. The One Word that defines the lessons you are here to learn this life, the Word you must embody, not just to yourself but to others. That in living this One Word we will come to live fully, wholy, alive.

For some it’s resting, or trust, whisper, nourish, dance, laugh, there are so many words possible.

“Living your word opens the door your fear has closed.”

My first thought was that my word would be Love. This seemed so obvious, this is one aspect I feel so strongly within it overflows in all I do and I’ve had such a tough time accepting it, even when it’s right in front of me (or within me). But then, bah!, she directs the reader away from “big” words such as Love.

I was a bit irked I will admit, “What do you mean I can’t use that word? It’s how I feel, isn’t it worthy? Aren’t I worthy of using this word?”. When it hit me, fairly clearly.

My word is Worthy.

It isn’t that Love has been in short supply or non-existant, it’s that I haven’t felt Worthy of it.

I didn’t feel Worthy of speaking growing up, or writing. I hardly felt Worthy of jobs I had, money coming in, gifts being given, kind words said to me. Worthy of a loving relationship? No. Worthy of a job that is both well paying and healthy? Nope. Worthy of financial abundance? Oh no, definitely not. Worthy of achieving any sort of personal success? No.

It’s there, and I believe everyone ELSE is Worthy beyond measure. Of every great, wonderful thing they can imagine, fathom, dream up, create, long for… every single other being on this planet is Worthy.

Yet, somehow, I am not. Or so I have felt for over 30 years. And why? I can’t tell you one moment where I ever did, or even thought of doing, something so horrendously catastrophic that I might be unWorthy of anything. And to that point I believe that even those that have done horrible things are Worthy beings (they are still spiritual beings in these human bodies).

But me? Not really.

I can see the earliest years of my life where I felt unworthy, where the actions of others left me feeling as though the only, ONLY reason they would let such things happen to me is that I wasn’t Worthy. The years I lived a life in which these feelings were only reinforced, reaffirmed.

The little voice inside still wonders about it all. If I’d been Worthy my father wouldn’t have left, I would have been Worthy of his love and attention. If I’d been Worthy my mother wouldn’t have married my step-father. If I’d been Worthy he wouldn’t have hurt me. If I’d been Worthy my family would have saved me from the pain they saw me in, from the terrible home life. If only I’d been Worthy… somewhere along the way someone else would have recognized this and saved me. If I’d been Worthy, God would have never given me such a life – I must be a terrible person to have called this in to being, my Karma must be shit and I must have been a horrible person in a past life.

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 Then of course I stop myself, and I examine this depressing structure I’ve built in my head. Do I believe this of anyone else? No. I don’t for one brief moment believe they are unWorthy, ever. And if I don’t believe it of others, perhaps this means I’m Worthy too.

So… now that I know this One Word, I can look at it, ponder it, mull it over and bring it to the forefront of all that I do – to learn, and grow in to the sense, the belief, the Knowing, that I too am Worthy.

I am Worthy of Love, Happiness, Success, Joy, Spirtual Knowledge, Sleep, Dreams, Hope, Abundance, Laughter, Beauty, Food.

I

Am

Worthy.

And so are you.

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