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I knew it before anyone else did. 

Slumped in the hallway against the wall adjacent to the hospital waiting area, I sat and stared and tried to breathe. I gripped my hands, one with the other, squeezing and releasing, attempting to massage the tension out of my body and mind. I stretched my legs out and drew them back in. Bit down on the fleshy part of my inner lip and picked at my skin. 

But then I saw. 

Around the corner from the opposite end of the hallway the surgeon emerged. I squinted as he came into view: first his shoes, then the edge of his gown, the tips of his fingers, his chest, and finally his face covered in my Dad’s blood. 

I watched as he got closer, stone-faced and purposed-in his step; he was about to notice me, too. 

As he made his final descent toward the hospital waiting room, our eyes caught one another. He said nothing as he reached for the doorknob. 

I jumped up and closely followed him in. 

Behind him, I watched as my stepmom cautiously looked up to meet his face. He slowly shook his head no. It was silent for a moment until my stepmom screamed “You bastard! How could you do this to me?” and slammed her fists down onto the table. My grandmother echoed out a visceral cry: “Noooooooo!” My best friend slid down the wall where she had been standing and fell into a heaving pile of bones.

I pushed past the surgeon and fully into the room. I took my place next to his side, and listened as he spoke words I didn’t understand in ways I couldn’t comprehend. 

“I’m sorry.”
“We didn’t think it was going to end up this way.” 
“We tried so hard.”
“We had the best staff working on him.” 
“It was over 45 minutes.”
“His body just couldn’t take it anymore.”

I was fixated on the blood. Splattered all about his clothing and into the crevices of his neck. That’s my dad’s blood, I thought. 

The audacity to not change your gown before coming down the hallway, I reckoned. 

The fact my life would never again be the same, I realized. 

I do a lot of thinking.

A way of self-soothing has been for me to write my questions, reflections, issues, complaints, and concerns down and then immediately pick up the pen and begin responding to those questions and topics – without control or concern over what is coming out. Sometimes, I surprise myself in doing this and find that I have – or am guided to – wisdom that I’ve forgotten, wisdom that is buried deep within us all.

This series is a snapshot of what that practice looks like for me. I don’t worry about the source of the response. Is it my imagination? My projections? Could it be the voice of God or a guide? Am I batshit crazy? Multiple personalities? I kid.

But really, to me, it’s not important. How you connect to yourself is your own business. What you make that mean, is yours as well. I share my process on this site because, (1) I don’t want to forget the messages I’ve received, (2) I believe we have more of the answers and support we desire already within us, if we choose to pause and listen, and (3) I’m convinced the practice and process of self-reflection and introspection – outside of the need of trying to “fix” ourselves or another – is infinitely more powerful and valuable than we realize.

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Ponder: The Environment

Q. What is the true meaning of the “environmental crisis”?

A. A crisis of the heart. A crisis of not knowing, of forgetting, of lost knowledge. A side effect of our disconnection to the divine. It’s misconstrued as being for or against capitalism, for or against one political party or the other, for or against deeper conspiracy theories, when really, it’s about the origin of the human soul. We’ve traveled so far from our starting point, and now we can’t find our way back home. We’ve grown tired and listless and lazy and lost. We’ve forgotten all that is sacred.

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Ponder: Wrestling with the idea of giving to another out of the kindness of my heart vs. giving just to make the problem “go away” so I can feel better + feelings around scarcity and financial abundance

Q. What do I need to know or be reminded about everything I just discussed [i.e., the super long, whiny journal entry I just wrote about the situation]?

A. You’re panicking, trying to put too many pieces together all at once and are forgetting the big picture. You’re choosing chaos instead of remembering and calling in calm. You can call in calm to your storms. You can call in truths you know – affirmations – greater than your understanding when you feel overwhelmed and full of doubt. Listen to the things you know: the truths of your heart. It is well. All is well that ends well.
Your fretting is carrying you up, up, and away from the present moment. It’s depositing you into a land that doesn’t yet exist – a land of worry and confusion, doubt and pain – a land that hasn’t yet been created. Don’t create it if you don’t want it! Don’t indulge it if it doesn’t serve you. Don’t listen to it if it isn’t true. What is true? You are an eternal soul having a human experience trying to navigate the intricacies of that experience (like money and relationships). You need to remember that you are not of the human experience alone – you are not defined (i.e., ‘defined’ – given an identity and/or ‘defined’ given clear, sharp edges of containment) by the human experience alone. You are not defined by money – there is always more. You are not defined by conflict – there is always love to be found. You are not confined by your choices – you can always choose differently.
You have fluidity and flow in your bones; when you fight against that you allow rigidity to come in – literally and metaphorically – and it causes calcification in your body and soul.
You need to let things be as they are. You get to choose how you respond to that. You are the master of your own creation in this lifetime and there is always beauty to be found in every circumstance. Period.

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