Sleeping, Trusting, Letting Go

My friend, Fran Wellgood, is also my Reiki Master, Metaphysical Energy Bodywork Therapist. In normal times, I try to get a treatment from Fran every two weeks. Her energy work is incredible, releasing tension and tightness, getting the energy flowing again, balancing and refining, and making room for mental, emotional and physical healing in profound but subtle ways. Fran is a good listener, intuitive, “connected,” if you will, to Source. I resonated with her beautiful writing here, and have had similar thoughts, but without the energy to put pen to paper much. I am very used to isolation and “stay at home,” “shelter in place,” since I stay inside my house nearly all the time — not just for a few weeks, or months, but for years – 30 years — my life with ME/CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome). But this COVID-19 thing is different. There is something very unsettling about it to me. The fear is of the unknown, the most paralyzing for me. The fear of getting it myself (age 60 with multiple autoimmune disorders, and immune system issues. The fear one of my kids or parents or grandkids will get it and not make it. Or just get it. The fear of not knowing how long this will last and that I will totally miss the new baby smell of Isabelle, born 2/29/20, while we “shelter in place.” I dare not risk it. I miss my daughters. So fear that I won’t see them again for a longer time than just April, May, surely by June? No guarantees. Fear that my mom will get it and not survive. Fear that my dad, Alzheimer’s patient in Memory Care Facility, won’t make it through this, and that none of the family will get to see him again. And sadness that Dad, or Mom, or any one of us could perish as we watch the whole thing unfold with quizzical disbelief.

Anyway, here’s what Fran posted today:

via Sleeping, Trusting, Letting Go

Praying for us all,

Ginny xo

“Shared Thoughts”

Prompt: “shared thoughts” 10 minutes. Go!

Shared Thoughts

Sometimes I just can’t help but share my thoughts, words exploding from my mouth like hot lava before I even realize what I’ve said. Can’t exactly stuff that lava back inside the volcano. No. Thoughts are out now. And so the argument begins.

Sometimes I just can’t get the words out and thoughts stay stuck inside my head, as if held inside while centrifugal force dizzies me, and the other person looks quizzically, like “What? What?” I just shake my head, not knowing how to begin, knowing that IF I begin, there will be no end, or a bad ending, or I’ll wish it would end. Or have never happened. The thoughts inside my head too scrambled for even me to make sense of them yet, so why blurt it out. No, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” That’s what my mother taught me. And it’s pretty good advice, it turns out.

That’s why I love my journals. And I mean LOVE my journals. Free therapy. A form of prayer. Reaching up to God through tears of pain or ecstatic joy or messy confusion. A way to get those thoughts out of my doggone head, sharing them somewhere, but not where they can do any damage. Or invoke some false message I’m not even sure I mean until I sit with if for a while, let it roll around for a bit like a snowball gathering substance until it’s big enough to make part of a snowman. Until it feels complete enough to stop, plant it on the lawn, a solid base from which to proceed constructing something of tangible substance.

 I breathe. I sigh in relief. I breathe a breath of gratitude, relieved to have come to a place where a thought feels complete. True. True for me. Thank you, God.

And so from there I can begin to see how I might, one day, be sure enough to share this thought. But in a constructive, snowman-making kind of way, not blurted out, a knee-jerk response in the heat of a moment. No, there’s wisdom in biting one’s tongue sometimes, letting thoughts swirl around inside a mouth clamped shut on purpose, as if swishing before you decide to either swallow it or spit it out.