Updated: Oct 11, 2018
I woke up frightened and crying at 2:30 this morning. I was in overwhelm and couldn’t track. Really couldn’t track. So much has happened in the last week that the days have stretched, accordion-like. There are countless things to do. Last week Helen was here helping me sort through and organize all those things. We created a “cheat sheet” to help me track it all and find what I needed. I put the sheet in my journal. Didn’t I? Everything we did is gone. What did we do? There is stuff on top of my file cabinet. I didn’t really have a system for tracking ongoing work. Didn’t I talk to Helen about all this? How can I remember what I am working on if it’s filed away?
Today, I talked to Sheila, my Shamanic Guide, about my soul integration, the work we started together recently with my husband Mike in Vancouver, B.C. When she talked to my guides, she confirmed that my young self, my 4-year-old self (whom I call Pookie) was “integrating,” that’s why this was all coming together now. It’s no wonder the money and taxes were such a big start, such a hard start. That’s what I had to face to begin the long process of coming back to myself. “Yes!” she said. “If you knew that ahead of time, would you have done it?” Probably not, I admitted. Sheila laughed.
So at 2:30, there I was crying in bed, in the dark, clutching Abraham, my stuffed bunny. I’m tending to my four-year-old self, to help the integration (and to begin to build my “trust muscle”). I opened the curtains. I saw a searchlight moving across the water. I was on my way to a nervous breakdown. I lay back in bed, and listened to a guided meditation.
The meditation asked me to visualize an image of my challenge, and gently hold it in my mind. I saw myself trying to spin several plates on skinny, tall sticks, like a circus act, but I couldn’t do I it. Instead I covered my head and waited for the plates to fall around me.
The meditation then prompted me to request what I need. I cried and asked for help. Then the meditation instructed me to be still and just feel. Be very still. I managed to still myself and felt my skin activate. I sensed my guides all around me.
The meditation ends and Jesus is sitting in a chair next to my bed. It’s so dark I can’t see his face, but I know he’s there. He’s sat with me like this, outside of meditation, once before, when I wasn’t in great shape. I’m not crying, but still feel desperate. I want to talk with him, but don’t know how to do that without using the Deepak Oprah meditation as my entry point. I start the recording so I can talk to JC.
Now in the meditation, in my mind’s eye, I walk onto my deck, toward our regular meeting place. But I’m crying so hard I can’t get there and collapse onto the steps. I cry for a while, and then hear a voice I don’t recognize, calling my name. I’m jarred out of the meditation. I open my eyes. I’m in the darkness and JC is still sitting next to me, one leg crossed over his knee, as still as day.
The Voice: I’m here.
I look outside. The searchlight is still going. I see one thin band of clouds in the sky. The voice is coming from there. I know this is God. I’m not breathing. I can’t believe God is talking to me.
God: I’m the dark and the light. Do you hear the waves?
After all of the crying, my nose and ears are stuffed up. I don’t hear the waves.
God: Do you think there are still waves even though you can’t hear them?
God: Yes. Just because you can’t see or hear something, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t there.
Sally: What do I do?
Sally: What do I do now?
I breathe. I look at Jesus. He remains still. I still can’t see his face, but know he is looking at me.
God: I’m here. I’m everywhere. I’m the bed that’s supporting you.
I think to myself, yes, I believe that.
God: What do you want to do?
Sally: I don’t know. I’m having problems. I’m not…I’m not tracking time.
I think about how I can’t hold anything in my mind.
God: That’s important.
I go through the litany of what’s overwhelming me. I don’t understand a key point in my mysticism class. I feel like I’m letting down my class triad. Helen helped me with the paperwork and I still don’t understand how to find things in my files. I’ve got a regular client now and I already need to cancel an appointment with her because I forgot that I’m taking a silent retreat. And then there’s a big to-do file I need to cover with Mike this weekend that I doubt we will have time to get through—
God: You need to write. You need to tell them [how you feel].
I get still. I think about what he’s said. I start putting things in order. I need to talk to Mike and Helen and tell them what’s happening. I’m seeing a new psychologist that I think I’ll like on Friday. But I’m still feeling panicked. Did I get my teeth worked on today?
I look back outside. I remember what Sheila said: if Pookie wants to do something, you do it. You respect her. That’s how she will grow to trust you and you will trust yourself.
I needed to hear the waves. I go outside—in my bare feet (which, by the way, I never do). There are traces of water on the deck. It isn’t even that cold! It’s calmer outside than I thought. A bright floodlight shines beyond the shadow of a neighbor’s house. The sound of the waves is calming. The searchlight waves across the surface of the water and the trusted lighthouse on Saturna Island flashes back at me.
When I’m back inside, I pour a glass of water and grab my laptop. I’m here writing this entry. As I finish, I notice the searchlight has stopped; the cloud band in the sky is gone. I feel calmer.
I need help. A counselor told me once that having needs is not the same thing as being needy. Sure hope she’s right. Because not being able to track time feels like “big help.”
What I Learned:
I’ve been here before. I’m feeling suicidal. This is an irrational place. From this place I can’t practice objective self-awareness, let alone self-care.
Not having that awareness, I’m so overwhelmed by the drama in my life that I become traumatized by it. I become the drama and the trauma, disconnected from any other experience of myself.
Caught up in this overwhelming tornado I feel completely hopelessness. I begin to equate “It’s not worth it” to “I’m not worthy.” This is a dire place.
With support, I am able to focus on just one issue, begin to disengage from the tornado, and touch ground again.
There are times when everyone has difficulty recognizing that they are consumed with their your own drama and trauma.
Do you recognize when you’re isolated?
Is your isolation more about a lack of grounding, a lack of connection, or both?
What are your go-to practices that help you to re-ground and re-connect?
Do your strategies need to be revisited and updated?
Is there need for a professional, therapeutic relationship in your life to bring greater awareness to the habits and patterns that put you in “tornados?”