Are We There Yet?

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September 15. It's a beautiful day in western North Carolina, and I am writing this from my window that overlooks a sunlit stand of trees. My wife and I bought a wonderful house in late October last year that is planted firmly into the side of a mountain within 5 miles of town center Hendersonville, North Carolina. It's on a road that only goes to other houses and we walk our dogs down the yellow line when it's quiet, which is often. I've spent time watching the trees in their patient stillness, listening to the birds sing to each other, getting to know the way the sunlight transforms the mountains all year long. I have driven windy roads in the foggy mornings, thinking about how quietly that water vapor quenches the thirst of everything. I've spent a year in deep contemplation, waiting for a direction to appear for me to walk in.
What was supposed to happen after all that healing I did with Christine? Why am I alive? What am I here to do? How many times do I have to pray into the void "Here I am. Send me." before my grand mission is revealed to me? Sometimes I feel pretty close to surrender, but I'm still peeking from behind my eyelids from time to time, hoping to see the magic running in the background. Maybe the most beautiful part of life is that the magic is so elusive. It's flowing around us all the time, and every once in awhile, we get a heart-shattering glimpse of it. That I recognize it sooner and more often is a wonderful sequelae of the intense energy work I did. To be able to think about my mother and father with peace in my heart, to be free of the torturous angst that plagued me for so long, is a beautiful gift. The unexpected side effect is the emptiness that all that angst dissipating left inside of me. I feel like I'm standing in an empty apartment and I don't know how to decorate it. Sometimes the lonely wind blowing through that space has been unnerving. 

I went back to the town I grew up in recently, for my high school reunion. It had been 35 years since I had seen some of my classmates, and several years since I had been in Pocahontas, Arkansas. My wife, who has become dedicated to running, fast-footed parts of town my own feet had touched decades before, and the thought of it made my heart tingle proudly. It felt wonderful to reconnect with the adults who now inhabit my childhood companions' bodies. It felt good to see the memory of myself in so many places, and with new eyes. 

I decided to visit St. Paul's, the church where I was sure I had felt God's presence when I was 15. The church has this beautiful stone grotto, and I crossed the lawn to stand in it. 2 marble statues of Jesus stood perched on stone shelves, arms out to invite embrace. I thought about the betrayal I had felt from a visiting priest who didn't intervene for me when I told him what was happening in my family. Though it was the first memory that came forward, it felt insignificant, already forgiven. What felt so important came in the next thought: the point of my life has never been my suffering. It has always been to see all the places where Love has found me. Love found me in that church. Love found me in my questioning, in my loneliness, in my pain. Love sent people who kept me company where I was. Love sent people who guided me. Love sent people who saved my life, all along the way. And blessing upon blessing, love sent animals to me. This is the miracle of my life, to know this.
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Since the time I started writing this entry in September, I have thought a lot about what happened in Arkansas, how my journey went through this crazy fast advancing wormhole progression in Florida and now feels like it's slowed to a snail's pace, how maybe that's the good way of things. 

Stay tuned.

Comments

  1. Amanda C10/22/2023 11:05 AM

    You did a ton of healing in a very short time. This may be the slow, quiet period you need, following all that change, to allow it to settle and take root. Can't help but to think the environment may play a role, too...or you subconsciously chose an environment that would support the energy you needed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Julie10/27/2023 10:52 AM

      I love you, my dear friend. You are my beloved touchstone.

      Delete

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