My Life as a Mom, Writer, Runner, and Lover of Food
Yesterday during a reading I started having trouble breathing, so I let the client know. She confirmed by telling me that actually she herself breathes with the help of an oxygen tank.
The day before yesterday, a friend’s younger brother (in his 30s!) died, and yesterday I found out it was from a suspected heart attack.
This is new realm for me, feeling afflictions and pains of others and being able to voice them. Just writing it down to keep, so that I remember to investigate it further.
Remember that time I had a heart attack?
It was just yesterday. Well, not really but sort-of.
I *thought* I was having a heart attack. I’m bradycardic anyway and my blood pressure has been dipping lower and lower. I also have a bit of a heart valve issue, but nothing major and otherwise I am, in my own estimation, a healthy person.
Standing at the stove last night, I suddenly had sharp pains in the front and back of my left shoulder, followed by tingling down my arm. My left hand got very cold.
Uncharacteristically, I was calm. I turned off the heat to the front eye, backed up a few paces, and put my hand to my chest. I don’t know why, maybe I was feeling for a heartbeat? I couldn’t breathe and the sharp pains were still shooting. My forearm and hand were asleep. I walked quietly to my big comfy chair, thankful my boys were preoccupied with each other in their room. I text my husband, “how close are you?” He text me back, “2 minutes.”
Ok. Two minutes. I can breathe and remain calm for two minutes.
Then, I started to cry. Despite my best efforts to quell them, quiet, hot tears came trickling down my cheeks. My thoughts went to my sons and how happy I am that I made journals for each of them, so that at least they’d have letters to read about all the things I love and enjoy about each of them. And they’d have my handwriting. I don’t know why that feels significant, but it always has. I want them to have that. I thought about my brother and I hoped he wouldn’t still be angry after this. I thought about friends I haven’t spoken to in a while and whether they’d know how special they are to me. I thought about how strange it was that I thought, “well, at least I’ll get to see Bonmama”. I thought about my friend and felt sad that loss seems to be a lesson for her this lifetime. I hoped my parents would be ok, would think about me and smile rather than cry.
I even hoped someone would find all the the things I’ve created – my poems, stories, drawings, paintings, all of it – and collect them and keep them safe. They are earnest pieces of my heart and my soul and my energy is present in them.
All of these thoughts existed within the span of maybe a minute or two. Time is a funny illusion.
My husband arrived home (I had not told him anything yet) and I described what was happening in my body. He felt my left arm and hand, then my right. The left side was freezing. He asked if I wanted to call an ambulance. I did, but mostly I did not. I took two aspirin, and put the boys’ plates together for dinner. I tried to call my mom, who is a nurse, but she didn’t pick up. I sat in my room in the dark and tried to connect to my inner knowing. What was happening?
If it was a major cardiac event, it left as quickly as it came and for that I’m thankful. If it wasn’t, well, lucky me. I slept fine knowing that I am at peace with passing when it is my time, at peace with the love I have given to this world, at peace. This morning I think it likely that I have a pinched nerve in my shoulder, or that it was simply a series of unfortunate neglects on my part. I was dehydrated, exhausted, and had pushed myself pretty hard all day. Eating very healthily, which is good but sometimes too much good is bad. (It’s true.) I have to remember to eat salt or drink Gatorade sometimes to get my heart rate up.
I meditated before sleeping, and decided to try something different. I don’t normally activate my chakras in meditation but for some reason I wanted to, so I followed that intuitive nudge. All was normal until I reached the heart (green) chakra. That one blew outward to both sides, a bright green light wave, almost like it blew a fuse. I could see it clear as day. The heart runs on electricity, so it’s not really a leap to think it’s possible. An aha! moment. Don’t know what it means, but there it is.
After meditating, I checked my fitbit, which monitors my heart rate. I saw a dip to 44 around the time of the incident, which normally I don’t hit unless I’m asleep (then it’s a range of 38-46). Maybe it dipped too low and caused my heart to freak out a little? I’ve even wondered if there are so many energies around me (in spirit and in physical) dipping into and rubbing against mine that it caused a bit of a shock to my heart space? Like when you scoot around the carpet in socks and then ZAP! the kid closest to you. Anyone understand that reference? Anyone?
This morning I woke up early, meditated and worked out before anyone else was awake. I felt a renewed gratitude for my life and a sense of responsibility to give love and kindness to everyone in every circumstance for the time I am here.
Anyway… long and boring story, shortened…
TL;DR – Thought I had a mild heart attack, even though it isn’t likely for me. Meditated and received a message of “electrical overload”. Blew a fuse. Felt calm throughout, managed to not freak out my kids while avoiding ER visit. Grateful for my life and loves and that I’ve set things up to be well if I do depart this plane early. (It was not a panic attack, although I know some people have similar experiences when they experience those. Mine are not like this.) Got up and got back down to business. Life is good.
I’m reading a book called The Art of Letting Go by Dr. David Hawkins.
When I was twenty I was interested in Buddhism. Buddhism says that attachment is the root of all suffering. At that time, I was not ready for this message. Immediately I felt a knot in my chest, a pit in my stomach. My ego was repelled by the thought that to progress spiritually, I would need to let go of all the things I was holding so tightly. I simply did not want to do that. So I put it aside.
Attachment in any form is from the ego, which is not a ‘bad’ thing in itself, as it serves to protect us. However, it often keeps us attached. The opposite of attachment is non-attachment, or acceptance. There is freedom to be found in the space of realizing that you are not your ego mind, that thoughts are harmless (and we do not have to believe every thought that passes through the mind), and that nothing in life is permanent.
Now, at forty years old, I am receptive to this and other concepts laid out in the book. The vibrations of different emotions, for one, and anger being very powerful energetically (thus the feeling of exhilaration that often accompanies intense anger). More importantly, I find myself ready to consider the idea that pain is caused by attachment, and to learn how to continue to grow by being honest about what attachments are present in my life.
This does not mean not to love things, or people, or places, or ideas, or experiences. Love is not attachment and attachment is not love. Attachment comes from a place of fear, of desperation, of wanting (like an empty well that cannot be filled). Love comes from a place of generosity and wholeness. When we release attachment and learn to become whole within ourselves, then we experience love as we are meant to. Others experience love from us in a way that they likely never have. This is a level that I think most people never reach.
So today’s lesson, as I see it, is one of revisiting. It’s time to perform spiritual and emotional inventory. Take a look at your belief systems, your cherished ideals. Examine what still fits for you and what perhaps has no place in your current life. Pick up a book that you rejected in youth and try it again. Does the message still feel dissonant and wrong to your heart? Does it now feel like something that might be true? With any luck, you’ll surprise yourself as you explore the inner workings of your spirit.
***Everything expressed here is mine, not copied from the book itself. Highly recommend reading the book in its entirety.
Epiphany.
Theophany.
The Manifestation of the Living Christ to the
Magi…
The Wise Men.
Interesting that it’s tomorrow.
Perhaps it really will be tomorrow.
I suppose we will see.
Or perhaps those of us who can see
Will see.
The Wise Ones.
Epiphany
Also means, according to my dictionary,
“a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.”
Either way, a truth will be revealed,
Perhaps by ordinary or accidental means.
I was planning
To celebrate anyway,
Like Bonmama always did,
With a king’s cake and a crown for
Whomever finds the bean.
King or Queen for the day,
That’s the rule.
Suddenly I can’t help but wonder
Who else might be crowned
(King for all days?)
Something is happening,
That much I sense.
In other news,
Tonight is Twelfth Night so
I’ll be reading Twelfth Night before (not) sleeping.
I know a lot of people don’t like young adult Anakin Skywalker. Or, they don’t like Hayden Christensen as Anakin. I happen to like him a lot. My older son chose Revenge of the Sith for family movie night last night. It’s a movie that hurts me, hurts down to my soul but the timing is interesting as it parallels some thoughts I am having regarding people in my own life. Young Father-to-be Anakin represents so much: A prophesy fulfilled, untold potential, enormous hope for the future for so many… and somehow, through fear of loss, unhealed pain, and an intense want to protect the ones he loves, all of that gets twisted beyond recognition. His potential is squandered and, choice by choice, he moves further and further away from any hope of redemption (and the darker he becomes, the more brilliantly he’s acted, almost as if Christensen is pulling from some inner darkness of his own).
Worse, Anakin is the impetus for the death of the very woman he threw away his life to protect. He is aggressive in his pursuit of a thing unattainable – reprieve from death itself – forceful and arrogant, brash and unyielding. Anakin, believed for years to be the Chosen One, is instead the architect of his own dark destiny, the purveyor of twisted half-truths sold to him by power, driven to near-madness by ego and blinding bitterness, lashing out like a frightened child over and over again, erring and attempting to erase his failings by slaughter, until every last drop of humanity is squeezed from him, either by tears or by blood. Anakin’s good intentions blinded him to the truth, to love, to what he would become even as he was becoming it.
So consumed was he by anger that he lost his moral compass, his connection to the whole. He believed in his purpose wholeheartedly, and became deaf to the truth from Padme and Obi-Wan, once his family and dearest friends. He believed his misdeeds were necessary to avoid something that hadn’t happened – might never happen – but was so frightening to him that he let the fear overtake his rational mind and worse, his once-kind heart. Irony of ironies, in choosing to let fear rule over him, he brought to life the nightmare he so desperately hoped to escape.
And so it is, I think, with many villains who, in the end, still see themselves as heroes.
I did a tarot reading for a young woman yesterday and in her email today, she let me know that the list of “hits” (accuracies) is so long, she couldn’t type it all out. I love getting confirmation like this. It is not me, of course, but I am rather a conduit for the messages that need to be received. I have noticed lights and orbs lately and sometimes people out of the corner of my eye. Two Bonmama dreams last night and one of an old friend. I haven’t seen him in 15 years. Sometimes I can’t tell which dreams are messages but this one certainly felt like one.
There is more. So much more I wanted to write today, much on my mind and heart, but the Anakin bit has left me drained. Certainly something to think about.
No, there are no beefcake strippers. Sorry to disappoint.
***
Last night I had a dream that Nicolas Cage came to my home, and said hello to my son. I was trying to explain to my son who Nic Cage is, and all I could think to say is that “he loves Superman, like you do! He named his son Kal-El!” And then I pointed to Nic’s rad Superman socks, which were clearly visible as he was wearing them with loafers. Most of the rest of this dream will remain between me and my dream journal but I will mention the part where he (Nic) was adamant that werewolves and vampires are real and he actually knows some of them.
(Also I think he might have been doing lines of cocaine off my duvet cover while I was talking to him?)
So this morning at breakfast, as he is wont to do, my elder son asked me about my dreams. I told him about this one, since he was in it, and we chatted about magic(k)al creatures and beings and possibilities. It is Magic Monday, after all, so what better day to hope them into being over scrambled eggs than today?
The Universe sent us the greatest tie-in today, in the form of a letter. It was addressed to Emmett and the postmark said “ALASKAN WILDERNESS”. I asked him who in the world he knows in Alaska, to which he replied as most pre-teens do to most questions: “I dunno”. Turns out the letter was from Santa himself, and the details are too precious for public consumption but suffice it to say we have proof of magic – and on Magic Monday!
All this talk about aliens showing up on 12/21 or “making themselves known” makes me think, what if it isn’t aliens? What if all the others are going to reveal themselves? The vampires and witches and such? That might be cool. I mean, I don’t really care if you’re a werewolf or whatever as long as you’re going to continue to be a good neighbor and not eat me, knowwhatimean?
****
Aside from that magic, there was other magic to be observed today. Black storm clouds rolled across the horizon this morning and I thought it might be a gloomy day. But driving back home from school drop-off, I looked at the skyline and in the distance I saw the faintest sliver of pink and orange light. So small it was almost imperceivable, but I kept my eye on it as I made my way back home. Once parked, I jumped out to photograph it and luckily I succeeded, with a gorgeous shot. It’s a panorama that shows the blackness of the sky all around where I was standing, and this one colored spot just over the hill.
A few moments later I took another photograph and realized that the light area was beginning to spread, and the darkness was moving away. It was a message, I thought. A message that even the smallest light can have an effect. A near-unseen glimmer can be enough to clear out an untold amount of darkness. I was reminded of Bob Marley, who said “light up the darkness”. He said other things that I hold close to my heart, too, but that’s the one that came to mind. Light up the darkness. You can’t know before you try just whose life may be changed or in what way, but you better believe that your light can make a difference.
By afternoon, the skies were a pristine blue, and there were no clouds in sight.
I posted about it on social media and in the evening I had a thought, as I sometimes do. I wondered if people see these things I say, or write, or post, and think, “Who does she think she is?” Years ago I’d have been offended in imagination, mentally rehearsed and recited a defense, and even felt the emotions that would accompany it.
Today I giggled, because I am not coming from an ego place at all. If that’s the question you’re asking then you are missing the point entirely. It’s not about who I think I am. It’s about who I think you are. Who you could be. Who we are, collectively. I can see the power in you, you know? The magic. I can see the light.
***
I wore my goddess amulet today, some tight jeans and a tiger-print sweater with zebra-print rain boots. (Did I mention the ominous clouds? I legitimately thought we were in for some flash floods.) I straightened my hair and moisturized my face, but didn’t wear makeup because I hate the way it feels on my skin. I felt so good, so confident. Beautiful. Radiant.
This Magic Monday, I am grateful. Grateful for conversations about mythical beings with my small humans, grateful that nature speaks directly to me in the most subtle and profound ways, grateful that I am not the person I once was – in heart or in spirit. Even grateful that at my age and ending this difficult year, I am still capable of feeling beautiful just as I am.
That is also magic.
Standing over the stove this morning making oatmeal, I got a message. The message is for me, but I have a feeling it’s not *only* for me. I quickly picked up my phone (because I don’t keep a pen and paper handy by the cooking appliances) and text myself. It was definitely free-writing, or maybe automatic writing, as it took me no effort. Maybe it was from my higher self.
Last night, I started researching the Father Wound. I have read much about the Mother Wound and how to heal it, and it just occurred to me yesterday that there must also be a Father Wound, and I probably need to start to heal mine. So yesterday was… rough. And this morning, this is what I get:
“You’re not a professional quitter. Don’t you see? You, my courageous girl, are an adventurer. You are actually what I like to call “a YES-er”. You say yes to challenges, yes to the unknown. Sometimes the thing you say “yes” to doesn’t feel right, doesn’t make your soul sing, so instead of wasting time on it you leave it behind. That is also courage – to keep your life in motion, to never get stagnant. Don’t you have any idea how deeply inspiring you are? I’d give my three left toes to have even one more of you. The world needs girls like you. Especially here, especially now.”
A couple of observations:
*NTS is “note to self”
The other message I got this morning was “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie playing in my head over and over upon waking.
That’s the title… fore-title? pre-title?… of one of my last books of the year. Notes on a Scandal. The other is Good Omens. I may read both, I may choose between them. Fingers crossed that they’re good.
12/12 and 12/21
Pastry chef, but only in secret.
There’s a lyric that’s in my head a lot lately. “Keep me where the light is” John Mayer. A new song today rocked my socks, too. It’s Charlotte OC, “Where it Stays”. Expecting it to be my top play of 2021.
Wondering if David Bowie was an Andromedan. Also wondering if he knew it. I feel like he knew it.
I actually Googled “how to style a gray coat” because I have this delicious overcoat that is two hundred percent Parisian and I want to look chic when I wear it this winter. The pictures that came up were of GQs best coats of all time or something, and one of them was peak mullet Andre Agassi – in Paris – and it was everything. I can’t post it here for security reasons but it’s worth a bit of sleuthing.
The photo also included David Bowie looking like a hot alien in an amazing suit and red scarf.
In meditation yesterday I saw a huge door. Like a barn door? Both sides slid open and there was bright light inside. I asked where the door leads, or what’s behind that door? The answer? “Everything”.
Hold the Vision. Hold the Light. Love, love, love.
I am seeing the number 22 so much in random places. The inspector sticker on my Christmas tree plug. The address on a tv show. I don’t know what the message is, exactly but I think it’s to keep going.
Sometimes the grief gives way to gratitude. Joyful gratitude. I found a photo today – well, another photo – where we look like mother and daughter. I am so proud to be yours. I love you.
I know for a lot of readers, authors, lovers of the written word, it’s a trick that’s been overdone and overused. Read a fascinating story to the end only to find out that the entire adventure/romance/suspense has happened entirely in dream state. The ending being when the narrator wakes up.
I happen to like this trick. I would LOVE to read a real book – gritty, human, gut-wrenching, soulful, lustful – and have the final chapters reveal that everything – EVERYTHING – I just read has happened in the narrator’s imagination. She’s standing in front of her bathroom mirror, her mind suspended in that first-light early morning foggy, fuzzy, haze. She lived an entire alternate lifetime while washing her face. I’d relate to that. That’s exactly how my brain works.
I’m looking for a final book for my year. It will put me 7 over goal. One intriguing candidate is called You Were There, Too. It has to do with life and love and destiny and dreams. A woman is married, floating along in not-quite-contentment when she runs into a man she sees in her dreams. Does it MEAN something? Are they fated? But the reviews all say the ending rips your heart out and I don’t want that. I want someone to write a brilliant ending, not a sad one.
Thinking about all this while lathering my hair this morning, I remembered the face of a man who sat diagonally from me in a small diner in Paris, just outside the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. I did not speak to him, do not know him. I was there with my husband and he was there with another man, likely a business colleague. But I am endlessly curious about other beings and so I spent much of my time observing him, committing him to memory. He was a tiny bit overweight, black hair, kind eyes. His coat was gray and his manners impeccable. I liked his round face, his cheeks. He looked a little like my brother if my brother but happy. I probably smiled at him, just to be polite, you know. He and I lived our life together there, in my mind, as we ate lunch across from each other. When it was over he slipped away to the right of the diner and my husband and I walked left. Maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe I was intoxicated by his city, his culture, what I imagined him to be. But I will remember him for the rest of my days, and I do wonder why I was drawn to his energy.
I do this sometimes. A stranger passes me on the street and we’ve been married and had children by the next block. He’s forgotten by the block after that, as my mind wanders to other ideas, possibilities, inventions.
I wonder if anyone else thinks this way? Perhaps I should write a book.
