487: Rain of Anger

I had the privilege and honor of seeing a shaman on Wednesday for a two-hour session. The experience was remarkable. I sat with him in such great comfort. He appeared a blank-slate: free, flowing, unblocked, and nothing cluttered. It was unexpected that I could be in the presence of someone and feel so me. I felt seen, heard, and loved. I understood him at a deep level, and he me. I saw myself, as I do in many people, and this version was heaven.

I won’t get into the details of the session as it is sacred to me. I will say he gave me three specifics. In example, with the facts altered, he said something to this degree: “Your discomfort has something to do with a little girl on a swing reading Orson Scott Card.” That’s not what he said. I have changed the details, but they are similar enough.

We talked about this and drew some conclusions.

The next day, about twenty-four hours later, someone mentioned to me randomly, out of context, the exact same words the shaman had said. A girl, sitting on a specific thing, reading a specific author. It was entirely uncanny and frightening. Just out of the blue, this person told me this. The statement did something to me. Tore through me. Terrified me.

I was able to find immediate connections and figured out why this message was important and significant. And the validation that the Shaman had foresight, or that I could feasibly create this, was intense.

Since the shamanic experience, I kid you not, my hair is curlier, I feel lighter, my mind is clearer, and I have embraced this RAGE. Yes, rage. I think it’s an accumulation of years and years of injustice I have endured, and my inability at the time to fight for myself, and the resulting habit of stuffing and being overly-kind.

It is enormous in intensity, and something has certainly shifted inside of me. I have had this terrible neck and head pain, as well. And been very sleepy.

This doesn’t trouble me. I think what I am experiencing is beneficial and indicative of much growth. I have been off-balance, to one side, for a very long time; so kind that I made myself sick, literally and figuratively. I have been longing for this shadow-side to peek her head out and to make an appearance. For years I have been searching for her. But I was frightened, as if I’d lose another part of me.

I don’t feel that way now. In fact, I sense I am gaining a part of me lost a long time ago.

I have let myself be victim for most of my life. Most recently by befriending almost anyone on Facebook, without developing boundaries or even standards. I had convinced myself that if some people can be all accepting and all loving, then why can’t I. But I forgot I am a woman. That there are predators. That not everyone will be nice just because I try my best to accept and love them. I found myself in this awful predicament of not being a caretaker but an over-accepter. I overlooked and tossed aside my own feelings of rejection, of concern, of fear. I avoided reality by living by some golden rule. I believed I could make everyone ‘good,’ or at least kind, if I was good enough. I overlooked huge potential threats and behaviors that were very much indicators of unstable minds. I invited dangerous people into my life.

I lost myself. I hurt myself. I put up with far too much for any one person. And I justified it by focusing on the good of all.

I became desperate and in search of a form of validation that wasn’t blatant or obvious. Yes, I liked myself, and yes, I loved myself. But I set myself up over and over for pain. Because I was essentially numb inside. I couldn’t feel anything but extremes.

I am starting to feel again, now. I am starting to feel when someone loves me. I am starting to feel when someone cares. I have rarely felt these emotions before. I feel less separate, less invisible, and more seen. I feel as if I have shed this robe of indestructible goodness, and donned instead one of acceptance of my human condition.

I have continued to escape into roles, one after the next, again and again. I don’t know if it will change. I don’t know who is coming next. But the woman, once child, who stuffed her pain, is gone. I won’t do that again.

I might go through a period of disorientation, I suppose. I mean, I already am. But that’s okay. I have been far too lenient with some people. Far too forgiving. It’s okay to forgive… eventually. But, gosh darn it, I need to let myself go through the other spectrum of emotions first! It’s like I beat myself up for having any ‘bad’ feelings.

I am tired of the guilt-voice I heard as a child, the one that didn’t allow me to speak my truth or to be anything but happy.

I can complain. I can get upset. I can be me in full swing. I am not some perfect angel. I am human!

The shaman gave me a great, great gift. Or I gave myself one, or we both conspired. Regardless, I am happy to be outside of the bubble of constant resilience. It’s okay to breathe here on earth for a bit, and to raise my hands up, not in helplessness, but in rage!

I am not afraid of me, anymore, or any aspect of myself. This is all unfolding as deemed necessary for my higher good; I know that. The coincidence of hearing the EXACT words of the Shaman was too out of the ordinary. Statistically impossible. And I had told not a soul these words he told me. And it came from someone I barely knew. And following the lead from there, proved fruitful.

I can’t express enough how everything seems topsy-turvy, turned upside down. I love that I am not attached to whatever I was three days ago, and I am not attached to whatever I am now. This is enough. I am enough. And if I want to roar, I will!

Mrs. Nice ‘Gal’… I am just so very weary of that role. Yes, there is niceness in me. Damn straight there is. Tons of it! Who I was before is not an act. I can see my extreme goodness and capacity for great love. But who else is in there, well she is dying to get out, strangled by her own accord. I am just glad she’s finally free. So immensely happy whilst standing in a rain of anger.