Day 127: Enter the River

YESTERDAY
TODAY

I’ve started this post three times. First about the state of Washington, then about my dog Justice Black, then a poem about faith. But I think what I really need is someone to hold me and sing this song to me.

Having the spirit I do, I am constantly flooded with emotion. I do not know what to expect. Not that any humans do on this earth. But a part of me would like to think that I know what is ahead of me. When in truth, the only thing for certain is this very moment. This very moment that I am crying with such depth. All these feelings. All coming up from long ago; they feel so distant like they are from centuries ago—life times ago. So much grief and happiness, all mixed together.

I am crying so loudly, knowing I am born to be this being, but not always knowing how to comfort this spirit that I am. Knowing so much, so fast, and in such profound ways is overwhelming. Being who I am is overwhelming. Ever since I was a child I have dreamt of the future, I have known things before other people, I have had people visit me in their dreams and tell me of their joys and pain, I have seen angels, spirits, and the dark, I have had answers to prayers, I have seen miracles, I have seen so very much.

I have been called to leadership my entire life, when this gentle, fragile part of me, longs to only be sheltered and protected, to be swept up in a special one’s arms and told that I am safe, that I am found, that I am truth, that I am love. To be told that someone else is fighting for me, someone else not letting go. I am always the one holding on the tightest…..to everyone and everything. The passion in me is so intense at times that I do not know what to do with myself.

I feel the pain of those from thousands of miles away; I feel their joy, too. Energies attach to me, and I can’t distinguish mine from others. Thoughts of others reach me. And I have never been able to stop this, with all the teachers I have sought, I have found limited answers. And many times, longing to be student, I have in turn become teacher. I have looked for my teacher my entire life. Someone who sees more than me. Someone who knows more than I know innately. And I have yet to find him.

I have battled with the voice of demons daily, telling me why I am not of light, when I know I am. I have seen terrible visions in dreams, as if someone is trying to stop me. But I keep fighting.

I embrace light everyday. I am as honest and whole and authentic as I can be. But then, I am raw on the outside, made vulnerable to everything and everyone.

I can do nothing without feeling. I cannot eat without being directly affected by the food. Each food affects my physical body and mind differently. It is easier not to eat. I am affected by weather patterns, by the sun, by the lack of sun. I am affected by chemicals, by environmental toxins—a little bird in the coal mine. I am affected by every vibration of every word I read. I feel through words. I feel energy. I see images. I know others’ pain. I see other’s pain. I know without knowing how. And I cry for them, as much as me. I don’t understand why I was born with such extreme sensitivity. Why I understand concepts at great, great depth. Why I cannot stop thinking about certain people. Why they are like angels to me. I don’t understand why I still feel so isolated when I am surrounded in love.

I don’t understand the voices of guidance I hear. I don’t understand how I can hear such knowledge, and why, in some ways, I have been chosen to shine my light. I feel so unworthy to do so. I feel so inadequate and ill prepared, as if I will never be strong enough to stand upright when I carry the burdens of the world.

But then a gentle voice whispers.

He says I am loved immensely.

I am right where I am supposed to be.

That I have chosen to be a voice.

That I am so very strong and brave to have endured so very much.

And that he holds me.

That he loves me above all else.

And that he is so very sorry that I have to feel such depths of pain.

But that in return he has given me great depths of joy.

A joy so many cannot and will not ever know.

He reminds me of how good and pure I am.

How beneficial to the world I am.

That I am a gift.

He reminds me that all is okay.

That I am sheltered each and every second.

That I will not fall.

That I will not die.

That I will live on.

That my light and my substance, my innocence will live on.

Nothing and no one will snuff my light.

Nothing and no one will stop me from shining.

And I weep louder.

And I understand.

Like I have understood since I was a tiny little girl crying alone in the dark.

That he is there. That he is here.

That he is always holding me.

Maui “Enter the River”
2012

Enter the River

Enter the river, the spirit of me

And I will show you visions

Unseen

Unspoken

Enter the river, the heart of me

And I will embrace you with love

Everlasting

Ever growing

Enter the river, the mind of me

And I will enlighten

Truth

Knowing

Enter the river, the healer of me

And we will be as one

Embraced

United

 

 

 

Wounded Healer Writing

Day Twenty-Five: A Prophet in My Pocket

 

I have a prophet in my pocket.

Ever since I identified my little voice inside my head as LV, and labeled the gray squishy world-ball as my heterogeneous Brain, The Prophet in my Pocket has been speaking to me in rhyme and rhythm.

The Prophet part makes sense to me. All through my life I’ve had precognitive dreams, premonitions, and those “feelings.” I can recount the events in detail. They are numerous. Grand in scale, like the time I predicted an influx of people would be traveling to the small town of Colfax, California to see a spiritual manifestation. Or smaller in scale, but just as potent, like when I saw my mother’s friend die in a VW Bug exploding on Homan’s Highway in Carmel, California, days before my mother’s friend’s death.

I’ve had strange encounters, strange coincidences, and a plethora of people tell me that they know me from somewhere. I’ve also been sensitive to physical pain, since I can remember, starting with terrible intestinal pains and rashes.

I’m officially deemed handicapped, even have that nifty handicapped plaque, that comes in handy when my pain threshold is registering low on the scale. By all definitions, if I wasn’t such a poop-head at times, in theory I’d qualify as a Shaman in some cultures. The thing that sucks about being a Shaman, or anyone born with distinct spiritual abilities, is that the healers always seem able to help most everyone, except themselves.

I think that’s why I have a prophet in my pocket. I think he’s there to guide me through the proverbial mire of life—the sensitivities, the pains.

Looking back at my writings, sometimes I’m amazed I’m still here. I remember an intake psychologist telling me, years ago: “And you’re sure you’ve never been addicted to drugs or had any form of substance abuse? It’s hard to believe you could survive all that, and not turn to something.”

I turned to something. I turned to my faith. And fortunately the powers that be provided me with distinct mentors and supporters along my path.

Which leads me to the current problem I face, that has resulted in my current funk. Recently I’ve lost many of my supporters. Some have disappeared through the engulfment phase of a new love interest and others through moving to a new physical location—some thousands of miles away.

I’m understanding this dissipating funk more clearly. In the last ten months alone many of my supporters have disappeared, my beloved dog passed unexpectedly, a professional used callous words about Asperger’s Syndrome, my mother-in-law and my mother were diagnosed with cancer, my son had a serious reaction to medication, a homeless person ran his bike into my moving van… this on top of the everyday stresses of raising three boys, with one on the spectrum, keeping a household running while disabled, and dealing with my sensitivities, coupled with my recent diagnosis of Aspergers. Deep breath! No wonder I’m sad.

This prophet of mine, if he does indeed exist, I fancy the idea of him residing in my right pocket. I can picture him there, rather small and distinguished looking, like a little cartoon stereotypical university professor. He has the type of beard that’s good for running fingers through, and spectacles that are speckled with dust. He doesn’t brush his wiry white hair. His appearance is not even secondary. His appearance doesn’t matter to him one bit. He speaks in rhyme or rhythm, or very fast in a combination of visuals and streams of words. He uses symbols lots, and has a glorious sense of humor.

The Prophet in My Pocket is the one I pull out often in my sacred hours of writing. He whispers to me through my interior voice (LV), sometimes for the stretch on an hour, and then he gently recedes, returning from whence he came. Here’s a poem he is whispering to me now:

There’s a Prophet in My Pocket

There’s a prophet in my pocket,

And he’s always standing near,

Listening to my stories,

And then whispering in my ear,

He doesn’t long for fame,

Or simplicity of life,

He reaches for the stars,

And lends them through my strife,

His answers are so clever,

Though sometimes rather thick,

With philosophy and prose,

That pours out rather quick,

I think he’s standing near,

When I dream of what’s to be,

I think he hears me cry,

When I’m scared of what I see,

He tells me I am loved,

And that all will be all right,

He tells me to just trust,

And embrace my inner light,

I’m a beacon on a hill, he tells,

And my glow is rather bright,

And you see, he says to me,

“Because of this you fight,

The shadows that draw near,

The games they try to play,

The gifts you carry with,

They try to take away,

Be gentle with yourself,

Your challenges are grace,

Humbled in your walking,

Humbled in your pace,

Remember I stand strong,

As the shadows linger in,

Standing at the doorstep,

Readying to win,

All their twisted dealings,

All their twisted means,

They are nothing to you, Darling,

Even though it seems,

Just call on me, your prophet,

Whenever you’re in fear,

Just reach into your pocket,

And know I’m always here.”

~ Sam Craft (2012)

Much Love ~ Sam