Hell gave me a new book to read, Awakening in Time, by Jacquelyn Small. I’ve hardly started the third chapter, and it has me all upset. As I write this, I’m crying. I feel despondent again. I feel awful again. I feel I will never ever heal. It’s as if Hell pushed me all the way down again. And once again I will have to make my way up and out. I am right back to square one — or, rather, to First Chakra.
I am angry at him for giving me the book and I know I should not be. If it upsets me so much, then part of me knows it’s because I definitely need to read it. Is there no end to this journey? Like Don Quixote, I’m fighting windmills. I charge, fight like crazy trying to stop the whirlwind, but I get nowhere. There is no beast, just an impermeable rock formation.
Today I feel sorry for myself, yet again. I will never, never get out of this haunted forest. The path is forever changing. In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing the scene from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland where she stumbles upon a path, only to find a dog coming from the other direction, sweeping it both ways with his nose and tail, and therefore erasing it completely. She is left standing on the one remaining stone
on the path, with nowhere to step to. I don’t recall exactly when she meets the caterpillar and “Who are you? ” said the Caterpillar.
Maybe Hell gave me the book because he felt I was beginning to depend on him too much. If he did, then he was right, because I went home Friday feeling I may be leaning on him a little too much. [Note: reading this again, the thought occurs to me that it might simply be because he thinks it is the next step.] I know deep inside of me that I must do this alone, by myself, with my own resources. At a certain level, I understand that Hell is only a facilitator and I am responsible for my own healing. The problem is, we don’t get to talk about any of this. I don’t get to talk about what is going on during the day, or at night, alone in my bed. Nothing about the struggle, the whirling, the buzzing, the tremendous pain in my chest (very physical; probably caused by my stomach hernia) and the sleepless nights.
He leans there on the railing and watches, and I have no idea what is going on in his head. Sometimes the look he gives me is veiled —
something I do not like. He lets me struggle and struggle until I can struggle no more. He tells me “Yep; some movement here, ” or “You are beginning to develop some strategies, ” and I feel so frustrated. I would like to ask a thousand and one questions, like: Am I the only one feeling so frustrated?
Am I the only one feeling this will never end?
Am I the only one going around in circles? Up and down the twelve levels of healing? Up and down the ladder of chakras?
Am I the only one crying and not knowing if it’s caused by frustration or something deeper?
And, for that matter, what is wrong with me?
Tell me, Hell — tell me this is just part of the journey and that everyone on that journey feels the same anguish and aggravation. I see the others and I know they, too, are on their healing journey, but I feel so alone in mine. Don’t you know that misery likes company?
Part of me knows it is not the remembering that is important, but the healing work. Yet I grow impatient, frustrated, and like Don Quixote I want to charge at whatever image I see, because each time I think it is IT.
The book explains the three basic chakras in new ways for me, yet it is familiar as well because I know about chakras. It explains the
chakras’ urges as a function of the soul and that we must work through the pain stored in each one, and it explains these urges:
- the urge to control (First Chakra)
- the urge to excite (Second Chakra)
- the urge to merge (Third Chakra)
The book also tells how to do this and then it says that when these three basic chakras are cleared, we receive the gift connected with each chakra; in this case, Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. Each of these three chakras is connected to the Shadow (or the lower self).
It reminds me of the gifts of the Spirit I learned about in cate-chism, when we were being taught for Confirmation. There were seven gifts of the Spirit and, though I was only seven, I remember how sad it made me that there had been no gift bestowed on me during the ceremony. I remember I cried that night. I was convinced that God thought I was so bad he could not give me any of the gifts. I believed with all my heart that there were gifts and they were available to each and every one of us. To this day, when I think of that, it still hurts.
It’s interesting that, while doing the exercises in Homecoming, the affirmation that affected me the most — the one I chose, the one for reclaiming your infant self — was ‘God smiled when you were born.’
This always makes me cry. Could God really have smiled when I was born? Or was He upset and angry at me? I always feel that God is angry at me.
And of course it talks about our Shadow. This reminds me of some sort of myth that I read a long time ago, that when Adam and Eve were tempted by the Devil and thrown out of the Garden of Eden, they went on to have a long and difficult life learning just that —
life — instead of merely existing in bliss. When they die, the Devil comes back and welcomes them back into Eden, telling them that he had been their ally, their guide, their friend all along, for he knew of no other way for them to become all that they could be if they had remained in the Garden (now I sound as if I were Hell), and that he was their friend, not their enemy.
My desire to please is so strong. My desire to do well, to excel, to be the best one, to shine, is so strong. I want so hard to be number one, to be the one people point at and say in awe, “She’s the one. ”
How am I ever going to do this right? How?
I wish someone were here now to hold me, to hug me, to tell me everything is okay. But there is no one and, as always, I am all alone and I want to scream. Let me cry loudly, let me make a noise — and so I cough. The misery is overwhelming.
Dear Don Quixote,
The next time you see a monster, why don’t you stand still for a moment and wait, and look and see what is actually there in front of you. It just might save you a whole lot of pain.
Your loving companion, Sancho.
The Dark
Aug. 23, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…I could see little Micha. Not clearly, but I could see her on a carpet (brown and beige; the homemade, braided kind). She was hurting. When Hell pressed down on my back, I resisted because I was afraid of the pain, but then I thought, “Enough of this,” and I let myself fall into her. I sort of melded into her, my big tall adult self melding into this little body. I saw the image repeat itself several times, then we recognized each other and, lo and behold, there was no pain. There was joy! I promised her I would never leave her again.
Now I know that I left Micha all by herself; I let her suffer alone. But not anymore. Micha’s laughing. I can still hear her.
Aug. 27, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…My mind is a blank, but my body is finding itself in space. It moves without me, as one moves when discovering oneself anew. I don’t know how long it will last, but I enjoy this. It’s nice.
Aug. 30, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…My belly hurts. But it is little Micha’s belly. It is her pain, I want to remove her pain.
Sept. 1, 1999 (NSA journal entry after adjustment) Today I felt…This adjustment will change many things. I can sense this. Today something changed. I don’t know what, but I am different. We’ll see what we’ll see. The journey is no longer the same. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Sept. 1, 1999 (Computer Journal)