I asked myself that when I looked at my sticky post and saw that this week’s conversation was about some big topics like empaths and breast cancer. Ha!
Ambitious much? We’ll see.
Well, the conversation has been going on regardless of me remembering. But wait!
Excuse me but my rogue right boob has given up the fight to accept the implant (implant has imp in it? lol).
There’s a big hole in the side, which shows something that far away might look like a scab but is actually the implant against my insides. Of course, I have pictures!
But it hurts like a tiny dragon is trying to be born out of my boob. I might be confusing the tiny dragon with my new spirit animal.
So I delivered my soul on FB Live about the need I see for empaths to own up to our “shadow” (unconscious) side as well, and not use “lightworker/healer” associations to bypass responsibility for our own healing work by getting busy helping everyone else with what we see from our own unawareness.
This is why speaking from personal experience is more effective – there is a lot of nonlinear communication that has occurred that is felt in the body – rather than an inherited belief system that we are parroting (insert favorite parrot), which is not going to have the same powerful energy signature.
I feel like saying the shortcut to that is beginner’s mind – you cannot fill a cup that is already full without spilling over, as the metaphor goes. At a certain point you have to question your judgment and beliefs or just toss them out, like the monks toss out their beautiful sand art to practice non-attachment.
On Breast Cancer – well I am in a whole new way since the recent transition to Rogue Boob Alert. I am mortified (possibly an exaggeration or lie lol) at this conversation with my oncologist, aka The Onc.
“Is it normal to take this long to get back to work?”
“Not from the cancer. We have to look at other things like depression, etc.”
(Check. I have put together a pretty impressive brain health care regiment for myself with my limited resources, and depression is definitely being processed.)
I smile and make that silent burst of air. My unusual work history has continued to remain unusual, and it’s been a year maybe since I have silently ranted at the definition of “Work” in this physical reality, and what it makes people do sometimes, and how I am actually exerting incredible effort in ways people know not of. I know I am not alone, I am just (incoming word of today) obstreperous enough at times when I have sat on my quieter self, to bring my efforts to the floor and refuse to leave until I’m done.
It has always been my conviction that when I catch up with myself and do that big post mortem, I will have a few things to say about my so-called lack of consistent work experience.
Oh hell with that, you may say – just write your damn resume and be done with it.
I will try to not to give you a scary smile but again, that is what normal people do! Some quite successfully.
Once I found the resume a lovely way of telling a story but then my story got so intense my perceptions fragmented into little sharp pieces of awareness that are ready to cut as I was cut – and I find that I had some kind of moment where I could die a different kind of death instead – death by a thousand emotional cuts or more – and oh more cuts are waiting until I unfreeze time and pour that golden connectivity glue on my shattered psyche from above until it fills all the cracks and sharp edges. But it takes time all this imagination and manifestation. Some people never get time in this reality to tell a better story. I did.
And would you know it, 2019 is the year of changing up the resume – and no I can barely get to my healing appointments – we don’t have enough support for long term healing – only for when we are actively in treatments which – why would we be so frightened of if they are not going to kick our ass? And then what about after that? I have some thoughts.)
Of course, if you remember that I’m a writer, then there is nothing unusual about my history at all. The psychological challenges too, rather writerly.
Virginia Woolf, one of my favorite authors, wrote “A Room Of One’s Own” about women and fiction, putting her thoughts together in novel form. She also added detailed descriptions of food because writers didn’t often do that or something.
Or Steven Pressfield, author of War of Art; well, he drove a taxi for awhile – not that there is anything too unusual about driving a taxi. Driving on its own is something I used to have terrible vomiting anxiety over but then over time I came to rather love it, but sitting in that position and me being how I am, I’m sure taxi driver is a better career for me in another reality. Where taxi drivers get fancy outfits with work, like a pinstripe fedora, I’m fine with wearing pants. Even a shirt. Lol.
So write stories!!
I am. I thought I’d first use James Joyce’s stream of consciousness style because it is so cathartic. I can literally plug into my heart and write from her. I don’t even have to look sometimes with my mind or my eyes.
Meanwhile, back down on physical earth – I have my surgical soap, my preop registration done and tomorrow it is my 43rd birthday. Hallelujah and amen. 😉
Viewer Discretion advised – but this has always been my modus operandi – I’m documenting myself for awareness. Breast Cancer does not only happen in October or to people in brochures or glam shots, or to Other People. It happens to all of us.
I’ll get into the details more once the pressure is relieved – at which time I imagine I might get a tsunami of sass which I’m happy to document as well. 😉
Ok onto the holy shit picture. Haha.