"What I want you to know, you, yes you, is that there was a time when the people who are not, were still in the world. Made of earth. And they were vibrant and alive. Life was localized and it was musical and smelled of cinnamon and spice. It was loud. A vibration of generations connected by our invisible dewdrop spiderweb. I was so conscious of it then. It was tangible. I could almost see it. I can hear it still. It echos in me."
-Deena Marie, 2012
Two years ago today, almost down to the exact hour, my uncle chuck left earth. I don't feel like posting pictures. But I can't go without words on this day.
The first experience with this thing we call death.
If you could peek inside my head and heart you'd see why that was the moment. From then on, nothing would ever be the same. For me, for any of us. I could never have imagined that that was the beginning. The beginning of the shift. The new normal. Nothing would remain the same. My internal makeup would completely change.
I've been thinking a lot about that, and while I've mentioned it here plenty of times since then, how do I try to explain what that means? My internal makeup would completely change.
I wrote this blurb the other day,
"Ever since, I worry my eyes can't see.
Won't focus, will stop seeing, have blurred.
I worry my breath is running out, has become too shallow,
no longer supports me.
I feel myself flicker and worry I keep trying to transcend.
Involuntarily, my consciousness slips in and out and I have no control.
I wonder if in fact I don't exist."
I thought my soul was going to jump right out of my body. I felt like I could barely contain it. "Here we go", I'd think to myself as the feeling would come on. I could be anywhere. Driving in the morning. Sitting in front of the computer. Getting ready to meet a friend for coffee. I could barely focus. I realized how serious it could be the day I rear ended a car coming off of the freeway for no reason. I knew I was slowing down, I knew there was a car in front of me. I simply didn't see it. I kept leaving myself.
And my dreams. If only you could have seen my dreams. I've seen the brightest lights as I'm falling asleep. "Here we go," I'd think to myself. "Transcending again." I've seen visions. I've seen heaven.
I've felt my heart race to the point of panic and my brain go fuzzy. My body kept betraying. Now I realize it has a name. You can call it anxiety, you can call it PTSD. I call it the new normal. And it's getting better. Patience. Time. I am feeling less connected to the physicality and other worldly-ness of two years ago.
I no longer worry I don't exist, have died, will slip off the earth and into the blue before it's time.
I'm here. I'm meat and bones and thoughts and feelings. I am temporarily tangible. How lucky.
Two years later.
What was your journey, my family? Where are you now? Are you who you want to be? Did you find your truth? Are the last two years still teaching you? Are you still learning? Have you expanded? Are you where you wanted to end up? If not, go get it. Run. Look how long, and short the two years were. Waste not. There are no rules now! There is no fear now! There is only love, only this moment. What a gift.
Heal. Heal now. I will if you will.