Making space for this thing that's bigger than you

I was looking at my deck’s image of The Hanged Man, which represents my 2010 Tarot Personal Year energy. Before reading its meaning, my gut reaction was, “I’m seeing everything from a dramatically altered perspective–at least temporarily–and judging by ‘my’ posture and expression, this topsy-turvy perspective brings me satisfaction and/or pleasure.”

Then I read that the card’s archetype/expertise/wisdom is personal sacrifice. After a little head scratching–and noticing that the card’s astrological correspondent is Neptune–it occurred to me that all the “sacrifice” may begin inside me. An example would be a sacrifice/surrender of ego-ic attachment to believing things had to be done a certain way in order to be “right.” (And even that there’s such a thing as “right.”) Another would be a surrender to creative inspiration without worrying whether it would lead to a commercially viable product. Another might be demonstrating compassion/forgiveness in a way that requires me to release any previous attachment to judgment.

In other words, a year of being willing to surrender everything I think I know, in order to make room for something bigger than me.

If ever I doubt I've come a long way, remind me of this…

Sometime in the early ’90s (= me around age 30), two friends and I went to a nearby Renaissance Faire. We all agreed to visit Rita, a much-recommended fortune teller. Friend One entered Rita’s gypsy-style caravan and later popped out with a thoughtful expression and a cassette tape recording of what Rita had said. Friend Two did the same. But Rita, an energy/aura reader, struggled when it was my turn. “You’re a very private person,” she said. She struggled some more, finally asking me to speak to her of inconsequential/impersonal things, such as what I’d eaten for dinner, just so my voice might help her. Finally, she gave up.

Rita refunded my money and suggested I see the Faire’s palm reader.

When I told my mother this story, she said, “I’m not surprised–I never know what you’re thinking.”

Well, things change! Last Saturday, I told this story to a couple of friends who only met me in 2006. They were stunned. They simply couldn’t imagine a version of me that was that guarded/closed-up. These women, I realized, never knew “Sarah,” the name I used for decades before reclaiming my childhood identity.  They are completely unfamiliar with her insecurities and other assorted baggage. How wonderful is that?

I can keep the transformation fueled by all that baggage without needing to identify with its old energy.

And having gone through the process, I’m free to use past pain in other ways. I have now written three books featuring a main character who is either self-righteous about something or more generally something of a control freak, who needs to loosen up and accept that there are other viewpoints and ways of doing things. Further, I recognized “control” as just another name for fear, and of course, we must surrender fear to truly experience love.

As a fun aside…The trip to the Fair was May 1st. In honor of the day, we each carried an armload of carnations and whenever anyone noticed the flowers, we’d beam and give him or her one of the carnations along with wishes for a happy May Day. It was such fun to see strangers suddenly light up! And it cost us just a few bucks each. Wow.

Clean, clear, repair, repeat

A floor rolling with dust bunnies bothers me far less than a desk covered with piles of clutter. Even before I heard the term “feng shui,” I intuitively knew that decluttering was a quick way to raise my energy. Now I’m actively trying to engage feng shui principles, and continue to be amazed by how many clutter sources I’ve never addressed.

It’s not just the stuff on the desk. Or closet. It’s about the half-knitted sweater stashed among the craft supplies. The unlabeled keys that open who knows what  (and all those cords and adapters separated from mystery electronics probably long-since departed). The pretty shoes I’ve never worn. The apology I never offered. The drawer that won’t close. Etc. Etc.

This week, I got that drawer fixed. Likewise a door that no longer shut properly. I  took a torn-but-beloved linen tunic to the tailor for repair. I sorted through that box-o-cords and tossed all the orphans. I started filling a fresh bag with things to take to Goodwill.


As for the dust bunnies, I’m getting to those.

Shaking the "Good Girl" syndrome

For years, it held me captive, this drive to be a Good Girl. When growing up, it boiled down to:

  • being punctual,
  • getting good grades
  • never getting loud about anything.

But, as I’ve already mentioned, getting loud turns out to be necessary for me right now. Likewise letting go of the idea clocks measure anything quantifiable and instead accepting that everything happens at Exactly The Right Time. And while I’m still a big fan of the kind of curiosity that can lead to academic excellence, though no longer finding it necessary to have someone judge the results for me to feel good about it.

Interesting that less than a week after cutting aka cords, the originator of those cords has made two attempts to draw me back into Good Girl syndrome by offering me after-the-fact rewards for past behavior. I phoned Conciousness Circle Lisa and she laughed saying, “Yep, I almost warned you that would happen, but didn’t want to create the expectation.” She led me through a visualization to renew/reinforce my independence from that energy. What a blessing, to have friends to call on.

Cutting the cords

Friday, I was with Consciousness Circle buddy Lisa, describing the waves of fear that had had me on an emotional roller coaster recently, especially leading up to last week’s eclipse. To her clairvoyant/audiant senses, much of the blockage between me and a more abundant state was wrapped up in aka cords draining me.

I’d not heard the term before. It’s a name for the energetic threads that connect us in all our relationships (even our relationships to things).

These particular cords had become a negative connection for me. After asking if I were ready to sever them, Lisa led me through a beautiful exercise in which I named the cords I could perceive (I only felt/saw two–one connected to my solar plexus, labeled “shame,” and one at my throat I called “shhhhh”), then saw them cut away, as well as any others I might be seeing that weren’t serving my highest good.

My response is a measure of just how safe I feel with Lisa. First, I wept, then began spontaneously vocalizing–sound that gradually became more pure until I was toning. And hey, I don’t have any training in that. It was loud. Clearly, the “shhhhh” line had been severed. Hee!

Laugher was next. It bubbled up and had me cackling. Very freeing feeling, to laugh spontaneously without any external trigger!

The whole experience made perfect sense to me, particularly in light of what happened the week before the Solstice.

But that’s another story.