Lessons from the Hanged Man
Somewhere deep inside I’ve been processing a lot of things, a lot of issues and reviewing a lot of lessons. So much that I’ve had a bit of a theme percolating up from the depths.
From a phone call that left me in tears to later on a dream that made things clear, it’s been a strange strange year inside my world of 2016.
I choose to withdraw to be quite deep inside. It was needed in a serious way. I needed to pull back and stop leading with my heart and emotions but more than that, I needed to stop being drowned under the stream of everyone’s desires of me. So, I choose to drown. Down at the bottom where the mucky mud is sticky cold and squishy between the toes, where the last bubble of air rises slowly yet twinkle rainbow sparkles as light dims sickly green before flashing bright stars as ears ring and lungs burn aching to inhale sweet air; there I was watching, feeling and letting myself drown.
There is a moment where everything is crystal clear. Too often it’s a moment too late to return to sweet air. This time, this one time, this drowning is metaphorical.
I discovered something.
I’ve always wondered what kind of person I truly am. I’ve known that in moments of crisis the solid truth of a person shines true. I talk a lot of shit at times. Friends an family know my quirks and how I can get. Yet I never had a solid grasp of how important the real Me is suprisingly solid. I change so much on a day to day basis, finding bedrock, finding the cornorstone is momuntal.
One week before Yule, I had a house fire. Well, my oven hickuped and spit out jets of sparks as it was busy arc welding bits of itself. Talk about being caught off guard! I had just turned it on a half hour earlier to warm up the house a bit when IT happened.
It sounded like someone had set off a rotohammer right beside my ear as I watched the lights dim and white power smoke instantly filled the house as my lil one screamed the oven was shooting sparks! As all the damn bloodly loud alarms screamed, I ran to shut down the breaker box before heading for the fire extunisher. While pulling out extunisher, I got my lil one to gather up the dogs, herself an coat, my shoes and stuff and headed back into the fray, shaking like a leaf.
I should back up a bit to explain something. I’m terrified of fire. Totally parinoid of house fire and I know where it’s from. Every time a fire alarm sounds, I’m busy beating down panic, racing heart and hysterics and I still have to act and Think rationally. Talk about multitasking under stress!
But this was a code Red super critical. Autumn in hot seat, all parts aware, awake, recording, and me being a big girl, a brave girl. You know, this had to happen when I was having my moment to primp and be just me.
I had always thought that in the moment when it came down to it I would be ruthlessly uncareing. That it would be me out to save my skin and of my family. That anything or anybody else was doomed. But then I saved the dogs. No, it’s not a duh.
There is a love hate relationship with the dogs. They aren’t even mine. They are my sister’s dogs. And I’ve had to train them according to my will. On top of that, I’m allergic and the hairs are sharp enough to be splinters in my (oh gosh please don’t laugh) thin skin. At most they are a constant annoynace. I am unable to love up on them too often as it exerbates the symptoms I’m already suffering. It’s funny, dogs respond to love in training yet I’ve trained them. That’s a side track, something interesting for later.
The thing is, I belived I was a cold heartless monster deep down inside and that all this shiny emotional love stuff was just polish on a turd. (Shh, I know what I said. I’m not say I belive that, now.) Until in the middle of my litteral worst nightmare, I saved the dogs automaticly.
Love, care, concern came automaticly.
Revolutionary, I tell you.
We all spent the night in a hotel to come back the following morning and assess the damage. The coil burned out and arced. A cookie sheet left in the oven helped control the sparks and echoed the sound like a bullhorn. The smoke was the element being burned up in the arcing as quite a bit of it was gone in seconds.
And I may have set this in motion accidentally months and months ago when I went on a deep cleaning of my oven. Those elements as it turns out should not be bent. Tiny cracks caused by bending will lead to eventual failure, most of the time not as spectacular as this was!
Lesson learned. Or was it?
The following weeks I kept getting hit with moments of clarity. Moments where I was being shown or had my attention drawn to about who I really am. Part of all of this led to a phone call that left me in tears. And then the dream that night.
I’m not sure I want to go into that dream here in public. It’s a big NSFW dream. (I know. Shame of me for teasers.) But it was a dream that had meaning and in it I was hung upside down, in terror, fear, revulsion as a part of me was also calm, clear and comfortable. I was being hung upside down, bound a la rubber kinkster style (winks) with my left leg crossed just like the Hanged Man tarot card. Yeah, me and the deep have our style of talking. This was like a flashing, teasing me to see if I caught it yet.
I, the Fool, was hung on her cross of her own making, dying in her fears yet lived and brought back a spark of knowledge, that which is what and why she hoisted her own petard on the yardarm in the first place.
Sometimes we have to drown. Sometimes we have to get to the place where the worst has happened because in that space we can look out and see the best is yet to come.
Happy New Year Everyone!
Welcome to The Future.