As I can feel this season of change, I’m going to try and document what transformation feels like:
I’m overflowing today. This rise of power and intention in me. Spilling out bad poetry I don’t care to edit yet. Hands that feel in sync, house coming together, joy in the morning, even when my meditations don’t happen. Maybe this is the manic side my mother gave me. I can go back to the editing and the contemplation and the quiet in the next dip. For now, I’m all creation, building altars and lighting flames and walking with purpose. The winter cold is brisk but clean, and I’m nesting this place in preparation for the birth of spring. Something good is coming. I can feel it.
Maybe this change I prayed for is hitting me by surprise. The growing is uncomfortable and the shift seems sudden. That change that is supposed to come to you like a fog rolling in came like the flipping of a switch. Or maybe, more accurately, the fog has been building for months, and I was finally overtaken. It began with a rise, and now, at the peak, I am twitching and achy and angry at a moment’s notice. Tv barely holds my attention, the house cleaning is finished early, and I’m sitting here thinking maybe I should do something. Something that takes the edge off this itch. This lying itch. The part of me that knows I’m somehow not me and that my cup isn’t as full as I thought and my motherhood is evolving and my hands were made for spring.
I can feel this transformation in me. Physically as well as emotionally. It doesn’t feel good yet. It feels itchy and twitchy and achy. A slight tightness in my chest. A restlessness in my heart. Emotions spring up at a moments notice. I cry more. There’s a slight fear with it, too. Fear that I don’t know who I’ll become. Fear that I won’t have the tools to live that truth if I turn out to be someone different. Fear that I chose a tiny, entrenched life that won’t serve me the way I thought it would. I’m trying to meditate more. Meditation that just gives my heart some quiet space. Because even though I’m afraid, I know I don’t want to stop this process. And if I keep giving my soul some space, I trust it will do its thing. It knows what to do. All I have to do is allow it to happen without judgment and then see what needs to change on the outside. I will try to be calm and patient.
I feel more corporeal than I ever have. I can feel the pulse in my wrists, the food in my belly, the follicles moving as I pull my hair up into a ponytail. The side effect of this spiritual awakening seems to be this sensitivity to my physical self. Maybe “side effect” is the wrong phrase. Maybe once I can fully immerse myself in the fact that there is no separateness between spirit and physical, my eyes will be fully open. All of me seems to be stirring. And while we draw closer to the birth of spring, and I know I will emerge, barefoot with ribbons in my hair, now I am trying to listen awhile longer. It’s not quite time to plant yet, so I will give myself some rest. This body and this soul are getting ready together.
The thing I keep remembering from my dreams lately when I meet a wise woman/goddess/spirit guide, is she always says, “Be like water, little one. Be like a river.” I know she must say more than that, but that’s what I always wake up remembering. While I can’t say I fully understand everything that means, I have the sense of flow, of change, of feminine wisdom and divinity. A lack of boundaries, a sense of transformative cycle, the unity of the divine. I don’t know how to embody that fully yet, but the phrase repeats in my head like a mantra that I’ll one day fully realize.
Anxiety. That if I change any more I’ll be alone. That a previous self made this life, and didn’t make it for new me. That I’m risking everything. That I might be an idiot. Reading everything into nothing (but what if it isn’t nothing?). Wanting everything and reaching for all those wants makes me spread too thin. Feeling fragmented. Desperation overcompensating. What if I get everything I ask for and it still isn’t enough? Is the devil I know better? My heart won’t stay in my chest. Just keep talking. Don’t dissolve. Just hold on awhile longer.