Day 17 – December 10, 2008
I start most days prepared to heal others, but today I will start with my own. For the first time in a long time, I return to the story because of Amber’s promise to me.
It is abundantly clear to me I have left many loose ends, not with Amber, of course, but with myself. I thoroughly believed I would experience healing first and then guide her over. However, I became so carried away by the natural flow of her process I failed to ask for a healing of my own. Of course, I recognize the irony. Failing to ask for help is part of my sickness.
As I return to the story, I stand at an opening in the trees. Beyond the opening, there is a field where a horse grazes. I approach the meadow and realize I am terrified, not of harm but healing. I don’t know why I am afraid. I just know I expect it to be painful. I guess this makes sense. All of the healing I’ve experienced has required a process of pain, so of course, I expect pain.
I don’t want to return to my suffering. It has been a long time since I have healed a deep wound, and I am not as hard as I used to be. I don’t know what to do next. It’s probably good for me I don’t, though it doesn’t feel good. My fear escalates with each step I take.
I have watched so many people turn away from the pain of growth. I have participated in the healing or near healing of a lot of people, and I always thought, “How can they not take advantage of this opportunity? Do they not understand what awaits on the other side?”
I have taken advantage of almost every opportunity for healing I’ve been offered. However, I cannot recall ever having experienced fear like this. I have never felt so blind to my illness. Maybe, this is where they were. Perhaps, it is my turn to face something truly monumental.
“Tanka Shala, please give me strength in my journey today and guide my steps so I may find my true path.” The words flow humbly from my mouth as I walk. “Help me to align my will with Thy Will so that I may serve the greater good. Help me surrender my heart to Deer and my vision to Eagle and use their strength to open my heart and see the truth. I open myself to crow and am ready to be dead crow if this is my journey. I bend like the grass, so I do not break. A Ho Mytakuasin.”
As the words to Great Spirit dance upon my tongue, I step into the meadow and see the horse lift his gaze to meet my eyes. He only does so for a moment before returning his head to the ground where he grazes. He is not involved in the work this day, and so, he allows me to pass. IEO walks beside me and gently slides his hand down Patrick’s long neck as we pass. Patrick nickers in response.
I turn towards the cabin door, and IEO puts his hands upon my shoulders. I wait for the fear to leave me. The fear always leaves me when I feel his hands on me. I look for the calm to come to my heart, but it does not arrive, not today. This is not the fear I typically face when asking for his assistance. The fear I feel today is of something within me. There is nothing in this place that would harm me. There is no external threat from which he would protect me. So, he does not erase this fear. Only I can do that.
As I wrote the line “nothing could harm me” above, my computer shut off without warning. The battery is fully charged, and I’ve never had this happen before, so I have no explanation I can share. When I went to get the plug, I collapsed beneath searing stomach pain before reaching it. It’s taken me a moment to recover. I do not know if there is any correlation between these events and the words I write, but I feel they are significant enough to recognize and disturbing enough to note.
As I return to my work, IEO reaches forward and opens the cabin door, but I cannot see inside.
We step past the threshold together. On the other side, I can sense a presence, but too many fears block my ability to see it. To me, the cabin looks empty. I know Amber is near. I can feel her somewhere inside, but it is dark, and there is no noise. It seems wholly deserted.
I feel blind and vulnerable as IEO walks me to the chair where Amber sat during my last visit to the cabin. I feel like I shouldn’t sit there like it would be some kind of blasphemy, but IEO is motioning, forcing me to admit it is just a chair. My insecurities trip me. I feel like nothing here, like no one of importance, which is amazingly contrary to how I usually feel in the presence of Spirit. I know tonight is like no other night, as I am the wounded and not the healer. Before this moment, I never comprehended how vulnerable people feel at moments like these. I have never felt as exposed and insignificant as I do today.
I sit in the chair. It is a white rocker, like the one in my bedroom, not the glider Heather saw on her visit to the cabin. I wonder if Amber makes it what the person needs it to be or if we change it through our filters? I guess it is likely both or neither. It doesn’t matter.
I suddenly become very aware of the window Monica described during her visit to the cabin. In Monica’s vision, Amber could watch her family at home through this window, like a movie. The window is behind me, and now I am afraid to look, afraid of what I might see. I imagine watching a replay of all of my life failures and facing the pain of them. I have relived my failures so many times, but I’m sure I must live them again and again until I get them right.
I sit in the chair, cringing a little as I wait for the barrage of images, but when I look, they are not there. I see only a glorious view of the mountain from Amber’s cabin window. I guess the window must not be ‘on,’ and it is just a window for now. Ironically, I am disappointed. I can’t even justify the insanity in this thought, but it is how I have always healed. I’ve only ever known brute force. I estimated this lesson would be no different, but I guess I should never have expected this kind of help from Amber. It is not her way.
I watch the beautiful scene of animals and nature as it unfolds before me. I watch the scene through the window, and I wonder if I should be at the cave. I think of this for just a moment, but I realize it is not time. Spirit guided me to this place, and I must wait here.
I am so tired now, all I want to do is sleep, but I am afraid I probably feel this way to avoid my work. I ask IEO if it is time to sleep, and gently, he lays his hand on my back and whispers, “Not yet, Linda. You must be patient. You will rest, but the time is not yet. First, you must wait.”
I am almost relieved, not entirely, because I am exhausted, but almost. I can wait. This I have learned to do. So, I relax into the chair and close my eyes. I do not sleep, but I am very relaxed. I can still feel the warmth of where IEO’s hand was resting against my back. Now, in it, he is holding my hand as I lie back against the chair.
I am so grateful not to be alone, and honestly speaking, this will probably be the first of my lessons. I am allowing him to comfort and support me. In the past, when I would heal, when I would open, I would do it alone. I wanted to do it alone. Very few have seen me genuinely vulnerable, but now I am grateful for the company. I know I will open, and I do not know what will come out, but I know I want IEO there. I know I would never want to do this without him there.
I have never truly needed anyone. I have always wanted to hold people loosely. I wanted them to have their freedom, but I need him. I can’t imagine a life without him. In a world where I am strong for everyone who needs it, he is my rock. He is where I go for nurturing. I am so grateful for this gift.
I roll my head toward him, and I rest. My mind is blank.
As I let go, nausea wells in me. I am almost afraid to open my eyes for fear my moment with him will end, but I must. I am overcome, both here in my bed and there in the chair. I fear I will not be able to contain myself if I do not open my eyes and catch my bearings. The world tilts relentlessly.
I try to regain myself by opening my eyes. I need a substantial focus to stop the world from turning, but it doesn’t help. The world still tilts and turns and carries me with it. I do not feel as if I am traveling anywhere. I simply feel very dizzy. I hold tightly to IEO’s hand and hope for the end. I know I shouldn’t because I know there is something on the other side, but this feeling is too much for me. I don’t know if I can do it.
This simple loss of motor skills of balance is very challenging for me. I am unsure if this experience relates to control issues or quickening, but I know it is Amber, and I know I must allow it. I close my eyes again, and I let the waves wash over me.
At first, I feel I will not contain my sickness, and then a warm calm washes over me. I still feel the shifting of weight under my body, like being on a rowboat in choppy water or lying in a hammock on a windy day. I do not like this feeling, but I decide to stay with it. I must allow this healing to occur, and I must release the pen, my last connection to anything real.
I am afraid, but I let it go.