Who, Me?

Moi - Version 3A handful of years ago I came upon these brilliant t-shsirts on Christmas display in a nationwide chain store, and I burst out laughing, quickly scooping up one for each of the children in my life.  Wasn’t Me.  Not one ever confessed to anything (or so it seemed), averting certain dire punishments through pre-emptive denial.  Me: I see sox on the floor…. Child: Wasn’t me…..  Grammar had nothing to do with it.

And, I get it.  I do.  Pre-emptive denial.  Something very tempting about it, and in all honesty, I can’t say I’ve never used it.  Certainly I was a child once ;-).  When the largest t-shirt was outgrown, I claimed it for my own.

It’s become my own private joke.  A sly wink at the matrix I live and work in, still…in the world, but not of it, as it goes.  Incognito as a suburban soccer mom, this blog is a big bold move for me, flexing and stretching into sovereignty.  What shall I reveal?

Have lived something of a crazy life, growing up in the semi-wild west, amidst real cowboys and the original inhabitants of the region…attending rodeos, and Indian dancing around bonfires, the meditative tap-step, tap-step of the womenfolk while wanting so badly to whir like the menfolk.  That this little tow-head got to join them at all was quite something special.  Periodic moves made me observant; taught me to swim or sink; and that home is where you hang your hat.  My parents admonished me to ask questions, never assume, and see the world before settling down.  And, I did.

Life behind the Iron Curtain of then Communist Poland was an expansive experience.  Witnessing the changes when the Wall fell was like seeing perpetual winter melting into spring.  Stumbling into a pane glass door, taking a large shard and nicking an artery, hadn’t, however, been in the plan.  And the strength of the life force is every bit as hot as the blood on the skin’s surface in such volume.  Second degree hypothermia, and a brush with sweetness so exquisite, it would have been exceedingly easy to leave this world for, were it not, I was told, my time.  I hadn’t done what I’d come to do.  (While I have you, dear Spirit, mind whispering in my ear what that might be?)  Where was the flash of awareness, the revealing of purpose, the superhuman strength of clarity?  Nerp…apparently not my time for revelation, either.

Love gained and lost.  Motherhood.  What a ride that is (euphoric, exhausting, humbling).  Discovered Waldorf Education, and learning differences, and myself.  Studied.  A lot.  Taught a tad; not long enough.  Loved again, immeasurably.  And then came….

Cascades of loss and a crisis that shattered me far beyond a dark night, jaggedly gutting, stripping me down of every belief, every hope, every tenant, philosophy, kumbaya thought, and framework for making sense of this nonsensical life I’d build my world upon.  No exaggeration to say I felt physical pain anywhere near a belief.

Two-ish years of debilitating anguish when I finally hit bottom.  About a year after that, I discovered George Kavassilas.  December 2012.  Having been out of the news loop, in my own private hell, missed out on all the ascension hype leading up to the winter’s solstice.  Ironically, for me it was a rebirth of sorts.  Suddenly enormous chunks of puzzles where falling into place…at the same time, stirring what.the.actual.fuck questions.

Volumes of journals sorting things out, processing, recognizing, railing at, all the lies and deception.  Finding healing in beauty, nature, and the sun; three things requiring no belief.  Determining where my power lay and learning discernment.  Time to share.

Oh, and going by a nickname here, Elz, to keep my cover for a bit longer as I rebuild a solid foundation in the organic.  Sounds funny, at odds, to hide in the natural, and it’s a funny/odd time.  For now, it’s best, and I like it.  Leaves me free to wink and say, Wasn’t Me.

 

 

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