These days I'm fluctuating somewhere in the middle. What I mean by that is that I seem to be in a holding pattern somewhere between starting to feel better (from my Rocky Mountain Horror Syndrome--yes, I'm being dramatic here) and still not feeling good at all. It is frustrating. I start to feel better and, therefore, treat myself to something wonderful like and afternoon of boutique browsing with my mom and--whamo(!)--I end up feeling like a piece of crap again.
I don't know if I'm sick from being sick or sick from the antibiotics used to treat it. Luckily, today is my last day of the antibiotics which means that I will at least be able to read my body a bit better. Yuck. I hate writing about being sick. It feels pathetic and weak. And I think that is one of the things that I hate about not feeling good. Pathetic and Weak are two states of mind that I prefer to avoid. Then again, I am fully aware of the fact that I have needed to be smacked down like this in order to knock some sense into me. I needed to slow down. I needed to shift gears and readjust for whatever is coming into my life next. As I've mentioned before, there is a transformation happening. I feel it, even if I don't yet understand the details and particulars.
Last night I laid in bed unable to sleep. My mind was racing with all the things I have to do and remember. One of the good things about getting sick is that it caused me to stop doing this for awhile. I hate the thought of this mental racing returning and so I got up to sleep on the couch and, in the process, wrapped myself in a blanket to do some meditating.
The thing is that my mind was not really racing in its usual way. It was going through all the details of things I have to do...but what I was really doing was trying to figure out what is next. I was trying to figure out the missing piece of the mysterious puzzle that is stretched out before me.
Last night I watched a video by Goddess Leonie. She talked about a meditation in which she surrounded herself with angels. I loved this idea. It seemed as though it would be helpful, comforting, and good. And so I sat nestled on the couch between the warmth of two dogs and a thick afghan blanket. I imagined myself (only semi-successfully) being surrounded by angels and repeated the question: "What's next? How should I move forward?" I sat with that question for 10 or 15 minutes until, finally, a deep sleepiness took over me. There was a part of me that was frustrated with not being able to see the answer to my question (I was, after all, hoping for a divine sort of vision). There was another part of me that was just grateful to feel my body relax. The feeling of exhaustion makes it really hard to believe in yourself sometimes.
Sleeping helped to rejuvenate my spirit just enough. I woke with a pin-prick of memory of the horses that live at the end of our (very long) driveway. I have made a promise to myself to spend time walking in the vineyard or woods. Alone. Without dogs or husband or distraction. I am dedicating myself to this half hour walking meditation--every day. Last night my walk took me through the woods and down the drive way. It brought me to 3 brown horses and a white one.
When I got there I just stood and watched them. The white one, in return, watched me. It was nothing special and something very powerful all at once. Yes, a pin-prick of energy is the only way I know how to describe it. Like a zing between the horse's eyes and mine. I looked at her body in the light of the setting sun and decided that, yes, I am capable of painting her.
You see, the body of a horse is different than anything that I've ever painted before. I understand dogs and cats because they have always existed closely in my life. Horses, although I've spent time with them, I do not have such a strong understanding of. Their bodies are magnificent and mysterious to me. With paint, I want to get it right. I want to do their muscles and nuances justice. I want to be able to capture their individual and unique spirit, their energy--and, if I can't do that, then I don't want to paint them at all. This is not about perfection. It is about connection.
I keep going back to this idea and, yet, although it sounds silly, I still can't seem to find my way in to the center of it.
I also feel a "falling away" of other details in my life. In some ways this feels sad to me. Some of these details include relationships and interactions as I currently know them. This is difficult to explain since I am not cutting out any friendships. I guess you could just say that my role in them is changing. It is a type of letting go. But in letting go there is a bit of loss involved--even when letting go is a step in a new and energetic direction. This direction will most definitely still include dogs. I am in a state of constant amazement by how inspired I am with new ideas for how I want to paint them--it is like a light that never turns off.
And, in this process, there is some part of this that is trying to break off. There is probably a geological term for this. I think, really, what is trying to happen is that my higher self is trying to do something that I have not yet done. Whatever it is that is trying to manifest itself in me is requiring a lot of independence. It is requiring a new and bigger part of myself to emerge.
Whenever I see glimpses of this part of myself, the vision always includes me standing at the highest part of the hill in the vineyard in the light of the almost setting sun. What does this mean? I don't know.
But I do think I should go there often to see if this mystery might someday be revealed to me.
Here's to the journey.