dead or alive

This is a piece I wrote for a writing class I am taking. I am having trouble focusing now as the energy downloads are rather intense. I wished to further clarify the process I have followed to free myself but am not currently up to it. This piece speaks to my history and to how, after many years of training in Cellular Memory Release, I was able to use the muscle I had developed with years of experience, to stay present to my own terror and despair. Unfortunately, facing and feeling these ancient fears in our bodies is the only way I have found to release them. This no longer seems to be an optional exercise rather it is a vital, life saving necessity. My hope is that piece will somehow light the path for others.

I didn’t even realize I was dead. After all, I’d traveled to over 75 countries, had a master's in spiritual psychology, owned my own house, had numerous boyfriends and then a spouse so it is easy to understand why I had never recognized that in the most critical way, I was dead.  Was my heart still beating? Technically, yes. Yet what was slowly dawning on me was that I had been mainlining other people to give me even the appearance of life. Everything I had done since maybe the age of 12 was ultimately designed to do one thing, gain love. 

For decades that had seemed to work and bring it’s own passions and satisfactions. Yet it all came to a screeching halt that day in the Denver airport. I was pacing back and forth down an over lit corridor, trying to run from the feelings inside that threaten to burst through this skin suit. The pressure inside my skull felt uncontainable. The agony arose when my husband was again not available when I needed him, hadn’t been available for days whenever I was able to get cell reception. Reduced to a primitive state where even motor function was difficult, shaking and trembling so that I could barely dial the phone for the twentieth time, I was neglecting my young daughter huddled in the waiting room. After we boarded the plane, I was locked in my seat for hours, due to turbulence. I finally had to tear off a page of a magazine to collect all the snot running down my nose with the tears. The man crowded into the next seat leaned as far into the aisle as he could. My tears wouldn’t stop no matter how many stares I got. That was the beginning of the end.

The middle of the end was a barren winter night. As my desperate attempts to patch together a dying relationship failed and my marriage continued to dissolve, I felt a yawning emptiness fill me to the point where again my body could not contain the torment. I could no longer hide from my terror of not being loved. Even though for years I had sensed I should end the marriage, the realization it was ending now had carried me way beyond panic. My despair thrust me outside into the only corner of the deck without windows peering on to it. I huddled in a chair as my head drooped. My heavy winter coat was no barrier to the cold invading every pore of my being. I felt frozen, beyond reach. Even when my husband and daughter shouted at me to wake up, I could not respond. I was dead. I heard her say she would call 911. I could barely move my lips to tell them not to bother. I was beyond resuscitation.

They pleaded with me to come inside yet something prohibited me from reentering that house. I had been very dramatic all my life yet this lack of life force left me too desolate to care about anything, not even my beloved daughter. I literally felt incapable of returning inside that house until I could find a reason to live, a reason to move. My daughter brought me hot tea to combat the frigid darkness. I sat for hours, days, eons. Nothing moved inside. Until a tiny spark flickered in a corner of my being. So small I could barely detect it. Perhaps because of my love for my daughter, I became alert and watchful. What was it? I suddenly had the urge to pour my emptiness into words. I grabbed a scrape of paper, the stub of a pencil and began to write.

Someone asked me recently how I have found a fleeting yet life affirming inner state where I recognize myself and all that I meet as the beloved, as pure love, as a force that is the most true thing I have ever experienced. For me that beingness is like having been lost in space for millennium and slowly catching a glimpse of earth. The sense of homecoming is a powerful return to a familiar yet long lost state. It is my heart expanding, energy pouring through every cell of my being, a vastness and clarity that can not be touched with words. I am attempting the impossible, trying to capture revelation in words. Yet if I do not make the attempt, how else can I inspire you to take this journey, to access this mystery. Because the only way I have found to be fully alive, to reach a lasting love, a joy that is not conditional, is to physically dive into anything and everything that obstructs that way of being, to allow it complete expression. That means diving into every pure emotion from joy, to grief, to rage, to fear, to love. I have been around the world twice seeking an easier path, yet I have not found one. The only way out is through fully allowing the raw sensations that arise in our bodies as we face our deepest fear. I know the cost sounds impossibly steep, yet everything inside of me yearns to assure you the ensuing reality of homecoming is absolutely worth the price of admission.