It Begins with a Call: The Work of an Elder (Part 10)

And the wind in the body moves again.  Pancreas issue handled, I am now waiting, again, to see a cardiologist.  Palpitations.  Skipped heartbeats. Again, I think, “Am I still in the underworld?” 

This is not the life of the elder I pictured for myself when I was younger.  I always saw myself in a garden, content, long gray braid hanging down my back, attending to my herbs and vegetables and flowers.  Peaceful.  Wise.  How innocent I was!

But this is what I need to do:

The Work of an Elder

When the years pile up

and what is visible ahead

is the dark doorway into

the otherworld, it is time

to drill down to the old childhood wound,

to lift it up out of the soil of the past,

hold it in the light of noon time,

cradle it in soft arms, rock it to a gentle sleep,

and let it breathe in the naked air.

It is time to take up your staff

and walk with determination,

with grace, if you’re lucky,

towards that portal,

without hiding your burden.

When you meet others,

bless them.

When you fall,

rely on helping hands to

lift you back up.

There is the pride of

work well done, and

there is the pride of

armor and walls.

You know which one

you want to wield.

There is no need to hurry.

Only the need to persevere.

I had a psychic reading.  She saw me needing to remove obstacles in order to see the big picture.  According to her, I am a stabilizing force but have been hurt by energies that are not mine.  What is the big picture, I wonder?  It must be that the invisible is real, that Spirit is real. My karmic work, she said, is to trust Spirit.  She told me that my fear is an automatic response and that in actuality I’ve been pretty fearless.  That's a new perspective!

I am spending a lot of time at home, and a lot of time alone (even if my husband or others are around).  I don’t seem to want to go anywhere or do much of anything.  The world’s a mess and so am I.  I do love my home, though.

Part of the trouble with looking at this as a “healing story” is that this implies a linear progression; there should be a beginning, a middle, and an end.  But what I’d like to consider is a cyclical model, a spiraling cycle.  Isn’t that more how nature works?  I once heard Ram Dass say, “We never lose our neuroses.  We just lose interest in them.”  That has always stuck with me.  We cycle around and around, hopefully coping better as we go.

(Note:  This was originally written a year and a half ago.)