I had a conversation with resistance today…when I sat down to write, I felt blank, there was nothing there that pertained to the story so I switched notebooks and wrote in my morning pages. Nothing much there either. As I sat and stared out the dog snot encrusted window at my frozen, snowy landscape, pen in hand, my attention was drawn to my pendulum. Hmmm, I thought, I wonder… I picked it up and asked,
“Is this even real? This story I am writing, is it even real?” Response: <no>.
“Fuck it,” I said as I dropped the pendulum, “I’m playing candy crush.” In the catatonic trance that can only be candy crush; I heard my inner self whisper, “Who are you talking to?” When I’d played my last life, I set down my phone and picked up the pendulum again. “When I asked my question earlier, was I speaking with my resistance?” I asked. Answer: <yes> Ahhh, it all makes sense now. I chuckled.
“Hello dear resistance” I said aloud “Are you afraid for me to tell this story?”
“Are you afraid we will die?
“Are you afraid we will be laughed at and ridiculed?”
Well, this I can understand. Memories began wafting in, crowding my already crowded mind, begging for attention.
As a child, I was an easy target. If my vibration were to instantly manifest in matter, it would have been a kick-me sign on my back. If I had tattoos, I would have worn emo-sleeves…bleeding hearts and weeping angels. I was a sensitive kid, still am as an adult but when I was little there was no armor…no experience that said, “Hey, maybe you shouldn’t do or say that.” This (experience) was coming in heavy doses as the universe attempted to show me my story. Any time I attempted to wield power or assert myself confidently, I got the slap down, either physically or emotionally. By the time I was 8 years old I had already had 2 different people threaten to kill me; one promising to slit my throat while the other attempted to bash my head into the sidewalk. Compared to that, being laughed at and ridiculed for being an easy target doesn’t seem like such a big deal. One elicited PTSD, the other emotional wounds that would follow and control me most of my life, both had me in therapy for much of my adult life. All for being me in a world that does not always honor authenticity. Did other beings have it significantly worse than me? Absolutely. Does that lessen or change my experience, not at all. So, yeah, resistance, I get it. I understand. I hear you. What we experienced sucked and I am really sorry.
Life is different now; we are different. We have grown and an amazing support team surrounds us.
“Would it be ok, for right now, if it were only me who heard the story? It is vitally important for me to know this.”
OK. This I can live with. After all, focusing on getting the book published right now is akin to asking an infant who cannot support it’s own head to dance. We shall cross that bridge when it presents itself. For now, the story is for me. I know the beast that I battle within me…she is stubborn and unrelenting. Battling her, trying to slay her doesn’t work. She has been there before; she has gotten us through it. She is a dragon, but she is my dragon and I’d rather have her as an ally than an enemy.
This strategy may backfire on me…only time will tell.