Slow death

I've been hesitant to write this, based on something along the lines of: if you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail and if you have shamanic practice, everything looks like initiation.

My workhouse closed its doors and I was the only one happy with the announcement; it was my opportunity to begin my freelance career. But then a handful of us were asked to continue on as a new company. If I said no then I was saying no for everyone; everyone was needed to get the new company going. I didn't feel I could say no.

My job evolved into something I couldn't handle. I actually melted down at work-- more than once. It was humiliating to fail so publicly in front of people I'd worked with for more than a decade. One day I walked out, spouting to my boss, "This job and I do not get along. This job and I do not get along."

The next day I gave an open-ended notice. When they could manage without me, I'd leave. It was months before I could leave. The process was like a slow death. I was repeatedly presented with my shortcomings-- so many shortcomings! I watched my boss go through the stages of grief: denial, bargaining, anger.

Finally she called me into her office to arrange a termination date: November 18, the day my father died, the day of my one and only paranormal experience that got me into all this psychopomp stuff.

Bridge

As I sat in our drafty bathroom with the space heater blowing on me, I was warm on one side and cold on the other. It seemed so appropriate.

I had my verbal monkey brain chant Cindy's "I Give Thanks" poem:

I give thanks for this time, for this place, for this life, for this love.

I give thanks for the ground that I walk on.

I give thanks for the sky up above.

I give thanks from sunrise to sundown.

And all through the night

I am nestled in a blanket of gratitude

and love.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

I give thanks.

It recited that while breathing, working the billows.

And I felt hot on one side and cold on the other and the Mannaz came into my brain.

I felt like a bridge.

I felt the Light open and felt like a bridge.

A week or two ago, I had a dream that I met with the indexer spirits who are helping me. They were asking why I was too busy to meet my indexing course Unit C deadline. And instead of telling them the truth--that I chose to work on Remarkable Journey instead-- I lied to them. I told them I was working on articles for Key Words. I lied! The next morning was a weekend morning and as we sat in the den, this dream came to me and I realized that the song playing kept repeating the words "You lied! You lied!"

I think the lie was that I wasn't keeping my commitment to sit. But this morning's sit was so wonderful that I think I'll be keeping my commitment.

I am a bridge.