Back when I received that long distance soul retrieval three or four years ago, the goal was to Get My Body Back. During the three years I spent getting the BA and MPH, I turned from a muscley, in shape (if 20 or so lbs overweight) hunka vibrancy into someone who couldn't even climb stairs without getting winded, whose body was so off-kilter and seized up that any attempt to work out caused my body to spasm and lock down. The soul retrieval did it's job. It unlocked the full-body spasm, at least for a while, long enough for me to get in there and begin to unwind some of the most serious Not-Me. But the shaman who did the soul retrieval said about the fifty pounds of extra weight I was carrying: the directive was very specific in that you aren't ready to drop it, it's armor for you, and it'll go when it's no longer needed.
And on most levels, I'm more than happy to stay fat. It renders a woman virtually invisible, the complete opposite of what I've been in my life, and I really, really like it. I used to be approached dozens of times a day. It's called being hit on most likely because there's truth in the metaphor - dealing with it is not unlike shielding from dense incoming energy. And then there's the fact that beautiful women get all sorts of things offered to them, and so it's profitable materially and energetically to play up beauty, with makeup, clothing, whatever else current fashion says is the ideal.
So in my current living, at 5'4", 175 lbs, no makeup, no styled hair, clothes that are essentially as shapeless as day-functional pajamas, sensible, flat, worn shoes, I glide through life, rarely seen, even more rarely summoned energetically, and then for the most part, only when someone wants something from me Spiritually, ie psychic info, listening to their stories, etc.
I prefer it this way. I'm left alone to drift, to watch, to write. I have hours a day freed up from all the energy that goes into not just doing the hair and makeup and fashion thing, but all the shopping and perusing and keeping up with it all. No aching feet from weird shoes that make a woman balance atop two long spikes all day. No weird clothing malfunctions. I love this. I love being left alone. It's so incredibly awesome that it blows my mind that all women aren't doing it, aren't ditching the delusion of romance and soulmate and curling up with a kitty and a sky full of clouds and breeze.
But the weight? The weight has become a problem. A serious one. I've written about how sick I've been. And the truth of it is that this is probably akin to what all fat people over the age of 40 experience. Fat is seriously bad for every function and structure of the body. And it is seriously painful. The joint and back pain alone is enough to drive you crazy. Not to mention the pain as the digestive system breaks down under the strain of double, triple the workload it's evolved to process. And let's not even talk about the rest of the pains and ills and weirdness - rashes and hair loss, mood swings and cravings, setting the stage for cancers and all sorts of diseases both acute and chronic.
And of course this info is nothing new. We all know this. I know this. I absolutely, positively know that the fat is killing me, slowly, painfully eating away at my vitality. But the alternative? Going back to dealing with an onslaught of energy coming at me from all directions, every day, all day? Having people approach me and intensely, over and over, ask me for things and vibrate their hunger at me like flashing hazard lights? No freaking way. I cannot be that kind of lighthouse anymore.
But of course I'm a woman over the age of 40, so just by virtue of that, I'm almost totally out of that game, no matter what weight I am. That's encouraging.
Every few months or so, I try something new to bring the weight down. It works for a couple of weeks, then I'm back to eating, the pounds come back on. It's discouraging, but I keep at it, doggedly circling the structure of my NO, banging at doors, shaking windows, looking around for things I can pole vault with, because I know I'm in a box, and I know there is a way out.
The latest thing I've been doing I started two weeks ago and evolved around what kind of neuroses are still firmly in place, and when and where they most kick in. I only eat one meal a day - dinner - because this is the time of day I absolutely have no communication with my body beyond feeding the beast that is the Gatekeeper of the NO. Supposedly, this is a bad thing, this only eating dinner thing. But not listening to other people's viewpoints and opinions and reality tunnels or even what worked for them serves me very well here. Listening, knowing the pathway, the labyrinth of the NO is the only way I do anything anymore. And so this is what I'm doing with food, too. It worked for the emotional and mental weight, why not for the physical as well?
Every Sunday evening for the past two weeks I've been breaking out my Vitamix blender (circa 1980, purchased used off e*bay for $100) and making a couple of gallons of all sorts of liquified vegetables and fruit. I've tried many times in the past to use a juice extractor, but I always got spacey on it, and it upset my digestive system. The Vitamix doesn't separate the juice from the fiber, but instead, with added water, simply turns a vegetable into a liquid, as a sort of "pre-digestion", with lots of helpful fiber for the gut.
I do kale and carrots, add in a banana for some of it, cukes and cinlantro and ginger for another. I mix carrot and strawberry and cuke, or carrot and ginger and apple. All of these are cut with lots of water, then bottled in glass juice containers, stored in the fridge. Monday through Friday, for breakfast (along with half caf/decaf coffee) and before and after lunch, I drink them, cut even more with water, whatever is needed to keep them from being sludgy. For lunch I do a whey or rice protein powder shake with plain whole milk yogurt, powdered greens/superfood/etc., coconut milk, a banana or some berries. Dinner is a small bowl of rice and vegetables made with serious flaming curries along with some chutneys I bought at an Indian grocery store a few weeks back, a rush of flavors and heat so intense, the Gatekeeper can't do anything but say: Hot Dang & Wow. If I'm still hungry, I'll have a millet bagel with fruit preserves or cream cheese or both or something like that.
The first week, I felt pretty sick during the Monday through Friday juice drinking part, but not so bad I couldn't work. The second week, not so bad.
The first weekend, last weekend, I let myself have whatever I wanted, and I immediately began hoovering up all sorts of carbs and cheese and eggs and "organic" but still processed stuff. And I got really sick. Sick enough to make myself throw up. Twice. I thought my guts would explode. And I threw up, and then the next night, did it again. Crying, sick, reeling. Horrible, horrible.
This past weekend, I still had a food party, still let myself have whatever I wanted, but this time, I wanted fresh mozzarella with tomatoes and basil, almond dream "ice cream", a huge plate of umeboshi beets, spicy sesame oil broccoli, a baked potato with sour cream and butter, the latter of which I looked at, then cut in half to eat the next day because I could feel that a whole one would make me sick.
I've lost 5 pounds. And I feel fine. No freakouts. No forcing myself to workout or run or pump iron. I'm still doing some walking. And I'm doing free-weights, nothing too pushy, four or five times a week.
I don't know how long it'll last. If I'll be able to keep letting the weight leave me. If it's completed its work yet and I can release it from service. But my stomach has shrunk, the Beast Gatekeeper of No is calmer, quieter, requires less to keep him satiated.
Who knows? I sure don't. Just that I'm very grateful for the past two weeks. To be released from so much of the pain, the suffering, has been such a blessing, such a bountiful flow of Yes.
Who knows what comes next?