The emotional death I went through the past few years was horrible and painful. Thoughts and yearnings for suicide were with me more on than off. I was afraid to die. I wanted to die. I couldn't take anymore. The feeling of being peeled, skinned, eviscerated was too much, I couldn't bear the agony a second longer. And the then the weight would lift, and it was like the sun burst through, but from inside, the sun inside, shining through every cell, Yes, Yes, Yes. And I would see that the pull of death had been the death of who I thought I was, death of "Katherine", and I saw that I wasn't her, and the space, the freedom without her, was luscious, hilarious, Nothing. Then another round of death would commence. And this went on for years.
Now the physical portion of the dismantling goes on. And it is just as painful, with death just as present. But now it's not suicidal thoughts or yearnings, it's watching as my body goes through some sort of death throes. The digestive pain, the back pain is so intense I wake up several times a night, wide-eyed and sweaty. I'm going to see a gastroenterologist next week, but I put it off as long as I could so that I could get the clearest picture of what is going on.
I've written about it before. It's addiction, which is powered by fear. It's from this life, the lives before this one, and the ancestral karma I carry, and the chunk of world suffering I carry as my due. All I want to do is eat refined carbs, watch tv, sleep. I watch this. Surrender to it when it shoves me over the cliff. Make other choices when there's enough space in between the lines of bullsh*t.
I've discovered that love makes the pain go away. And not just softens it, but makes it go away. Because it's most acute in the mornings, this is when it's the most noticeable.
Often it's the kitties, and the love they show me, so natural and simple. It's a grace and a gift. I wake up, Emmaline walks over, lays down On My Face, and then lifts a paw so that I have breathing hole. It sounds crazy, but in the chill morning air, it makes me unbelievably toasty, and snuggled, and relaxed. Then she slides down into the crook of my neck, and reaches up to place a paw on my cheek, her eyes slowly blinking and sparkling that Kitty Love Yes look. And as I write this, Malcolm walks onto the desk, gets a few inches away from my face, reaches out a paw, looks at me, waiting for permission. I lift my hands from typing and he crawls down into my lap, snuggles in, purrs, goes to sleep.
And it's also the people that come to me while I sleep, in dreams. Most times I wake up and only feel an essence of them, but other times, like this morning, it's like living with someone, having spent the night sleeping in their arms, or taking a walk and talking, or sitting together as things get explained. Who are they? They are friends, lovers, teachers. Men, women, animals, plants. Beyond that, I don't know.
I don't know if I'll make it through this. Whatever that means. But whatever this is, I both do it on my terms, and utterly surrender. In relation to the world around me, I stay away from folks who know not what they do, walk away from the situations that resonate No. In relation to this physical death that I go through, I have no choice in any of it. I know that it's all Yes, and that's what I work toward every day, all day. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I'm so grateful for all of it. It's like watching a giant jigsaw puzzle being put together. I'm no longer believing that I have to choose the right piece and put it in the right place. I'm only watching, clapping my hands in delight when I see the most impossible looking piece fall seamlessly into the most impossible looking place.
My life is forfeit. I'm along for the ride. I'm so grateful for it all. What a ride . . .