Down Pour

I woke this morning feeling incredibly tender and tired. It was hard to get out of bed, hard to teach, hard to be functional. I tried to get past my sensitivity and focus but had a difficult time doing so. For a majority of the day I sat on the edge of my sadness hoping to keep myself from falling over. But, like tears that well up in the eyes, my sadness spilled over. And once the crying started and the sorrow came there was no stopping it. It was a torrential down pour today.

I feel so confused. Is the intensity of the immersion helping or hurting me at this time? I think in some ways it is helping me in that I am feeling my sadness so fully. Maybe it is speeding the grief process up. Can that be done? I don't know. Anyway, cleansing and purifying are the words that came to mind today when Darren asked the question, "what is this immersion doing to you and/or for you." I do feel a release like letting the torrent of tears fall in a pool around me has lightened my load. This is good. However, I also feel an intense need to nurture instead of push myself. At this point and time, I am so sensitive and feel everything so deeply that it makes me want to curl up into myself and just lie there for a while. So, I guess what I am getting as I write this is that pushing is not serving me. Clearly, less is more in this case.

I am to tired to try to write or process anymore. Instead, I will end with "Then Invitation" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

The Invitation~

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Weepy,

Marcia