I hear my stomach making strange noises as I’m typing this. My face feels hot but I don’t have a fever. Earlier my stomach cramped so hard I had to lie down. Let me be clear on one thing: I am not sick. What, then, is this mysterious ailment? It’s called expansion. It’s called letting go of the old. You can call it a stomach flu, stress, an ulcer, whatever. Whatever name you put on it doesn’t change what IS. The words come back to haunt me: “This will change everything. Are you ready?” Why did I answer yes so fast? Why didn’t I think before I answered. Impulsiveness is one of my vices. Oh yes, now I know why - because everything HAS to change, and it may as well be fast and now. “It will be intense.” Other haunting words. More intense than the past 7 months? Flippantly I answer, “Whatever...”
My stomach is hot. Melissa sees black tar in it. Lovely. I’m to fly out to Colorado on Thursday, and I wonder how that will be. I wonder if I’ll make it. I feel spacy. Okay, spacier than normal. I’m not eating very much or very well these days. I kind of wish I could just drink water and tea all day. I have no stomach for this. What is ‘this’? This Work. This important Work of releasing my control issues, of releasing my worry, and my fears, of entering into total trust in the unknown. Okay, now my stomach is churning. Will I toss my cookies, and what kind are they? Maybe I want to keep them, not toss them away like yesterday’s garbage. Maybe I LIKE holding onto things - maybe they make me feel comfortable, safe in the known. Even if those old things are garbage. Even if they drain my energy. Even if they prevent me from living a conscious awake life. Okay, maybe it’s okay to just let it all go. What does that mean?
Juliet says “let go let go let go” and I say, “I know” but I really don’t know. I don’t know how to let go. I’ve always held on tight, too tight. They might leave me if I let go. All hell may break loose. I don’t trust. I have to be there, be involved, let them know I care by worrying and interrupting them when others ask them questions. I have to think about things over and over and over and over again, figuring, planning, scheming, doubting, revisiting. Again and again and again.
I’m tired. Really tired. Bone tired. Hitting a brick wall. I’ve heard that phrase approximately 6.2 times in the past 24 hours. I hear you, I say. I’m hitting a brick wall. I’m stubborn. And the Dalai Lama says the most destructive phrase in humanity is “I Am” because it separates us from others and furthers the illusion that we actually ARE something. When everything gets stripped away, we are only consciousness dwelling in a spinning mass of sub-microscopic atoms, protons, neutrons and electrons. We are mostly air you know. So then my stomach actually isn’t really here then, is it? It’s all an illusion? Cool beans. Then I’m not really queasy as I’m typing, just as the computer isn’t really here. In fact, the chair I’m sitting on isn’t here. Now THIS is something I can sink my teeth into. Sort of - if my teeth were real. I think I’ll be okay. No - I AM OKAY. Sorry, Dalai - I’m saying it, even if it’s destructive. Right now it’s important to me to know that everything is okay. I’m okay, my kids are okay, my sweet husband’s okay, my pets are okay, my dad’s okay, my friends are okay, my neighbors and acquaintances and even my enemies are okay. Okay? Okay.