Floating in the Pool

Floating in the pool, I think back to last summer in the Bahamas. I shut my eyes and send a message to Coral and Cayla, my dolphin friends. It's not a message of words, just of connection. And then I see them here with me, nudging me with their healing nudges, looking at me with their loving eyes, speaking to me in various ways. I smile.

I open my eyes as I float into the shade, looking up at the tree branches, soaking in the greenery. I need more of this. I've been spending so much time inside these days, both to escape the Texas heat and to focus on my writing. And my healing. And to sleep.

I've been sleeping more than usual during the past few weeks. And staying up later, sleeping in later, napping. Whatever I need, whenever I need it. Totally in my own rhythm. What a luxury. One I can afford due to tragedy, as well as to blessings and generosity. Destiny.

In addition to all that's been coming up through EMDR, processing all that unprocessed trauma from so long ago, the Summer Solstice shined its light on some things that I'd been denying. And I was told that week that I'd pretty much need to be pushed over the edge to grieve what needed to be grieved, and then voila! Pushed I was.

So in addition to doing a ton of writing over the past few weeks, I've also been doing a ton of grieving. Allowing myself to feel some really old stuff coming up so that I can release it. And this requires the time and space to just simply be. To make minimal commitments to others. To just commit to me. To not hold anything in. To let the tears flow. To let the laughter flow. To let the words flow. To write. To work. To play. And then to sleep, and sleep some more. Integrating. Clarifying. Healing.

Word out in the akasha, the cosmos, the aether, is that I was in that car accident for a few reasons. One of those reasons was to be defined, at least temporarily, as "someone who needs to heal." As a teenager, after the accident, that was the last thing I wanted to define myself as. It was the last thing I wanted to admit to. I was in denial. I wanted to focus on the positive. I wanted to be "normal," not someone who needed to heal. Somehow I feared that by seeking certain types of help or healing, it would actually create more problems, as if identifying as "someone who needs to heal" would be the equivalent to saying "there's something wrong with me." And the truth is, there's nothing wrong with me, but there is more healing to do. Or maybe there is "something wrong," but there's nothing wrong with that, and it will get better. And so I'm doing what needs to be done. Letting it out instead of holding it in. Admitting instead of denying. And it actually feels really good. I've never been so happy during what some might call a "depressive" phase.

And I wouldn't say I'm depressed. I'd say I'm finally listening. I'd say I'm finally not getting in my own way. I'd say I'm right on track. For nearly 3 weeks now I've cried at least a little, if not a lot, nearly every day. And it is such a gift! It's a precious, tender, beautiful time for me. Emotional cleansing like never before. Letting go where I am holding. Unfolding where I am folded. Transformation in the works. Looking forward to what's emerging.



© 2013 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.