I am having a rough time. Winter Solstice White Tantric fallout is likely the primary culprit. If the nausea I felt during the full moon eclipse on the actual first day of Solstice was any indication of what was to come, then I am sure of it. Except I am also tired of St. Louis, and tired of having to greet the damn doorlady 'Pam' everytime I leave the building (as if everyone who lives here must say 'hi' each time they come and go...). She's like a female Rumplestiltskin. For that matter, I am feeling frustrated with anyone who can't see I don't want to talk to them. I think I am about to learn how to say those magic words: "I don't want to talk to you to right now, and if I did you would not see me trying to sneak out the back door past your nosy Enquirer-reading self." Well, maybe not the last part.
I surprised myself with how loudly I said hello back, when I was already on the other side of the glass, and she still insisted that I greet her. Everytime I leave the building she expects this, even if it several times a day. And she says hello so snotty and offended like. If it weren't for the annoying hurt tone, I'd think maybe she used to work as a prison guard, because her behavior makes me feel like I live in a prison.
I think it goes without saying that I am not remotely happy today, but I apparently fake it well. At least my yoga students seemed to like my class, and I laughed and joked with them.
I think the real problem though, is having skimmed both an e-mail on trauma releasing techniques and a book on dealing with trauma. The body's physiological response to trauma can manifest with an overproduction of adrenaline or opiates. It can manifest as asthma, skin conditions, anxiety, chronic fatigue syndrome from hypervigilance, insomnia, phobias, night terrors, and my ever-present, but now slightly more intermittent inability to sleep without the light on, unless someone else is in the room.
Jeesh! Even reading about healing the trauma from the last 40 years is frightening to me. Problem is, I know whatever happened to me as a little girl is so frightening that I can't even bear to remember it all. In fact I am pretty sure that at one point my mother may have tried to kill me, but I don't want to believe that. I love her. How could she do that. And Dad would never believe it. It would break his heart. So hopefully I am wrong. Maybe it's just, I don't know.
All I know is that listening to Snatam Kaur keeps me breathing. It stops the choking and gagging response. And without Kundalini yoga, I don't know what I would do. Probably be dead. So I guess I'll be sticking with Kundalini yoga, Sikhism and a daily practice of Sadhana. Sadhana in the ambrosial hours. It is so important now. So important. I am scared shitless of getting therapy. I don't want to know what I think I already know, because my mother is dead, and I can't go to her, put my arms around her and say I forgive her. But I do. I forgive her for trying to strangle me. I forgive her. I forgive her. God bless her. God bless my mother. I love her. And I know she loved me.
That damn cancer took away the time for us to heal together on this Earth. And I wish she would never have hung herself. Though she took my breath away, I wished she would have kept hers. I guess my worst fears are unfounded. I don't hate her knowing what she did. I love her all the more for trying to heal herself, for being the wonderful mother she became later. What a horrible secret for her to have had to keep to herself. It must have broken her own heart to have known she did that. But then I am not even sure she did do that? Did she? I'm not sure I wish I knew for sure at all. I just know I love her very much, and I want to tell her that whatever she did it is okay now. It's okay now.
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