Healing

This is a year of Healing.

Healing from my own trauma. Healing from the traumas I have shared with you. Healing from the stories I hear and the ones I tell.

One story liberates another.

Internalized racism, sexism, ableism. Trauma of the oppressor of classism, heterosexism. The complexity of ageism. All the limitations of who I can be and who I can't be.

This is the year of Healing.
Medical trauma. Sexual molestation. Abandonment. Worms of fear and abuse eating away at my insides.

Why do I look for freedom outside of me? As if it is a gift someone else can give me? As if it is something that others can take away from me?
This is the year of Healing.
There is a rhythm of dying and rising that happens in our daily lives. It is so common we tend not to notice it. That is why the Paschal mystery is so powerful, not because what Jesus did was so extraordinary (although it was), but because it was incredibly ordinary.

So ordinary that in every moment, I die and rise faster than I know. Every moment changing. Once I know who I am, I no longer am what I thought I was.

Everything you touch, you change. Everything you change, changes you.

"More grows in the garden than the garderner knows he has sown." Spanish proverb.

At some point, we must let go of the darkness, let go of the struggle, let go of the journey and arrive to the place that has always been inside of us.
Yes, its about the journey, not the destination.
But we do arrive. We cannot cling to the journey so much that we forget the destination.
Let go.
I cannot change anyone but myself. I am the one to work on. I am the only one who knows how to heal myself.
Listen. LIsten to the God in you.
Breathing is enough to be loved.
Let go.
This is a life of Healing.

a day by the lake

A year ago, I arrived in the United States after medical trauma in Peru. JVC, for their own reasons, decided to terminate my term of service at that.

I have not yet told the whole truth of that story to you, but I will soon. Not now, but soon.

Today, a year later, I spent most of the day on the lake shore in Milwaukee. It was a sunny day, the shores were full of people trying to get some sun, excited about the heat and eager for the summer to come. I joined them, eager too for the heat, though it was still too cold for my liking. And it was the first time I think I've seen a beach full of people but with absolutely no one in the water. Weird.

I sat on the sand, moving it between my toes. Friends joined me. Peggy, Tia, Crystassany. Erin couldn't find us but made her own offering. I sang some songs. drew pictures, wrote a little. I offered my last writings in Peru a year ago to the lake. Peggy offered her own poem of the lake's wisdom. Reflecting on the new life that has come, what I wouldn't have learned otherwise, the blessings next to the wounds. A new gift of rose petals from my birthday, the old pills that overpowered me. An offering to the lake, to the God of the lake, the God of creation, from which all things come.

I feel the sun on my back.
I've walked these shores before.
In times of ice
and burning winds.

Then I was here alone.
Now the shores are full, desperate for sun touched skin.
But we still walk with our shoes on.

I don't recognize this place,
though
I have been here before.
Maybe that is the lesson.
To trust myself.


Te quiero, 
Peru. 
The waves wash the first part away. I wait for the lake to touch the second line. It doesn't. The country's name remains. The sun falls and I choose to walk away.

Something shifted.

We do not protect ourselves or others with lies or half-truths or silence. Only the truth frees us.

I did need a mother. But I needed my own mother.

I'm paying attention to who shows up. And who doesn't.

Something shifted.

Today the sun came out and I felt warmth. I had forgotten the feeling of warmth. I didn't realize I could forget that. But the sun came out and bore down to darken me back into who I am. And who I am not.

Why am I afraid to speak truth? I think I risk losing the lies we cling to. And I risk freedom.

She says if you need courage, do Virabhadrasana II. Warrior.

My mother came to visit me in Milwaukee for a week for my birthday. It was the best birthday present I could ask for. There were many gifts that she gave me. The gift of presence, of time, of conversation, relaxation, of a ton of really good food, chorizo, pavo, nacatamales, gallo pinto. Laughter, tears, the right values of spending time with people instead of going out to see stuff. That's invaluable. I am my mother's daughter.

I got out of the yogashala today and I didn't put my shoes back on. I walked barefoot for almost 3 years back in the day, but I started wearing shoes again when the heightened risk of hookworm scared me into disconnecting again from the ground that sustains me. The cold was unbearable to my skin, so the disconnection was sustained. Today I took off my shoes again. I had to pay attention to the ground. And walk without fear.

I sign my emails "Courage" because that's always what I think I need. I used to pray always for strength because that's what I thought I needed too. But I think I'm wrong. I don't need strength or courage. I think I'm good on those. There is something else that I don't even know I need. But once I know that I need it, I will no longer need it.

Freedom? Peace? Love for all people, all of creation? Healing?

I will still practice Virabhadrasana.