From the rubble

"comes the best view"

“A book is in your future. A heavy weight that sits in your lap, with a deep red cover. The jacket is gone and I can’t see the title or what it is about.” She lowered her eyes to her channeling notes.

“It’s a hardcover, I’m a hardcover snob.” remembering the shelves of hardcover books that fill my office.

“You’re a what?” she asked.

“I like to feel the weight of books as I read them, it’s part of the experience for me.” I’ve been told I’m going to write books my whole life. I’ve self published two. It’s something I expect to hear when I visit healers, channelers, and mediums. Spirit likes to tease me, create a daunting task that is just out of my purview, giving me hope and filling me with wonder what if I did.

Most of us are born in the rubble, covered with layers of ancestral denial and experiences that we have to work our way through. As we grow, we accumulate layers of our own and the weight of trauma and disassociation keeps us pinned to the earth. Our reality of having to dig ourselves out to begin to enjoy life is born. The darkness that exist below the rubble is like the soil that holds each seed. It nourishes us and shields us from the light we are not ready to see. Little by little, piece by piece, we beginning clawing our way out towards the top, creating cracks that let more light in. We all exist beneath rubble. For some it is addiction born from trauma or mental health while others may experience great loss after having been raised into abundance. We are riddled with diseases that spring from genetics and those that are born from our own endeavors. Humanity both lifts and levels our spirits justified by the pursuit of knowledge, race for power, and belief that some matter while others don’t.

“Picture yourself standing on top of the rubble. It’s a mountain. You’ve finally made it to the top.” her voice was sweet and alluring. I was almost there. I could sense the space I had earned to relax and almost open my eyes wide enough to look out on the horizon that had evaded me for most of my life.

“You’re still tethered, although its length has grown and you are able to reach out far beyond where you once imagined. Like a caged animal you are confined to your cell even though the locks have been cut and you are free to explore.” I took a deep breath and quietly shifted in my chair. She wasn’t wrong.

I’ve been waking up slowly. My world has been opening up yet oddly I feel chained to my home, our yard, fearful to explore what’s out there. The ground has fallen out from beneath me more times then I care to remember. It’s a mute’ point. There is no fault to be had, it has always been my choice that brought me there. The idea that I can accept that I have finally made it out of the rubble and climbed to safety is a little cagey. If I tell myself that I am free, able to do and be whatever it is I choose, I wonder if I’m setting myself up for another failure in life. Beneath the rubble is what I know. I wear its layers like a heavy blanket keeping me grounded and shielded from too much light. It’s never felt good getting burned from the sun. It blisters and oozes for days on end and dares you to come out and play again.

Yet here I am, in a new place and new time. It has happened, I am here. What is a girl to do? I could sit and breathe, take in these wonderful views and simply be. I could soak in the sun and let the wild mountain breeze lift my spirits to a new room, the upper room. I could climb back down to where it’s familiar and do what I do best. I could leap into the next chapter, choosing to be and do what I have always wanted. The past is the past. It is behind me now, in my rearview mirror. Its sharp edges dulled, it no longer cuts like a knife. Its haunting ache has subsided and dissipated into tiny little pieces and mixed gently with the better parts of me. We are one.

“You’re not done. I know you think you are, but there is a new chapter for you to write and live. You will continue to write and people will read what it is you have to say.” I lowered my eyes as her words touched my face.

Yes, I will write. I always write, regardless of who shows up here now or the next day. You’re here, somehow connected to me even though in a different time in space, we are here together experiencing what I write from different points of view. My words are here to help me work through the emotions that create blocks in my throat, my heart, and my gut. Like a plumber’s snake they open up enough space to create room for flow, so that my energy might begin to move again. I can only imagine what is waiting for me in the next chapter. If you’re here with me now, I’m sure you’ve recently climbed out of your own pile of rubble and experiencing a whole new view of your life. What will you do with this freedom of yours?

Will you stretch and venture out away from what you know?

Will you stay awhile and take in the scenery, soaking in the sun, and feeling the breeze lap your face?

Will you imagine like I hope to do, that we can go further and be bigger than we once where?

It doesn’t really matter I suppose. The view has been worth the climb. I could just bloom where I’ve been planted, at least for now. There are always others ready and waiting to go further, to jump at the chance to explore what’s ahead. I could decide to just sit and stay awhile. What will we do?