Dear Soul Beings,
When I feel tired, as I have over the past couple of weeks, I ask myself, “What is it that my soul wants to shine into?” The list comes fast:
Health, of course, is at the top. I have been cancer free for nine years. I look after myself with proper foods, vitamins, exercise, et cetera. Which is why my heart sank when the doctor reported on my most recent blood work. My cholesterol, the bad kind, had shot up fifty points and was now at 187. That is high. My energy vanished with the delivery of that news. NO, I wanted to cry.
“It has to be genetic,” the doctor says, “with your lifestyle and all the exercise you do…”
“Yes,” I say, reluctantly. “Both my parents died of heart disease at sixty-seven.”
I am sixty-two and so not ready to die. But the news exhausts me. The doctor tells me to cut out red meat, coconut oil, cheese and cream. We will test again in two months and see if things change. I leave with a handful of supplements and a feeling of dejection.
How do I shine the light on my health? How do we fight genetics? I will make the necessary changes to my diet, add red wine, oats, salmon and greens, and continue to work out. But today, after I write, I will add a period of rest, an afternoon nap to round out the day.
But the writing takes over. I am reworking parts of my memoir on the journey from infertility to the adoption of my daughter. I am writing about the fractures in my life at that time and it takes a lot of staying power and I don’t always succeed. Despite what my family tells me…
“You’ve been working on this book, how long?” my husband asks. “Ten years?”
I have asked to go away on a writing retreat.
“You don’t really do anything,” my daughter says in a snit. She is angry because I make too many demands of her.
They do not understand what it takes to mine these memories and recreate them beautifully. I am working deeply and the edits are a process that is sometimes tedious and often emotional. I am trying to get past the chatter in my head to pare it down to the essential elements. But despite what they say, my therapist assures me that what I am doing is healing and right and soulful, and will help heal others. However long it takes.
The days are getting shorter and the wind has picked up. I make a quick trip to Whole Foods and return home with salmon, kale, greens and goat cheese. I prepare dinner and my daughter helps me make baked “avocado fries”. She prepares the sauce and forms an assembly line of avocado slices, beaten egg, coconut flour, crushed bread crumbs and turkey bacon. She coats the slices and bakes them while I make a salad.
My thoughts are churning about things that are out of my control. I am not very chatty at dinner. I excuse myself early and return to my desk. By now the sun has gone down and trees are silhouetted against a pink and orange sky. I return to my manuscript, in which I am describing the break up of a past relationship. We are such a mosaic, made up of many relationships, primal and otherwise. This man had been a poet, who looked like James Joyce, with his wireless glasses and ginger mustache. He was a great love of mine, but it was not our time. His heart was darkened by that which he had no accessibility to. It is not for me to say. Our break up was the main impetus to get out of New York, and begin a new life in Santa Fe.
The day’s news has infiltrated my reserves. I close the computer and get ready for bed. Gavin is washing the dishes and my daughter is doing homework. I press “unwind” on the sound machine, light a candle and crawl under the covers. Then I tune into the second to last episode of Outlander. I am transported to another time in the Scottish Highlands, watching a gorgeous man in a kilt fight with swords, and a beautiful Sassenach, his wife, blending herbs to heal the sick.
Next to me, a candle burns in the small altar I’ve made up: a clear quartz crystal and a heart stone. It’s been a long week with Mercury in retrograde and the moon about to be full, in addition to the approach of the Penumbral Lunar Eclipse this Friday.
I fade out fairly quickly only to awaken at six a.m. by the harsh sound of the alarm. I’d been dreaming. In my dream, I am standing amongst a group of people and a young man approaches me. He looks Greek or Roman and is wearing a white toga and robe. His eyes are big and round and he has a mop of brown curls. He looks to be in his twenties or so. His gaze is reverent and he offers me a bowl of crystals that glisten in the sunlight. The offering leaves me feeling awestruck and full of gratitude.
I carry the dream with me. It feels grand.
Crystals are mined from deep within the earth and hold transformative powers, both energetically and literally. They are used to store information, to amplify healing and sound, to improve focus, as well as for balancing and protection. The dream tells me I am being given the gift to transform something deep within my soul. The gift holds great magnitude and the crystals are shining the light. I am grateful for a full harvest moon, a lunar eclipse and a bowl of crystals. It is time to align my heart and the mind. A long life is possible. For me that means slowing down time through my creativity: writing and painting. Calling my family into their alignment and stepping back when the time is right. Time for retreat is right.