If you want to see the sunshine, you have to weather the storm. –Frank Lane
A rare spring storm brings rainfall. Everything is fresh.
I’ve been meditating twice a day. Even so, I’ve had some trouble dropping deeply into silence. Thankfully this morning, my mind stilled almost immediately, but what came up was not what I expected.
I meditate in my bedroom. One window is high on the wall and has views of cottonwood tops just starting to leaf out, a bit of adobe and streaks of morning sun. It radiates morning, possibility and promise. I love this view.
Another window looks out into a meadow where birds sing to each other. Here the sun bathes everything in its early light. The grasses glisten; the air smells sweet. This is one of the reasons I love the morning.
And this morning, with a passing storm, we’ve finally had a bit of rainfall. Everything feels so fresh and vibrant.
Yet I had a deep meditation that brought up all that is stale.
For whatever reason, the lingering doubt, uncertainty and pain that have been riding with me decided to make their presence known this morning. I am wise enough to know this is good. But it is also painful.
Sleeping, I had a dream. I was standing alongside a road. A procession of people arrived, one by one. In their own way, each person embodied some potential. They arrived; we seemed to talk; then they departed.
As each person left, I re-arranged the items I carried with me, each time making them more compact and portable. Finally, I slung my small knapsack over my shoulder, and I continued down the road.
In my dream, there was a total absence of feeling or emotion. I continued effortlessly on my trek, without ever looking back.
I awoke from the dream and set it aside. It wasn’t particularly troubling; just jumbled. And then, I settled in to meditate first thing in the morning, as I always do.
But deep in my being, there was pain. And with the stillness of meditation, it emerged. I couldn’t stop it; I couldn’t deny it; so I went deep into it. Pain is better than numbness, and I stopped to listen to what it had to say.
I suppose it was inevitable. I still have to fully mourn the events that kicked off this late life travel foray of mine. I betrayed Chanel when I broke up my home. My home, that I poured so much love into. My so-called friends that intentionally destroyed my business life and my finances. In retrospect, I should have seen the latter coming.
And at the root of it all is cancer. The thread that sent my life onto a strange and unexpected tangent.
The intense pain I feel this morning is strangely my friend. It’s my body’s way of grabbing my attention.
But it needs to leave.
For it to leave, I need to let it go.
You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger.
This morning the birds are chirping more brightly. I am grounded. Grounded as pain continues to pour out. Grounded in gratitude that it is here. I know it needs to be felt, processed, and released. I am staying with it.
But my pain, if I’m honest, is one of attachment. Attachment to a past time. Attachment to a story. It really is neither here nor there; it exists only in my mind. It may have happened, but it’s in my perception and judgment that it lingers, staying alive. It doesn’t exist in the present moment, in the “Now”.
In reality, Chanel has found a good home with the socialization she needed. I could not have provided that for her. My beautiful home is no longer a burden of maintenance, taxes and repair. It has given way to beautiful travel vistas. And people…when it comes to people I’ve adopted the Oscar Wilde saying:
“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.”
It’s just another encounter along the road.
Road trips are never what we expect. Not if we’re open to the journey. Does the next bend in the road reveal beauty or challenge? Or both?
This morning, with this emotional storm, I’ve had the stuffings knocked out of me and I think I’ll just pause for a bit. Feeling, being, not thinking. Just being here, now.
Road trip indeed!
Good grief, I wonder what comes next?
More On the Emotions Of A Road Trip:
And On The Emotions Of Life With Cancer:
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