Doubt, unworthiness, feeling like a fake, guilt for not stepping up to the perceived expectations of the 'leader', ongoing low level stress of 'not getting it wrong' or pleasing people, being in service and addiction to limiting behaviours. Yes. All. Tick. I admit I'd not seen this grey energy before. The raptor - the consumption, lust and greed yes that' I've been sensitive to but this smoggy energy not so much, until now.
For sometime my mind has been, not foggy like Jen's, but doughy - like a spongy doughnut around my crown. Like a fungus. I've lost mental clarity and speed of thought, the capacity to order stuff - like it takes me ages to follow a recipe - just remembering the instruction from reading to action - it gets lost. In there there is a fear that this is just early alzheimers (is this a disease of the intervention? Are all diseases?)
And I've suspected that this is a disabling attack, an assault resisting the incursion of light, of alignment. And the dough, supports a lethargy that has left me walking through the woods with my eyes on the ground unable, seemingly to lift my gaze level let alone to the tree tops or sky. Nothing was talking. Just dead - none of the vibrance and connection. Not even feeling abandoned.
And yet mixed up in all of this, as my mother flirts with death I have found myself facing letting go myself, surrending to the aloneness of death - softening into the void. And for months the sewers around my house have been backing up nad there has been shit on my garden and all over my neighbour's garden again and again - more letting go, more softening, more emptying out, more steeping over the edge. Today, no more. I've drafted the complaint letters and catalogued the events and the visits from the sewers cleaning men. No more. This has got to stop..
and still the light has seeped in the cracks - a timely reminder to take the busyness of the mind down into my heart, a radiant still candle reminding me that what I see in it is in me, taking each breath to the edge of more surrender: lying on the edge.
But this grey attack, this greyness. And the inviting to step out of the energy suit - another edge - into a condition of being with no reference points from the old bubble. Another edge.
There is thIs i. i am not out of these woods. The brace is still on my head. But the connection is returning. The angels respond.
On the way I learnt this wonderous switch. Catching the feelings of 'not good enough' I invite her to come and sit by by my side. This 'not good enough one' can hang out by the fire by my thigh. and then, the identity having a place, but not central stage, once again i recognise the emptyfullness of that which sits in the central I - beingness.