These days are definitely the worst I've had to endure--not because of the number or severity of my triggers, though they may be plentiful and powerful right now. What's supremely yucky is that I am in the wilderness.
A liminal space. An unnavigable transition. The magic is missing. I have an urge to drop some cash on one of my gurus, who could succor me with suggestions that I may not be divinely disconnected, but even stronger is my desire to be independent of outside reassurances. I feel like I should be able to untangle on my own the frayed and twisted cord that once tied me to abundance.
And it is in this atmosphere that I greet yet another year of my life. Will this be the one that delivers me from evil? Will I finally be deeply happy?
I hope so. Hope, though, does not galvanize universal forces like faith does. Fearless faith.
This, then, is really a faith rut. There is evidence for this rut, to be sure, but there is also evidence for an unseen glut.
That is precisely the stuff of now. I'm not where I used to be. I'm off to greener pastures, and the process, it turns out, is grueling. At the same time, I'm not convinced I've been cut off completely from creative currents. Maybe I'm just incredibly impatient to taste what's waiting for me on the other side, and in the process, I've clamped down a little on my good.
Case in point, I had my first solo vocal lesson this weekend. His pokes and prods seemed relevant in every way:
"Don't work hard."
"Feels like it's a little bit of work up there. What does it sound like if you don't?"
"Feel less; work less."
"Slow. Just let it go."
"When you get to that fork in the road--sound good or let go."
"There's a choice there: struggle or let it sound bad. Let it sound bad."
The critic in me resents having to choose between these. Isn't there another option the experts have failed to mention? One that allows the preservation of both my pride and my perfection?
I am welded to control; I never want to lose. Yet, in so many arenas, I am losing despite all of the restrictions I have set up for myself and others. The past proves my philosophical objection to letting go, while the present makes a break in that movement, pushing instead for a future of absolute freedom. Surrender to what is seems the only decent decision I could make today simply because my way isn't working anymore.
I'm not sure what letting go will look like or feel like, but it will certainly sound bigger. A very scary proposition indeed, but I'm almost ready to foreclose on formers and exchange everything for this expansion. Really? REALLY.
This Wednesday's show at Club Moscow will be part-birthday, part-funeral, as every proper solar return should be. We will distance ourselves from the decay of what was and drench ourselves in the truth of what is, dismissing our incessant need to know what's to come.
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