Cindy today

Wow, this work really digs deep each time!

Coming home I was again, as last week totally whipped.
I filled her in on what had been happening, and she dug back into the pelvis and pulled up what was still sitting there.

The 5 year old me made the beginning. What she was afraid of, what she had needed, and what did she want now... not too much news here and neither any big new revelations, but she reached back and pulled up a handful of strings that all led back to other lifetimes, and as she pulled, they were released from they place of lodging and started floating up like a gaggle of kites, rising into the air. This seemed rather too effortless. Could it all be this easy now? Was it all freed up already? Somehow it wasn't complete yet.

And then we started on a journey into the distant pasts of other lifetimes. First in brief and alternating flashes. Morsels of the strands of life she was tied to: more pieces of being a victim, alternating with some where I was the perpetrator, not only in Egypt. As if layer by layer old stuff was being shed.

This sequence then turned into more elaborately told stories and of old themes:

First being a judge. Seeing myself in a black robe, residing over the law, over right and wrong, guilty and not guilty, deciding fate . Somehow I was invested in this role, but deep within the sharade of this game became visible. The impossibility of this attempt. Was it that I felt this myself at the time, or that now it became clear in the process of letting it go? That I don't know. All of this is such a fluid process, body, spirit and mind dancing a dance of liberation together, hand in hand. Sometimes not all feet are on the ground and one carries the other... Cindy pushes a spot, and the body speaks, pain, real physical pain lifts the lid into the past, pictures show up, the body releases, energy flows, the spirit guides the words being spoken, and through it all the mind receives a new understanding of something that is ready to be brought into consciousness.

Next as a soldier in battle with sword and shield. Defending nothing but more illusions with his life. Safety, protection, honor, power. All this bloodshed, for what?

Then some spots on the right side. Intense pain. About being a mother. God, what pain! A child I lost. In India. The illness, the hope the struggle, the grief. The disbelief, how could this happen? Why had I been so punished? It felt like a sentence from the Gods, a judgement. An event that shock up my then entire belief. That Indian self had thought she had done everything so well, her religious practice had been flawless, she had done everything she knew how, and she had felt rewarded, with a wealthy husband and beautiful daughter... and then everything crumbled. The husband distanced himself and then let go of me. I was degraded, replaced and later thrown out of the house... It don't know the laws of the ancient Indian society, but it seems I ended that life as an outcast in the streets.

As if the wails that escaped my lungs came right out of her throat. What was released here? It seems the wall that came down, the disconnection and insidious doubt, the distrust of the divine... and the powerlessness of being locked into the relentless laws of social ranking.

Over to the left. Here I found myself in Africa. Again a mother. Again a child was lost. This was a boy. He simply disappeared. Gone from one day to the next. Inexplicably. He had been my badge of honor. The firstborn son of the tribe chief, I his first wife. When he disappeared all of that went with it. My postion, my standing. All I could feel was absence of... all I heard was silent emptiness, not even pain, disorientation. Later it all turned into bitter inner battle. Groaning sounds gurgling out of my throat. The jealousy of the woman who took MY place, the pain of being a nobody when I should have been her, the rage, the anger, the attempts to curse her, spell her, and make her fall... and oh, the hatred I vomited into the earth, the withdrawl from her sacred all-giving presence, only wanting to cut myself from her earth-womb. And hating my own femaleness itself. - More painful disconnection.

Finally a return to center. Who am I a my core? What brings me back there? Stepping clear beyond the duality of being in power and being a victim, leaving both behind... The time of suffering is over. Am I ready? The me emerging carries so much less matter, is made up of so much more space.

At the very end I heard a piece of choral music, one I sung myself when I was young. I believe from the Brahms Requiem: "... von nun an..." from now on... I don't even remember what follows, but I heard the message: a new time is starting for me now. It starts now. Tears of gratitude... or love... or ...


What a month!!
Today is the 24th. Again.