Tuesday, May 5, 2009
I had my tarot cards read again yesterday. To the right are the four major players. I find that it's often a struggle for me to have my cards read because 50% of me is listening, but the other 50% (or so) of me is immediately interpreting the information, linking it up to what's going on internally and externally for me. I realized that process was happening last night and then tried to stop the simultaneous interpretation. It seems to me that thinking about a story's impact prior to the end of the story means that one could miss a lot, but also that one could limit her options of perception. If I decide to choose door two, before I've even heard what possibilities lie behind doors three and four, then what might I be missing?
It's hard though because there is this thing that happens every time I get my energy, chakras, tarot or whathaveyou read; I find this deep voice in my low gut urgently whispering "I know", which really means "I knew it" or, "yes, [the reader's] right". There's something that's completely heartening about that. It feels very reassuring and very validating. I get to be the one carrying around the wisdom I need, and it doesn't have to come from outside sources...but there's totally a hitch. I in the previous sentences context is the ego, whereas that deep gut voice has nothing to do with the ego. The voice deep down there doesn't comment on my daily goings on. When I'm feeling pessimistic it is silent, it is not a "good mother" it does not rush to my aid when I'm roiling internally and grasping externally at any interaction I can get. It speaks rarely, usually when I sit quietly long enough, and sometimes even then I (my ego, surface consciousness) have to ask it questions. The answers this deep wise voice gives me are always simple and complete. "The Buddha voice" is one way it's been called. Sometimes I just call it the "me" voice.
So I tried to get my ego to stop yammering about how "'I' knew it!" long enough to listen to what I was being told. There are some big questions coming down the highway at me. I'm wondering about writing and blogging. I'm wondering what my goal(s) are for my life. I want to know why I intend to leave Chicago and what I intend to find wherever I go from here. I want to know why I fear so acutely being alone "forever". I want to know why my friendships seems to be shifting and what I want to do about them. I want to know why I feel so goddamn bored with myself these days.
I wondered last night about writing and all it's challenges and glories. I wondered what it would feel like to stop blogging for the public. Would I stop writing? Would I write more? I've been noticing that I'm concerned now about the amount I post on my blog, since someone told me I won't garner more followers unless I write more consistently. I think that person's probably right, based on looking at "successful" blogs out there. I am being challenged, this moon, with the Taurus habit of wanting more. I've been doing too much comparing of myself to others; wondering why I don't get more comments, have more followers, and other random crap. I wondered about the feeling I have that "I am a writer". I wondered if I would stop thinking that if I didn't blog regularly. I wondered if it's possible for me to stop writing. Then I went to bed and vowed to start fresh today, to regain my intention, to let go of my attachments to things past and to look forward. I'm aspiring to Virgoism right now: "Improvise, Adapt, Overcome and keep fucking moving forward."
One more interesting thing about behavior before I go. One of my best friends is also energetically intuitive and an air sign. She is of the sign that alights all over, and is a grace to those who know her, but hardly understands why she's doing what's she's doing until she's reaped the consequences (good or bad). We were talking, as I stood at O'Hare waiting for my baggage the other night, because I was feeling very lonely and low. I needed a good kvetch session to help clear my head. I had lashed out at someone because I was lingering on painful feelings of abandonment and betrayal and I didn't sit with them long enough for them to pass away. I had been dwelling for days, not that that's a good excuse.
I saw this friend of mine the next day and I talked to her about how we each process our emotions. I am as external as possible, I talk, write, kvetch, cry and get physical (like yoga or masturbation) whereas she is as internal as one can be. Her way of internalizing everything protects those around her (in some ways) from those raw, and sometimes unfair, emotional fall outs. I was kind of admiring that in her, that she didn't have to go back to people and be embarrassed or feel ashamed of her behavior because she rarely let on that she was feeling something terrible in the first place (not that one can't tell if she is feeling terrible). I was wishing I didn't reach out so much.
She reminded me that her internalizing is usually to the detriment of herself. She takes it all on, instinctively not trusting that anyone but herself can deal with what she feels. So where is the balance? I wonder. Then, last night as my cards were read to me I thought about the fact that there's always been at least one person in my life that I can go to whenever and however I need to. That person has changed over the years, but there is always one with whom I allow myself to be as raw and embarrassing as I sometimes feel the need to be. I said a little prayer of thanks for all the people that have held out their hands when I have been groping and gasping in the dark.