In my CranioSacral practice I tell stories
of wild happenings to assist in bringing awareness to people intent on waking
up from a life filled with Have To Lists and mundane tasks. These individuals
have decided to make each breath count. On more than one occasion I've been
told I’m “unusual”, I've also been called crazy, but that was discussed 2 posts
ago. A regular visitor to my office asked a pertinent question late one afternoon.
“The stuff that happens to you is beyond
belief. Why don’t odd things happen to me?”
The explanation both horrified and intrigued the lovely woman, which is why I'm offering it to the masses.
Wild and wacky anecdotes occur in everyone’s life.
It’s merely a
matter of looking into random events and making mole out of chocolate and chili
peppers. Or connecting the dots between a dinner with friends and an innocuous bowl
of soup.
After our kids headed off to college, my
husband Bill and I found ourselves with a lot of free time. This lasted until
one of them got sick, sprained an ankle, had a fight with roommates or
questioned the meaning of exams. In between those exhausting late night drives
and phone calls, he and I gathered new friends to play with. Last week we had a
meal in one couple’s home. Over a glass of wine and a gorgeous pot of chicken
and wild rice soup the hostess shared a story.
“I went to a spiritual center in the city
over the last several weeks to do a generational cleanse.”
She
said this hesitantly, perhaps worried we would get judgy and send the villagers
to bombard her with tomatoes. Instead, I became excited someone else did weird
shit in a nearby zip code. She continued cautiously.
“It’s a ceremony to release people who
have passed on that have meaning for you. They taught me how to let go of the
attachment to them and their influence in my life.”
Enjoying
another heaping spoonful of soup I pondered the ghosties who may be cluttering
my force field.
Grandma.
Check.
Great Uncle and Auntie. Check.
Nanny and Pop Pop. Check.
She
went on to recount her experience in detail.
“We chanted and prayed for several Sundays
and on the last session I was asked to bring a meal so that we could send my
family members off with a feast.”
I
understood this concept, since food ended shamanic ceremonies I'd participated in. Partaking of sustenance
seals the deal. It effectively brings the spirit and body together to bind an
intention. Our chef for the evening smiled sheepishly.
“So I made their favorite dish, chicken
and wild rice soup.”
Uh-oh.
I
looked down at my nearly empty bowl. Riveted, I waited for her to continue.
“This is what was left over. I hope you
like it.”
I
swallowed the remaining bowling ball of soup and sighed heavily. Intention is a
funny thing. It digs in like a heat seeking missile nuking a path to purpose.
Which means dear readers, that whatever intention had been set around this glorious soup was
now traveling on a mission through my intestines. I squirmed in my seat,
sensing this was gonna be an unavoidable task. Since I live accompanied by free
will I grumbled for several hours afterwards.
I’m
too busy to deal with dead relatives.
Which
is probably why I had been soup bombed in the first place. I was also slathered in unaware sticky tape gluing me to a couple of zombies. So, I followed up with several "I don't have to, you know's" and "For God's sake, why me's" until sometime in the very early morning I capitulated.
How do people attach after their transition anyway?
By intention.
“I want you to take care of your
mother for me.”
“Remember the traditions.”
“Grow up and succeed.”
Power
sets densely packed desires into motion. They are offered from altruistic as well as selfish
humans, mostly unaware they are emblazoning a task tattoo into someone else.
It’s a death hostess gift. They die, physically leave the building and toss another hapless human a
little beauty to carry on past their last breath.
Suddenly I felt cluttered by
other people’s stuff.
Alright,
game on.
Over
the next 24 hours I pooped a pound or two. I clogged a toilet and saw dead
relatives wave bye-bye from behind my closed eyelids. Letting go of Grandma was
bittersweet since I didn't know what it would mean when everything “cycled”
through. My body reacted and not just with graphic purging. I felt lighter,
stronger and more focused.
On the second morning a robin came to
visit. This had been Grandma’s way of saying hello. I usually told the bird
hello back and felt the woman’s presence. This time I didn't receive a warm greeting, instead it was the sense of a room which had emptied.
Curiously,
I wasn't sad or lonely . In a weird way I felt more whole.
I still have fond memories of the beloved woman, but I
am no longer tasked with her wishes and unfinished business, I carry only my
own. It is my conscious intention to leave nothing behind scribbled into
someone else’s life.
A quiet ripple gently unfolds from here to
there.
The wild and wacky visits each of us most
minutes of every day. It takes a pair of wide open eyeballs to hear the whispers and a
sense of humor to put them together into an experience.
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