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Thursday, May 1, 2014

The Soup Bomb

     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.”


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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