A Stick in the Wheel of a Careening Bicycle

Momentum. It can serve. It can drive us into the ground. Without something to break it, like a stick in the spokes of a bicycle, momentum can wreck us at the bottom of a steep grade. Is this the stick that will break the downward momentum for me or is it a record of my demise? Time will tell.
A Year of Divine Offering. I had vision. Apparently, not the same vision the Divine was having. Whatever. If this is Her vision, then maybe all isn’t lost.
I am so tired.
I’m a spiritual type. I am a believer. I think of my life as a conversation with God. If that title wasn’t already taken, that’s what my memoir would be titled. But I’m bored. The conversation is the same over and over…. And over. My life is a series of the same moments set on repeat.
This winter has been brutal. And yes ~ I know it’s May. Shut up. It feels like winter in my soul. Dark and dry and cold. I am getting bitter and hopeless like my sainted mother. Sarcasm. Sarcasm that tastes bitter in the back of my throat. At least I understand her apathy. I understand her commitment to depression. She lost a child. But I have nothing but opportunity. I have the gift of her experience and a desire to do it differently.
And yet. Depression and apathy are unwelcome visitors far too often. And even when depression stays home, apathy comes to me as if I am its only charge.
So let’s talk about Divine Offering and the vision. I saw myself facing challenges with an almost superhuman excitement, knowing I had the Divine on my side and it would be with ease and sure footedness that I would navigate the guidance that came concerning these challenges.
What actually happened was that straight out of the gate, I took matters into my own human hands and ignored ALL the guidance that I was being given concerning my relationship. It took a while to right that ship. But God is patient and I believe. So, even though I was impatient and impulsive, the lesson was beautiful. And the wisdom deep. Embarrassing. But deep. In the end, I realized that all my relationships are here to help me remember my True Nature. They’re not here to make me happy, or complete. They’re here to help me realize I am already Loved. Already complete. That I am, in fact Love Itself.
That seemed like a big lesson. I felt like it might be THE lesson. The one that would break open all the locked gates that I’d been banging around on for my entire adult life. But after the high, came… nothing. Nothing, nothing, No Thing. I’m still waiting for some unnamed thing. Something worthy enough to write about? Maybe. Who the hell knows?

There has been some seriously strong astrological transits happening. I’m blaming part of this opportunity for growth on that. And part of it on politics. Because who doesn’t love to blame Trump for shit? But here’s the real deal:
I may never be okay. I may actually turn into my mother. I’m closing in. I think we might be only one person. As much as I’ve despised and loved her, I think I might BE her. As if she’s figured out how to be immortal.
No. I don’t believe this. Not really. Although, part of me feels it intensely.
Ancestral shit storms are real. And this one has been begging to be healed for many lifetimes. And as I stepped up to the counter to apply for the job, I was optimistic. I was enthusiastic. I was downright superhuman. I had no idea.
As a kid, and even now, I gravitate toward fantasy fiction. I loved stories about overcoming obstacles. The Never Ending Story, Labyrinth… where someone who was much stronger than they realized, faced overwhelming challenges. And I was smart enough to understand that the demons they faced were their own.
When Artax died in the swamps of sadness, I almost couldn’t watch the rest of the movie. Who kills horses or dogs in movies? But, I get the message now. Only my swamp is apathy. Depression. Judgment. And I’m being pulled under just like Artax. Just like Mom, Grandma and on up the lineage. And down. To my daughter.
I used to be so judgmental of Mom’s refusal to use her talents. She was a brilliant visual artist. And she wasted it. She was consumed by apathy and she wasted her talent.

Just as I am wasting mine. Because I can’t live up to my vision.
So, here is what you need to know. If you subscribe to this blog, it has just changed. It’s not going to be pretty. It won’t be superhuman.
This is me offering it to Divine Love. This is me doing the thing I’ve been avoiding. I wanted things to be pretty. I wanted to write about stuff after the fact; when I had the lesson all figured out. You know… to give you hope. Well, hope eludes. So now, I’m just writing as I go. No wisdom. Just reality.
I’m a believer. I believe there’s a way out of the swamp of apathy and depression for me. I believe the Universe wouldn’t have let me choose a lesson plan I couldn’t succeed at. But damn. I’m scared. I’m scared because sometimes I am so tired that giving up feels like self care.
Writing is what I know to do. Before I got consumed with the what and the how, writing was my salvation. Let it be my salvation now. Whether anyone understands or gives a shit. Let it save me from repeating history. Divine Beloved, fill the space between us. Make me courageous. You said “Write”. Let me do that. Let me let go of expectation. Make me brave enough to write in my own voice even if it doesn’t serve anyone but me. Please don’t let apathy kill me. Let this be the stick in the wheel of my bicycle.

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