Spring Cleaning the Inauthentic Life…part 3

This is where it gets harder to bear the soul.

When the visions feel gone.

When the dreams seem to process only the inconsequential.

When promises of salvation are chased away by unprocessed refusals in the subconscious.

The remainder of 2024 is hard to write about because it feels like banging my head against a wall. I listened to the messages I received in Peru to look deeper, and all I was left with was confusion. Every time someone asked about my plans (and there were many times), my throat would close and tingle. Thanks to the programs passed down by previous generations, we’ve been taught to fear the drifter. At forty-eight years old, I could feel the subtle recoil when I told others, I have no idea. People smiled with their faces, but their energy fields pulled away to safer pastures.

I think this contributed to that kidney stone and surgery in June/July that taught me all about real pain.

As I revisit this feeling and let it envelop me, my throat hums once again.

Failure. Shame.

This is the crux. Where do we put these parts of ourselves? I did what I’ve always done: disappeared into some form of distraction, obsessed with worry for hours, got angry and frustrated, and my favorite, pretended I was above it.

Failure, shame, hopelessness, rage, and confusion chased me all year long. The harder I ran, the more they chiseled away at my foundation, causing me to question all the time and effort I’d put into the last twenty years. Why weren’t the tools and understandings I’d gleaned over those years guiding me safely to a new shore of validation?

I had to get real and ask the questions if my path truly was establishing something deep and abiding, or have I been doing a quick spray over every time I encountered a road block and called it spiritual wisdom? Is that what we called spraying glitter on a turd? That saying came from somewhere.

Ironically, I was asking for greater internal stability while continuing to sing along with the songs of external validation.

Good people don’t live with their parents. Good people have huge retirement savings. Good people are successful. Good people don’t hire expensive business coaches who make them feel worse in the end. Good people always have the answers.

Huge shoutout to my parents who gave us all a home (pets included) and never made me feel less than. I love you both.

These were the voices that lulled me to sleep and were there at 3 a.m. to sing an encore. And again at 5 a.m. Then I’d wake up and put on my spiritual jogging shoes to dodge and weave around them all day, refusing life as it was presenting itself over and over. Begging for the creative field to open but saying no to everything in front of me because it wasn’t presenting as desired.

Never setting down my tools but wondering if anyone was listening.

By November, my shoes had run out of tread, and the laces kept tripping me up. Yet I’m not talking about the 2024 shoes; I mean the ones I’ve been wearing since my own father abandoned me as a child forever. This is father one, not to be confused with the guy who stepped with his whole heart into the role of Dad and continues to show up posted above.

So I decided to stop running.

I decided to turn around and face the black wall.

I feel that Spirit hears this deep soul decision and sends the tools to meet these inner and ancestral contractions.

This is when I finally started to cross the bridge into the heart, a journey that first and foremost calls for embracing shame, guilt, hopelessness, rage, and confusion.

Ostensibly, it sounds lovely. Wholeness is here. Oneness is here.

But I ask: if you were locked in a closet for thirty years, how would you feel upon being released? How would you behave toward your captor?

Welcome to March 2025.

Stay tuned for part 4.