Just a little intro to the meaning of this post. I am revisiting an old project and goal. Over three years ago I started to write a book, my story so to say. It’s a book about pain and despite of living with a chronic disease that causes much pain, there are various other forms that we suffer pain in today’s society. However this is my story and not an in general assumption or a one fits all approach. It is highly personal and based on my own experiences and research. Somewhere it fell through the cracks as I originally attempted to write it and I felt the timing wasn’t right. Today I understand how I ended up with that conclusion, how I paused at that crossroad, and how much of my story was still in the beginning, the development, and the “becoming” phases. And then 8/3/2021 happened….
Here is a little snapshot of what I hope to be a part of my book at some point. Feedback is graciously received and appreciated. 🙏🏼💙
Something profound happened that morning. Something, that is hard to explain, and all I can say to summarize it, is that it was nothing short of amazing. It happened early morning when a vision, a channeled message, a glimpse into what’s next came through and found me. Where did it come from? Was it from my higher self, an awakened and conscious self? Was it my guardian Angel nudging me? Was it my guides or was it spirit sending me a message? Perhaps it was a sign from the universe or divine timing, telling me that the time had finally come. In all honesty, I felt that I was ready and I had searched for such a sign over the past weeks, perhaps even months. Maybe I even manifested it into existence. I say this because in addition I was wondering if it had something to do with what I was reading.
From childhood on, I have always been an avid reader and loved books. I love to hold them and feel them in my hands vs reading the E-book versions. I felt that over the years books were decreasing in value with fewer book stores around. I remember books advertised in catalogs while I was growing up and now it seemed like the carefully bound paper copies were a dying breed making way to their digitally stored cousins.
I didn’t see myself as that old fashioned that I was unable to appreciate the convenience of technology and storing my library in a cloud. From there I could recall the content at any time and from any place without carrying the weight. That in itself was pretty amazing and space saving, especially when living in a small place. And yet my books were my treasures and something I didn’t compromise on. To truly feel and connect with them, they had to come in the form of a hard copy or at least as a paperback.
There was always something magical feeling the pages, the smooth texture, while eyeing the bold and at times whimsical fond bringing the words and the story to it’s readers. There was a warmth that connected, compared to the cold computer/screen versions. Somehow, I always felt closer to the story, to the author, and it was as if I could feel their emotions and their heart pouring into their labor of love and passion. I never understood or knew why I felt this on so many levels, at least not until later in life when I learned of what it’s like to be an empath. It just simply was.
By now I had parted with many of my books and if I still had each and every one, from childhood on, they would tell the story of my life and how “it,”
or how “I” progressed over the years. How interests changed and how likes were outgrown, how fiction and drama became a reality show within my own life. Where unfulfilled love became a part of my every day routine, and where loss was casting it’s dark shadows of pain at an very early stage in my life.
Now, most of the novels were gone, the fiction and the romance, including the suspense and the thrillers. Long before then, the children books disappeared and I often hoped to find them somewhere, stuffed into a dusty box, deep inside the attic of my parents house. This was the only time someone else discarded my books, and Mom must have thought that it was time and that I had outgrown them. She never knew about my connection to my books. Maybe she’d thought I read it and it was time to move on. For me on the other hand, they marked more than just finishing the last chapter, those stories impacted my life and were a glimpse outside the sheltered life I was leading.
I wonder if we truly ever outgrow our books as they mark a pivotal time in our life. Pieces from a favorite story will always stay with us and sometimes I wished Mom could have asked me instead of making that decision on her own and discarding those all important little treasures. That I could have had a choice of whether I was ready to part with them or not. For the first time it felt like those things weren’t really mine but rather like some loaned property, here in my life for a limited time. If only one thing, it made me take good care of “my things” as I would never know when the decision would come along that I no longer needed those things.
I don’t remember much of those books, what they were and what I was reading, besides the ones, thick, with endless stories of magic and make belief, the ones that held all of the fairytales from princesses who kissed frogs to turn them into their Prince Charming, to Snow White – the seven dwarfs and other mystical fables. I remember those, despite that much of my childhood is nothing but a big blur.
What’s left of my books today are mainly self help books on the subjects of energy healing, holistic and plant medicine, Ayurveda, Reiki, Shamanism, Ancestral healing, how to re-wild our soul, or true stories about personal achievements that are mostly hiking related. The types of stories where we push ourselves and strip ourselves of modern day conveniences, only to connect deeper with ourselves, finding out who we are and what we are made of.
For the first time in my five decades of life on this planet I was reading two books at the same time. Until now, this was a first, something I had never done before. While I was reading the first book called Soulcraft from Bill Plotkin, the niece of my girlfriend
In Wales, Chloe Elgar released a psychic memoir titled “Revealed by darkness.” I was immediately drawn to the title and hooked. I ordered it and started to read the foreword and first chapter right away. As I continued further, I was in awe of how in so many ways our story parallels. Maybe with different experiences in the way we grew up but in the way of surviving and becoming. Perhaps what entered my mind in such a powerful way and completely out of blue that particular morning had found ground and a foundation between her lines to emerge and find me. Perhaps the time had come to tell my own story. A story I started to write a few years back. A story that is revisiting me again and urging me to come to life vs. living in the dark corners of my confines. As I dust off the cobwebs of dormancy, a slightly different title and subject reveals itself. One still in line with my original story but even more powerful than the first. I take it as a sign of divine timing with an even greater mission…