Category Archives: Valley of Death

Subdural Hematoma, Valley of Death

Stopping (from falling)

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Free-falling is the implied scenario when people speak of hitting bottom. You kinda can’t have one without the other. But what they don’t tell you, is there are two types of hitting bottom: one is when you hit the bottom hard and everything smashes to pieces, and the other is when the change happens while you are still falling. You look around and you either say,

This is too much abrasion, the deeper I go. I’ve gotta stop.

Or

No way. I know this place and I’m not going.

Or you simply get bored and want to do something else. This one is quite surprising. You learn that where ‘bottom’ is now, is way closer to the surface than it used to be.

But in the words of my friend Sue, in all of these cases it ends the same, in taking charge of your life.

No judgement here. The free-falling experience itself is all kinds of things to all kinds of situations but one thing it is not, is being in control. Life sometimes requires complete, descending annihilation for us to lose what we don’t need to carry around. At other times, all that suffering gets old, untenable. Because we know better about this particular storm. Fuck this shit.

All of it is the human experience, and the least painful way to live it is to endure. Keep moving. Keep processing. Keep loving. Keep crying. Keep on. Lie down. Get back up. Let what is sliding, slide off.

And stand up lighter.

Subdural Hematoma, Valley of Death

Back in the Tunnel: (reconstruction)

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I’m sitting in my car, the one I got last night to replace the totaled one from November’s car accident. This car I don’t really like but it’s the most practical thing right now after two hospitalizations, one extra trip to the ER and then losing my job and being thrown back in the tunnel. I am losing my health insurance. I even scratched the car this morning because it so very long and I am used to small cars. I look out over the Puget Sound and realize I have not been to the water in months. It is real nice.

I’ve had a white pillar candle burning pretty much all day, every day to remind me of what the spirits told me the night of the accident.

Keep open. Open. Open. We can’t help you unless you open yourself to us. This is what faith is.

Even the candle has been having issues. There was an air bubble, so the wick bored a hole downwards making a chasm, a situation set up to drown the flame. I called the shop and they are ordering another, but I need this candle now. I’ve been tending it.

Mom used to say, “God helps those who help themselves” but lately, I’ve been crumbling. I need someone to help me whether I can lift myself or not. People do come. I would not have this car if someone had not come. Less things to overcome now.

Have you had times when things were so hard, you didn’t think you could go on? Isn’t it incredible the way life does just that – going on?

Spirits gently tug me to shift my vision, to include the blessings with the hardships.

There is always darkness,

they say.

There is always, endlessly, more than darkness, too. This is the fiber your world is made of. Focus on only the dark, and a cycle of self-blame or hatred or despair is spawned, leaving no attention left for the rest of the colors. So many colors.

Stay open. Open. Open. Use your energy wisely.

Guidance and inspiration is all around me, though I am sometimes too numb to feel it.

Open. Open. Open. Rest.

Accept what is in the moment, then choose how to react.

People have gone through so much worse – war, torture, agony – and come back. I am in the dark where the sustenance is endless. It is ok for things to suck, with no comparing.

My consolation is that when this is over, I will have more depths to draw from. I will have more compassion. I will be a better hollow bone. My consolation is that I have the most beautiful, diverse, spirit-rich people in my life. My consolation is that I am alive. My mind is functioning and I have a place to sleep. My consolation is that I know there will be more good things in this life. I will have more opportunity to bring people together, always deeper, always more light.

With your mountainous support, I continue to pray.

white pillar candle surrounded by 'get well' cards

Thank you.

Tasara

COVID-19 Pandemic, Seasons of Healing, Valley of Death

Sacred Found in Holiday Blues

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If you are having a hard time today, whether you are feeling alone or actually alone, I extend my circle to yours, if you allow it. I do this because I have been where you are, many a year, hearing the inner screaming while the forces try to pull me down into a whirlpool of despair. I could be there right now if I didn’t maintain and guard my sacred circle.

So take my hand. Join me. I will show you how to get here.

First you have to make your own circle.

Draw it around yourself with your finger, perhaps a silly flapping sock, a butter knife, a piece of Lego. Dance a jig and say,

“This is my space, my place, my space!”

As many times as you want, but make sure you get the blood moving.

Light a candle in your space. If you don’t have a candle, focus on the lantern deep inside yourself and give it some room. Air it out. Let it glow.

Spin your arms and whoosh the circle out to protect your entire living space. Stamp on the ground or clap your hands and say it, with conviction,

“This space is safe! Only good cheer can stay near! And my kind good cheer, no other!”

Now, start naming the things you love in this earth. Say them out loud. Take your time. Let them embody you. Relive those wonders. For me it is always a particular forest, a time with a friend, looking at how far I have come in life, even when it doesn’t feel so great. What is it for you?

Good, now. Good. This is your good cheer. Not only do you have hope but you know what you have. Now you are strong enough to reach out.

There is a vast circle of people who hold sacred space together, consciously or unconsciously. Some call this space the web of light, some call it the Circle of Circles. It has many names and many interpretations.

Imagine your circle extending to this sacred space. Perhaps the edges will meet. Perhaps your circle will transport. You may get there by rattling or dancing, or maybe humming or rocking. You might close your eyes and feel the grounding cord from the divine above, through your body, to the divine below and know yourself there.

Just writing this for you is making me feel better. I will feel your presence on the other side. I will know you are there and be nourished in that knowing. We will shine upon one another, fueling our living rooms with the connection of tenderness and light. We will send out hope to others who are struggling, drawing them near, into the protection of our togetherness.

So.. join me. We are not alone. We are blessed.

Blessed Be, and fuck to the Christmas you didn’t want in the first place.

Tasara

(Modify if need be to make the most meaningful for you.)

Seasons of Healing, Valley of Death

Bedrock

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Inside me,
deep,
deep,
you will find only black rock

DSC03106ljkl
borne from the storm
that day,
under the shawl
when the raven never left me
and winds tore at my soul,

polished in the heat
of the fire
you set
before you ran.

You will find basalt,
for the agony has
left me
metamorphosed,

finally
at peace.

You cannot push me anymore.

You cannot have my blood
and this rock will not move for you.

You will mislead me no longer,
my song will not change for you

because it is my song,
the one which can be no other,

this song,

my life’s

nectar.

Here, springs a flower,
alacritous, luscious.

It will be tended
by only
me
with all the wisdom I have.

It is no longer open
to your viewing,
for its soil
will not be poisoned
by your throes
to avoid
the silent
weeping
of your wounds.

My mind grew keen,
in the forges,
the mastery of my beauty
– you chose not to see –
attained.

This sovereign land,
held strong
in ancient customs
of honor
and
truthfulness,
is closed
to you.

You are not welcome here.

Not because you are bad, but
because your shape will no longer fit
with mine.

I have no need or reason to reach
for a black hole

for my heart is a rock,
a gate,
a flower.

Your door is elsewhere.

– Tasara