Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Next Step

I write to heal. Words moving across a page propel stagnant fear onward and forward into a stream of energy, and where there is movement, there is life-force, and  and this steady river of consciousness returns me safely back home. 

***


The fear seizes me on Saturday evening, out-of-the-blue, no tangible reason why, consuming and loud, tensing for a threat.The warning sprints in a blurry collage, speeding through disjointed scenes, screaming to notice a danger I cannot see. 

In this order, a jumbled train of images: Walgreens, the house on the corner, my front windows emanating a greenish-hued energy, as if windows could radiate vibes, but in the intuitive mind, they do, and now I understand why.

At first, I analyze to find the root, the thought, the experience, the exact reason why I feel such heightened concern. And then all the pieces fall into place when I see him -- who I describe as a craft beer-like hipster -- staring through my blinds, opened, because I want to let natural light in, and light can attract moths, tempt parasites, and soon the unreasonable fear has a reason, and a face, and the nightmare takes shape.


Observant.

The police officer calls me observant.

I think it's a compliment, and then as he continues to speak, I become aware that this is not what he means. But whatever he means doesn't concern me, I dismiss him as quickly as he discredits me. I trust my intuition, my instincts, my feelings, and see the several calls to 911 as societal protocol that will assist me in breaking my lease without financial penalties.

Later in the week, I stand at the police station, harassment report in hand, hating him. Then I realize he is unworthy of the energy taken to hate. I feel nothing, then.

I am exhausted. I am tired in a way I've never been before. I'm experiencing the shockwaves from the earthquake, abruptly shaking and tearing the roots that were beginning to sink down, unfurl, and mindfully take hold. Swept up in the adrenaline rush, coursing through my system like twenty espresso shots, I've existed in a state governed by my survival instinct.

Wired to flee, wired to fly, not to fight, not to freeze, I race back to a place where trees will sing me to sleep, where a pit bull will go on walks with me, and her owner will listen to me as she waters a garden and plants tomato seeds.

Here, there are homemade tacos, neighbors who awww over my glittery eyeliner, and to my delight, happily show me their sparkly makeup supplies.

Here, there is a guest who brings me a chocolate bar when he hears about what's happened, tells me to stay strong, and being around him is like leaning into the softest morning rays of light. There’s an ease, a sense of knowing, a warmth that embraces and makes me feel secure in being seen.  

This is the best of masculine energy. This is healthy, wholesome, respectful, safe. I don't mind that he sees me with messy hair, makeup free, and that I take a too big-of-a-bite out of a breakfast taco and blush very bright as he watches, softly and sweetly laughing at me, and says that girls with appetites are attractive, they are comfortable in their own skin.

Feeling comfortable in my skin has been a lifelong narrative. I felt at home in myself that Monday evening, swaying my hips to the soundtrack of "20th Century Women," washing dishes with the kitchen window open to let in the fresh air, and preparing my lunch for tomorrow -- an act of self-care, of self-love.

And I thought, as I moved around carefree in a nest of my own creation, how comfortable and how in love I am in this life of my own making. And then, the story shifts. I cannot resist what is, I can only move forward. And moving forward may mean not staying here.

“You were terrified, Meredith. Either you will recover and find your place here, or you simply won't, and you'll have to do what is best for you, then.”

My path, my journey in Austin, what I thought I was here to do, it's all changed, and the intentions have been rearranged, too.

I can't root to a place, perhaps, or not yet, but I can strengthen and nurture the roots to myself, a core never to be threatened, a piece incapable of being misplaced and even threatened.


If I'm truly listening, vowing to make the decision best aligned with my healing, then I have to be ready to let go of the original plan. I need to consistently deconstruct my own mental barriers, reclaim and nurse my power to stretch my wings. 

I trust my inner sight to guide me, and in time, or maybe even later today, I’ll feel the flood of courage encouraging gently to pull up the blinds, open the windows, and breathe in the air, because windows are meant to be opened, and I won’t give him the power to take away my right to have fresh Texas air.