I’m unwell, and I want to try and write about the experience because our beliefs, how we interpret these illnesses, is important and I think we need to trust these processes. I know that if I struggle, the force that is opposing me will get stronger. It does get stronger. And finally, there is a stage where I can no longer struggle. It is futile, I must submit. Because these illnesses are bigger than us, they are bigger than our egos. And we need to trust their intelligence. We need to trust that they have another journey for us in mind, another task for us to perform. We must let go and succumb to their lessons. There is no choice.
I went for a walk today and only walked for ten minutes. Then I sensed my boundary. I looked down the path where I was walking, and I had the choice of trying to force my way through this, to beat this. Or to admit my limitations and return home. Only, there was no choice. I was unwell and I felt the boundary. This was as far as I could walk, this was where I hit the forcefield. I could not wade through it. It was too thick, too strong, for my will.
And this is what it is like. A heavy weight that is holding me down. A power, a field of energy, that sits on top of me. And it does not want me to move, it wants me to be still and quiet.
I struggle of course. For days, for months, I struggle. I know I need to rest but I keep pushing and pushing. I always find a focus, something to work on. Something to pay attention to. I find ways to be productive because I want to move forward. But in the end I cannot fight it. It knows better than me. And it is telling me to lay low. Even if I kick and scream in the beginning, in the end I am defeated.
I must trust that it has lessons. The lesson of letting go. The lesson of subduing my ego. Because we think we know what is best for ourselves and so we strive. But this deep intelligence understands how shallow our ambitions are. It sees through our hubris. It tells us in no uncertain terms that we must let go. We must sink down silently into a still place and rest. We must remember why we are here. We are here to seek truth and this truth is subterranean. We cannot seek the truth in shallow waters.
And so, I sit. I try to sit. But still find ways to use words. To speak. I will not remain silent. I must speak of these processes. Because they are beautiful and they are profound and they are life giving. That we have guides, that there are forces that correct us. So often we cannot hear them and fail to understand their message. When we are lost, and believe we have the answers. But we don’t have the answers.
And this is my illness. A message from the gods. A message that says:
“No matter what you want for yourself, you are not in control. You cannot steer your own course through life. You cannot see the bigger picture. You do not understand the things that we understand. And when you ignore our signs, then we must force you to reflect. We must show our strength and remind you how small you are. You will pay homage, not to your own strength, but to the forces of the universe. You will submit, for you are an instrument. And you must listen to us. You must tread your path and when that path is difficult to find, when you are lost, we will guide you. But you must listen, and you must be still.”
And so, my illness returns. My guides. Who are not happy with my progress. Who see me running my own race. Who see me lost. And there is so much that I want. There are so many goals that I desire. But these forces sit on my back, they break me.
It is not a scary feeling, as I sense the boundaries closing in around me. As my world gets smaller. I do not feel defeated. I feel resilient. I feel peace. And I want to speak. Only, I need to know what you want me to say – these guides that whisper in my ear. I cannot hear you, I have listened to myself for too long. I cannot hear your words, your call.
I will tailor my battle and try to speak the truth. But the truth is something that is spoken through us. We cannot grasp at this. It is not ours to own.
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