The soul-home -- jungle bliss.
I’m in a wildly erratic cycle of healing and sourcing pain. In April of this year, the Shaman in the Amazon healed my migraines. They are gone daddy gone, and it’s still a miracle. I thought I had already healed myself of the asthma issues, but a recent flare-up humbled me. Yet with Z’s magic hands, things dissipated in a hurry, and I’m breathing like a triple tubed vacuum now days. I intend to ask for more Shaman healing for zee lungs in a couple of weeks, but I am currently feeling fab in that arena.
Last night, though, I pushed through a hardcore massage session for the man. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt a more knotted and tense back, outside of my own, and I was damn determined to release some of his pain. I am a new student on energy channeling, however, and through the process of sucking out much of his pent up negativities, I took them on myself. I slept fine and dandy, but awoke to a bit of panic, a huge dose of belly knots, and a shoulder that grows increasingly angry by the minute. Reiki masters and the like are aces at channeling out the pain in others, and grounding themselves in the process, avoiding the consumption of that which they are healing. It’s a gift we should all be granted; most of us don’t realize how much we take in — from the world, from each other, and from the collective subconscious. And because we don’t know what we have and what to do with it, our bodies create cancer and heart failure and atrophy. I’d like to avoid those pitfalls.
And so I’m feeling, acknowledging, releasing. Trying to understand. I have to learn this, see, because I have so much to heal. Not so much inside of myself, but in everyone I love. Which is everyone, see. Time’s a tickin’.
