This weekend I bought a crap load of cheap stuff from the clearance section at Linens N Things, finally decorating my house enough to make it look cozy and lived in. I did this on a bizarre whim, after receiving a couch and a few decorative items as hand-me-downs from Mom. It’s like I saw what the house could be like if I just spent a tiny chunk on furniture, and wahlah, I got the bug.

End result: Just two sets of curtains and a couple of barstools (imagine, a place to actually SIT AND EAT) made me cry. CRY. I just felt so blessed, so cocoon-ed, so relieved to have a sacred place to recharge and unwind and transform inside. My meditation/reading room is now officially open for business.

Speaking of business, the planets/stars have been doing some strange voodoo on me lately. I have a natal moon/transiting moon/transiting Neptune aspect going down, and this combo creates a mad amount of psychic energies, out of body experiences, insecurity/safety issues, and hardcore dreams. I have had all of these things in spades.

Case in point: I’ve been having dreams of Seeker lately. He’s the one that brought me to the Amazon the first time – the dynamic king of Hollywood that was so hell bent on destroying himself, he blew up hard enough to burn down the people who loved him too. I allowed this, of course, but our break-up, to this day, was the single most painful revelation I’ve gone through, love-wise, and I could never understand how I could give him such power.
Until 2 nights ago.

We were back at the lodge where everything fell apart for us, in my beloved jungle, after my second Ayahuasca ceremony. This was the Nightmare Night, an evening I prayed for death, quite literally, because my reality had suddenly become far too demonic and emotionally crippling to cope with. Seeker was telling me about his magical evening – the best of his life – where the whole wide world revealed itself to him. He told me about meeting his soul family – a few people that he knew in this life who were also eternal connections – and I remember lying there in complete agony, wanting him to just stop talking so I could understand why I had gone to hell and couldn’t claw myself back. Suddenly, I accepted the notion that if he were to tell me that I, too, was his spiritual connection, that he saw me in his visions and we were bonded forever and ever, in any fashion, that perhaps I could be OK again. Perhaps that could be my life raft.

He never said any such thing. In fact, he spent the entire night talking about his ex-girlfriend – who cheated on him with his best friend, no less – who was in fact an angel, and that he forgave her and couldn’t wait to talk to her again.
Salt on wound? Try hydrochloric acid on an amputee victim. I was done for.

In my dream, however, he took me back to that night and showed me what was in his heart. He literally cracked open his chest to reveal animations of his thoughts. Somehow, I deciphered his messages, and realized that he avoided sharing that I, too, was on his Cosmic Carousel, but he felt too vulnerable to share it with me. He already knew I was going to leave him – spirit had shown him that too – so he kept the information from me to protect himself.
I accepted this. I told him he had been forgiven already, and that none of that mattered anymore.
He, however, was very persistent.

A third party joined us – a faceless dragonfly woman with a computerized, ultra-feminine voice. She told his we had known each other in more than 100 lives, and that we are always teaching each other lessons. I made a wisecrack about how he must love being reincarnated as an asshole, and she basically said that it’s those who hurt us the most that teach us the most as well.

This dream has had an effect. It all makes a beautiful amount of sense to me, though I can’t say I completely agree with dragonlady’s logic – I have learned plenty from those who have loved me in a caring and gentle fashion too. But if you think about it, those who choose to come back into a lifetime to actually hurt a soul mate in order to teach them the things they have chosen to learn – that’s a tremendous amount of selfless love. I believe in these dances, these pre-determined yet highly erratic and unpredictable turns, with all that I am.

It’s weird that wild revelations like these now make perfect sense to me. Sure, my destructive ex-boyfriend is actually an old spiritual connection that, in part, came back down as a colossal prick in order to grant me a little growth and salvation. I can see that. If I ever see him again – in this lifetime, anyway – I will sincerely say thank you.

But unfortunately, these types of acknowledgments do little to console me when I’m in my all too often crying sprees, continuously feeling the pain of that and different rejections, continuously trying to process all this baggage I haven’t yet released. I do a far better job of accepting the grievances thrown at me than I do the gentle love and adoration. That’s a conundrum, a huge imbalance, and something that continues to baffle and frustrate me.

So I have a sanctuary to escape to, to cry inside of, to purge these demons, and to plot my return as a healer, a focused, strong, capable giver. That is, when the stars align, which they will, in short order
Today is not that day.
Today I’m the little girl who is saddened and confused – a head full of knowledge but a heart full of sobby little breakdowns.

Michael, my companion for trip 2, dancing with the Bora

Still breathing. Whee, this is fun.

So the latest trip into the earth’s womb had a different agenda for me. The first trip was all about an awakening – I found my spiritual core (she’s rock solid and really likes to talk. Shocking.)
This time, I found a few answers to my past, my identity, and the future of the whole bloody world. Profound doesn’t even cut it – some of the things I will spill in future musings will startle me, to see in print – so permanent. So blinding.
You might think I’m crazy.

Eh, you might even be right.
But it’s real. Just as much as this breath I am floating in.
You don’t have to trust me, though. You can go have a cup yourself.

The first Ceremony is normally a gentle intro or re-intro. About half of the 19 journeyers that landed in Howard’s brand new jungle retreat were new to Mother Ayahuasca, and the rest of us Knew. At least a smidgen, some volumes.
The structure itself was brand new, however – just down the river from the old haunt. I loved the first, I love the latest. Built from the ground up with the sole purpose of ascending the consciousness of humanity through Ayahuasca ceremonies. Plus, this time it featured electricity and hot water. Well, sometimes.

There we were, the very first rabbit hole hoppers to sit in that glorious maloka, toe to toe with Captain Howard and the greatest Shaman in the world. The rituals set in motion and oh my, I found my bliss. Before my lips hit the cup.
This is home.
Yes, Ayahuasca still tastes like ass, but so be it. Balance, and nothing but.
I don’t have too much to say about night one, at least in the way of visions – mild, warm, embracing; she was saying Hello Again, proud to see me taking on this wild journey again. I had a small but substantial purge in the beginning (we all have our Very Own Buckets), and mostly, I just rocked myself into the sub-conscious, and was allowed to prepare for the tasks at hand. It was beauty. Gentle and more real than I am.

Night two, well, not so much.
But we’ll get there.

Today is solid. Today is a gift. I am off to see Children of Men soon, wondering why they’re not Children of Women too, but I believe I’ll soon have my answer.
We all have them, in our hearts. Every last one.

Soon, soon.

Plus, tattoos.

Kim and Holly stop for a rest at a cute little hut in the majestic jungle.

I have battled a pretty profound depression since my jungle-return, and I attributed the majority of that to losing the Seeker. A really wretched break-up. I can’t belittle that experience in the least, as I did love him immensely, and my heart still breaks for the loss of him, for his mind-boggling tribulations – yet, much of my paralysis was misplaced. I finally allowed into my consciousness the vision of my true path, yet I wasn’t fully ready to walk it – leaving the office handcuffs and meandering into the great unknown. Trusting that I can make a go of it in the freelance world, spending more time writing and less time slaving and sweating for someone else’s pocketbook. Well, yesterday the Universe stepped in – yet again – and said fine, I’ll do it for you.

And so it goes. The first full day of the new life. I am ready, accepting, so happy I could burst. There is no chance of failure, see, when I feel this confident and trusting. I am just the luckiest, luckiest girl.

Seeker, enjoying some of that trademark precarious hiking deep in the Amazonian jungle. Good times.

When I got back from the Amazon just a handful of weeks ago, I knew leaving the corporate world was a necessity. I faked my way through those day-to-days and it doesn’t serve me, nor is it fair to the fabulous people who have employed and trusted me. That’s not to say I’m not a stellar employee – I am, on many levels. Hard-working, smart as fuck, loyal, aces at follow-through – etc. etc. But all in? Nay. Especially these days. I have bigger fish to fry.

Now, make no mistake, this is not how I wanted everything to go down. I’m not fond of sudden, severed endings, and I wish it had all been handled a bit differently, but I don’t always get to call the shots, so I must not resist. I sourced this – that I can own. And as for what’s next – oh god. I really don’t know.

I am proud of myself for not melting down about this loss – for embracing the fact that I created this scenario. Kind of exciting, really – I’m free. I have faith that I’ll figure it out. I have faith that I’ll have a few meltdowns and will have to scrape and pander and freak out a little bit, but this is part of my path. A great way to grow and reach higher. I am a writer – not a worker bee. Not a corporate slave. That was never, ever going to be enough for me. So now’s my chance to figure out a better way.

A perfect little hut in the Peruvian Amazon. My jungle tis of thee.

There are still so many things I fear. All tied up in myself. I fear tomorrow – the sabotage may have extended into places I wasn’t ready for. At least, not consciously. Yes, I keep harping on how I love change, but like most, I prefer those changes I myself control. That’s what the buzzing is – a reminder that it’s not all up to me. Not the awake, egotistical me. Maybe the Higher Self me, the girl behind the curtain, but she isn’t the one steering the eyes-open ship. She isn’t the one who has a grip on all this . . .anxiety.

I am reminded today of how secretive I am. The things I hide are both miniscule and gargantuan, and I’m starting to learn a bit more about the motivation. I am aces at punishing myself. Why I think I deserve such agony – that’s the core. It doesn’t feel like past life/karmic debt, but I’m going to back to the Amazon to explore that option more. No, it seems more like a challenge to see how much I can really take. I feel somewhat desperate to prove my strength, but only to myself. Not sure why that matters so much. In any event, I feel like it’s proven. Repeatedly. So my vision is to let that go already and just be Real.

I watched Capote yesterday – the consummate writer. He preached about the importance of the truth but lied at every turn. Of course he did – he was a story teller. He was full of self-hatred like the rest of us. And even though he became the most famous writer in America, he never published another book after reaching such success, and drank himself into oblivion.
I can relate. The writer’s path. But I’m fighting back.

Shhhh, that’s a secret.