These days I’m very much aware of how, after over a year, I’m still in this major transitional time. I turn 50 on July 4th. All I keep thinking about is how it marks a major switch for me. I’ve lived the life of insanity, of recovery, of a witch without a clue, a witch with a clue, a witch with no home. A woman who gave too much to others and didn’t take care of herself and who imploded. A woman who finally started learning how to take care of herself while still loving and doing loving things for her loved ones. But no more self sacrifice. And I’m just so aware of how all the old stuff is really just sloughing off and I find myself in this heightened state of anticipation for whatever it is that is coming next now that there is room for it.
I’ve had heightened states of anticipation before. Going to SCA events wondering if I was going to meet my White Knight. Nope. Going to bars and clubs and gigs and this and that wondering if he was going to be there. Nope. I’ve been excited many times in my life and been disappointed plenty even when I found someone I thought might be The White Knight. I’ve even spent many consecutive years being my OWN White Knight (those were darned good years).
This feels different. Because I’m not going anywhere hoping something will happen at this one place or event. I’m waiting. I’m going through my days doing what I do. A noon recovery meeting. Fixing dinner. Lunch with friends. Applying for jobs when they come available. Working on my new coven homework. Reading. Hanging with Miss Mitty. And all through it, most of the time, is this sense of something coming. It feels like I’m wide open with hope. Not closed down with the secret fear that the anticipation is misguided or wasted. I know the anticipation is real and that something really is coming. I wait.
Every day I do my mantras. I am prosperity. I am employed. I am in love with a man who loves me back. And the moment I start saying them, any fear that was in my heart disappears immediately and I open up again. If that is the only result to the mantras, I am satisfied. Really.
Folks around me are complaining about the economy, the new Facebook interface, the weather (it’s not spring yet, goodness how do YOU define spring?). And I just look at them and wonder WTF? The weather is perfect for March in the Pacific Northwest. The flowers are blooming, the cherry trees totally popped this week. They went from a few little blossoms to full bloom overnight. And it was windy and cold. But these plants thrive on that. Pink looks best, pops best, against gray. And then once in awhile the sun comes out. Ahhhhhh. And I find myself grateful. I wait.
I know that a job is coming. I have no idea where what how. I just know it’s coming. I know this in the center of myself. And remind myself of that when the little fears try to weasle their way in. I am prosperity. I am employed. I am in love with a man who loves me back. And I remind myself to add I am in love with my family and friends, the world. Just as it is. I do what is in front of me and I wait.
I’ve been in love with bees and honey for a long time. I’ve never considered bees my totem animal(s) for some reason. I don’t talk about the bees like the other animals or have bee stuff in my home (well not now and not yet) but the smell of honey has always made me swoon. I have honey perfume and body lotion. I could just saturate myself in the smell of honey and die happy. It smells like love to me. Don’t know why that is.
I got the movie The Secret Life of Bees from Netflix the other day and I’ve watched it 4 times. I’m always behind on movies and always wonder why I waited so long. I LOVELOVELOVE this movie. I want to live in the pink house with the women. And I got the book from the library the other day so I could read what the movie didn’t include. And what the movie didn’t include was the comment that Eskimos have 32 words for love. What a brilliant thing.
I want to be surrounded by love, all 32 kinds of it, even the one for something “small like salted peanuts in Coke Cola.” The love of my job, being a worker among workers. The love of my family, being helpful here when help is needed. The love of a partner in life, a man who will buy my chairs. The love of Miss Mitty who is spending less and less time under the bed. The love of my self for my Self. The love of my new coven family. The love of my recovery family. The love of my family of origin. What are the next years going to bring? I’m working on visualizing them because this is a new visualization for me and I’m still in the dreaming stages. But I know they will be honey golden, humming with bee love, one flower at a time.
My High Priestess told me several times recently, pre initiation, that things would be different for me afterwards. That I would be buoyed up in a way I had never experienced. And she is right. I’ve been working on being “right sized” (you know, not too big, not too small) and being comfortable with that for a very long time. And I’ve felt pretty good for the most part (except for the times when I’ve had to process old crap). But this is just different. I do feel buoyed. And she agreed with me. That lessons do not have to be painful. But so frequently they are. I think partly because we expect them to be. And also because it depends on the lesson. I’ve learned a lot of lessons in this life, almost all painful lessons. But the one lesson I know I still have to learn in this life is that I am loved, worthy of love, all kinds of love. And it seems to me that learning that kind of lesson should be anything but painful. It should be golden, warm, soft, gentle. And I’m ready for that to be the lesson experience this time.
The love you take is equal to the love you make.