On Resiliency, and the Spiraling Dark Nights of the Soul

Reading a post of mine from two years ago (around the time of my bottom of the well posts)…I feel a sense of exultation and completion. And even so, I am always cycling through these great spirals of life, hoping to level up and get it, really get it, this time…

From my vantage point here and now, in my cozy nest in the woods, beginning my day with research on touch and movement and attachment theory for my final paper of my first semester of graduate school, awakening from dreams of this research and my new love, letting last night’s conversation which dropped me deeper into love settle in my heart space with relief of being met in so many exquisite ways, I have a stunningly still perspective, holding the me now, and the me then.

I take myself back to that moment in Golden Gate Park two years ago, recently painfully single, practically homeless, directionless, hopeless, so so close to my edge, and reeling from the dark night that my soul was spinning through. I can see my life force leaning towards today, aching and stretching through this tiny little body, reaching out for truer alignment. I can hear my soul crying and screaming and yelling towards the bigness it knows I get to be on this planet, in this life, and not knowing how to guide my body to jump tracks to really start to get to it. I can feel my ancestors and guides surrounding my crumpled, struggling body in that park, holding up mirrors in hopes for me to see the strides in loving and living I was making even in that dark night.

Two weeks after this moment in time, I would be mugged at gunpoint. This would be the final climax of that dark night of the soul, and would create a waterfall of events that moved me up to Nevada City, linked me with HoneyRoot and the School for Embodied Leadership, and finally, inspired me to go to grad school. All of these occurrences are in direct relationship to the bigness I am stepping into, the full ME that I have to share.
This morning I am sitting here in my nest, seeing the web of my work (personal and professional) that is holding me accountable to be in my bigness in integrity, in the best way I know how, for the benefit of all that I have the deepest heart’s desire to serve.

2 years ago, I was clenching on to something, blindfolded, fumbling. The mugging forced me to let it all go, ripped my hands from the safety bar of the roller coaster ride, ripped me right from the seat, and flung me into the air with only faith and my tiny body to be with. I was forced to trust the air to drift me towards the right track, to drop me back in this luscious river of life, to take me to where my soul had been begging me to go.

I think sometimes that if maybe I had been a better listener to my soul – specifically at this exact moment 2 years ago – that I would not have been mugged. But maybe I was listening perfectly, that my soul was not just calling for a new place to live and the next step in my career, but it was (by necessity) also calling to experience this exquisitely perfect version of trauma – a version that gave me the scariest moment of my life, but that I walked away from with practically no physical damage to my body, and a deep reverence for the world of trauma that so many of us are living through.

This morning I see this track I have jumped to, I feel the sturdiness of this raft I am steering down this river. The air dances through my hair and reminds me of the whistling darkness I have moved through, those echoey chambers of mystery, of the gap, of not knowing what happens next. I am reaching back through time to the one on the bench in Golden Gate Park. I am standing in her circle of guides. I am stroking her hair and whispering, “I know. Keep going. It’s. All. Right. All is well. All is well.”

photo by Alyssa Keys Photography.

november 21, 2017

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