Unborn Healing
I has been a good day. I have been swimming a lot lately. Lammas has passed, and the first harvest is here. Peaches are growing on my mother’s tree, and my sister is harvesting an abundance of vegetables and herbs on her farm. The wheels are turning towards the darker days where we experience rest and restoration. The skies are filled with smoke, and many are escaping to these islands for respite, rest and fun. Bicyclists prove difficult to drive by on our narrow roads with my big German Shepherd. Still, I love my eight year old rescue that I have had now for two full years. We work on our trauma together. He is my familiar. My small cat loves him too. That is my hula hoop; my cat, myself, and my dog.
It is never too late to work on our recovery. Part of recovery for me is taking care of my environment. My house may be a small single wide trailer, but as many of us know, houses and yards require constant maintenance. The dry weather has dirt exposed in the back yard. Jay, my big pup, loves to play with large staffs, fish rocks out of the kiddie pool, and scratch in the dirt. It is just the season. I literally cannot control how much of this dirt evolves to my white pergo floors. Yet, it makes me happy to care for myself, my home, and my animals.
Three meals a day is the new protocol. I take morning and evening meds about the same times every day. 5am morning meds, and 4pm nightly meds and vitamins. I take my blood sugar medication with meals, and this keeps me eating regularly and healthily. I am learning to be self-sustaining with my deceased partner of 28 years gone. 10 months ago I became single and living on my own for the first time in my adult life. I moved in with Steve at nineteen. There have been endless routines, tasks, and skills to master. Cooking for myself and others as a part of it.
It is hard not to worry about the state of the world when the skies are filled with smoke. But I find a way to not worry. I find a way to keep faith and have hope. My recovery is very much about maintaining hope and a sense of the spiritual. Art: painting and writing, keep me sane and on the road of healing. Music helps a lot too, but I mostly just appreciate these days. I still need to change the strings on my guitar. Something Steve would always help me with when he was alive. Of course I know how, as my guitar teacher taught me when I was twelve. I am grateful to have retained some learned skills in this lifetime.
My sweet familiars are good for me. I am used to being alone. I was always a loner. Most all of Steve and mine friends were and are loners. It is okay to be this way. And I am getting used to Steve not being here with me. I find that I prefer most people at a distance. I am not super good at blending unless I can slip through a larger crowd, be present in a recovery circle, or have a casual one on one interaction out in the community. I do like being around people, and people watching so to say, and this can help me feel less alone in a collective sense.
The water, the pool, and the beach, are my healers and teachers. Life is different when you are floating in or moving through water. Everybody needs this, though some prefer to stay dry and ashore. Children partake in water play in school, and I have watched many of my students heal and get lost in this soothing activity. The same can be true for sand, dirt and clay. There are vehicles for healing ourselves out there. I am finding the ways that feed and fuel me, as I learn to heal in new and unborn ways.