Where did she go...? Part 1
Wrestling with one's darkness to find the light...
I have just arrived in Helen, Georgia. My friend/colleague and I are here to train some clinicians in recovery storytelling and embodied storytelling. I am so excited to be away from Boston and in the country, though when checking into my room, I had to sign something acknowledging the fact that there are Black bears roaming the park and what to do in the event that I come across one. I am a city girl, so, this is not something that I find joy in, unlike some of my less melanated friends and colleagues. I walk into my room and my view is of trees and the mountains and it is breathtaking. I can breathe easily in this room…
I am experiencing some sciatic pain and my back, legs and joints are so achy, and when my body feels this way, I also find negative thoughts and uncomfortable feelings like to join the party of discomfort. But, being in nature, away from the noise and energy of the city, is always a balm for any discomfort I may be experiencing. It’s a reminder that while city living may come with a variety of privileges, nature and bodies of water are what makes my nervous system happy.
Helen, Georgia is such an interesting town deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. My words would not do it justice, so, here is a link to learn more, lol.
As my friend and I marvel at the beauty of Helen, my mind wanders.
It is a bright Sunday morning and I am working a Brunch shift at Veggie Galaxy. The song, Sunday, from Jon Larson’s “tick… tick… Boom!” describes it perfectly, though today is slower than usual. Just as I put in an order, I overhear a table talking and feel my energy shifting towards their conversation, “Spiritual beings having a human experience…” They are speaking my language. “Can I join your conversation?” I ask, to which they say, “of course!” And we begin having a very otherworldly conversation and my whole body begins to tingle. We find our way to talking about alcohol and we speak to the idea that imbibing alcohol is like piercing a cosmic veil and inviting lower vibrational spirits into your vessel. If you go to any bar and are sensitive at all to energies around you, you can feel/sense that there are parasitic entities circling. The conversation is over and contact information is exchanged and I am left thinking about what I might have invited in during my days of active addiction.
“These California rolls are so good!” I think to myself. Sushi in Helen doesn’t disappoint and our server is a beautifully tattooed man with deep brown eyes and is oh so kind. As I eat my sushi, I say to my friend, “Where did that Elizabeth go? I was a black out drinker but we know that the avatar is still going even if you are not there… Where did I go?” And my friend, who isn’t as sensitive to these such spiritual/metaphysical things as I am, receives a download and says, “You were in some other realm surrounded by darkness just trying to find your way out…” And with that, my body is aflame, the energy is so strong that my friend feels it too. And she isn’t one who feels such things. The energy is of a lower vibration and is so powerful and I am filled with pain and sadness and… knowing. I can hear that Elizabeth calling me. Needing me - wanting me to find her and… set her free.
The aches and pain subside, our training for the dear clinicians who work with young people struggling with a variety of challenges goes exceptionally well. I am tickled by the fact that I get to train clinicians in utilizing creativity, play and storytelling to support their clients. But the thought of 20 something year old Elizabeth lost in some other realm of existence all those years ago is haunting me. I ruminate on what it means to wrestle with one’s darkness in search of one’s light. My light. And I think about the journey of integrating all those different parts of myself, the stories, the experiences, in service of wellness, of… wholeness.
Yes, where did she go and how do I get her back? How do I let her know that she need not roam in the darkness any longer? And in these questions, I hear, “write me home.”
To be continued…