When I was out walking this morning, a pair of red kites came down very low and one came so close, hovering directly above me, that I jokingly thought he might want to pick me up and take me up there for a birdseye view. As my gaze followed him away, I was struck by this tree, its leaves such a vivid greeny-yellow and utterly striking against the deep blue sky when all around it were well-advanced into their autumn colouring and losing their leaves. I realised that I’d photographed its reflection in a pool of water, just the other day yet, my eyes being focused downward, had hardly noticed this tree’s distinct air of ‘doing its own thing’, regardless of the seasons. The music of the breeze in its leaves completely mesmerised me and I was overwhelmed with the sense that here was a tree that had chosen its own timeline; no matter that all the other trees are uniformly playing out the theme ‘its autumn’, this one has decided to do it all in its own time, its own way and without being rushed into anything.
When I woke this morning, my body was full of pain and I was disturbed several times in the night by an arm gone almost numb with stabbing pins and needles and jabbing pains in my feet and fingers. I’d developed this alarming new sensation, just yesterday, that felt like a hot knife slicing through my foot at regular intervals, buckling my legs and causing me to grab furniture to hold onto. The idea that small fiber neuropathy (nerve pain) is a well-researched, classic symptom of progressed fibromyalgia was there fixed in my head late last night and on awakening, for all my efforts to focus elsewhere. Yes, I had fear creeping into my heart; imaginings of cascading, chaotic, debilitating pain enveloping my life, restricting the use of my hands to create and do what I love, or feet too painful to walk on…
As usual, the sunshine on my walk shook me open to a new possibility…reminding me that I get to choose, that I’m at a juncture where the old way (where an expectation of what is about to materialise in experience, ‘backed up’ by documentary evidence and medical research of what has happened before) meets a new idea, one where I put into practice the deep understanding I have garnered about how I create my own reality, how my physicality reflects the intricacies of my intention, allowing me to demonstrate in practice and not just in theory (for what else matters) that I trust that my life is a conscious process, driven by my infinite self and not by what I am told to expect will be the outcome by inherited and culturally determined belief systems. Very soon, I found myself allowing a flush of excitement to transform the fear into exhilaration, struck by the obvious factor that rapid expansion of consciousness is, of course, going to mean that our bodies occasionally feel a little tight, a little strained because, for all that light that is being embodied, it’s like wearing in a new pair of shoes. As we allow more and more of our expanded selves into our physicality, there is a new marriage to be negotiated, an understanding to be reached in what suddenly becomes a shared house, which makes our physicality feel somewhat unusual for a time as it is called upon to reorganise its space. So many of us have been experiencing this lately and yet, as I’m testament to, its still so easy to forget and become alarmed by ‘symptoms’ all over again. Yet truly living by this new ‘knowing’ that all is well, all of the time, and so letting go of the old fear constructs that so desperately want to take over the interpretation of whatever is happening, is where the rubber really meets the road!
This is a quantum perspective of life in action, bringing into play that innate grasp that we all have, beneath many ready-to-be-shed layers of ‘learning’, that what will be can be influenced – indeed, created – by the very expectations we nurture.
I feel no desire to resist autumn or the onset of maturity – both offer so much beauty to the world – yet ‘ageing’ and deterioration are constructs of the mind, just as is the very concept of time that they are hinged upon; we show signs of ageing because we expect to do so. And those trees have such a lot to teach us…they may appear withered and old, then like so many bare bones, yet theirs is a process of regeneration, the deep sleep of rejuvenation. The trees just seem to know they need ‘time out’ to loose themselves in sleepy imaginings of yet another vibrant springtime while winter’s winds rack and rage around their branches. They simply pull back for a time, working with (not against) the seasonal urge to rest and recuperate, only to spring back into life with even more beauty and vigour come the warmer months. When we set our minds upon deterioration, the process self-perpetuates and builds the kind of momentum that harbours an inevitable outcome in each moment along the way; the miserable ending has already happened even before it has been reached since the focus of our intent makes it so. The sleep of the trees is a different kind of energy altogether, with all potential of the new suggested by each and every moment of the hibernation, a pregnant pause harbouring new life and ever new possibilities.
Hasn’t my body been telling me this all along, my natural inclination being to pull back from it all, to slow down, rest and recuperate for just those few short weeks of winter, so springing back with ever more vigour and vitality, as I know it will, when I allow this? Aren’t the physical challenges that switch on with such a vengeance at this time a year just a hint, ever less subtle, that I should slow down, embrace this time of what I once so harshly labelled sheer laziness or ‘illness’ and just go with the seasons?
Profound realisation of the day: just because I am experiencing pain or discomfort, however severely or alarmingly, does not mean this is permanent or a sign of ongoing deterioration since I get to choose in each moment. Even as I say this, I feel something lift and expand in my energy body and a new sensation of warmth and ease, like embodied sunlight, flush through my cells.
There was the oddest flavour of spring in the air today on my walk; perhaps a reminder that the remarkably brief time between now and then is to be welcomed as a time pregnant with possibilities, to be made the most of and allowed, at our own pace (and not to the drum of any other), and as a creator space, without fear or preconception.