It never stops...

In the battle with myself in the reflection of what is in my life, there must be a tune being played called —I Never Get a Break! You Are Always Gonna Do It Wrong, Sister!— I can already see the music video for the country song: struggle and victim and tears with no real resolve ever. The ending, a big question mark leaving us with what will she do with her life. Cut, fade out.

Somehow the Pleiadian Retreat and the Rainbow Tribe felt my curiosity and heard my plea for help and witnessed the very subtle and quiet whisper of a commitment to myself.

Now, there are two kinds of talk to self that I am getting intimate with these days.
First off, the kind of resolve a little child has after the parent has sent her to her room. The under the breathe words —“You can’t tell me what to do anymore! I am on my own; I’ll show you!” And then the other, stepping into one’s self devotion where in one's imagination it appears like it has to be a big and bold, superhero, giant leap with immediate success. Yet, in reality, it is a cautious step forward with a unstoppable feeling of empowerment. Like a child curious about walking on the ice, knowing he has to try it out to see if it will hold him or not. Either result is ok because it is just pure wonderment.

Last night, my evening was spent at the Emergency Psychiatric station with my daughter. She had had a school choral concert, and when I picked her up, she was having a really intense anxiety attack. As an empath the crowd affects, the stupid masks they sing in is also causing something unhealthy. A week of not taking medication regularly because I hadn’t gotten the prescription filled on time creating this mess. I wanted to blame and rationalize outside of me. Fucking society, etc!! And then having the boomerang of blaming myself for failing my child once again. So much transpired from Sunday’s brilliant cocoon at the workshop of breathing for me to Monday night’s breathing with and for my child with grace and no judgement. I have been resisting for months the thought of ever taking Annika to the ER. I am dead set against being in any hospital these days. However, at the moment, I was very concerned for her physical health, not the mental stuff she was battling with. It was the uncertainty of her vitals that pushed me to take her. I wanted to know her body wasn’t killing her. It is absolutely insane what talk we talk within us that motivates or deflates immediate action.

There I was practicing the breath work and being very much stable and at ease in the chaos, I also felt the resistance of driving a block and a half to the stupid hospital; then the resistance of getting out of the car to walk with her into the ER. I wanted to talk her out of it. I wanted to drive away. I wanted the cbd gummy to kick in and take away her demons. Anything but the medical institution.

You can’t make this shit up!

As we approached the sliding glass doors of the ER, there was a very tall man standing in the corner with a rainbow raincoat, bright red sweats. A rainbow coalition down to the tip of his toes with rainbow socks and crocks. I stared in disbelief—I saw the sign, and I STILL heard myself saying—“No fucking way! This is not how blatant the signs are—no way!”

And it was the next breathe I took in that brought me back to the ER and having the conversation w the admin to check in. Breathe— breathe — breathe deeply. Breathing for me and my daughter. Once I had sat down I was in prayer mode of gratitude.
I had been asked 3 hrs prior by a friend — “Do you have faith, Gwyn?”
My answer was yes.
The raincoat was my confirmation.
The few hours at the hospital with absolutely loving and caring support from the ER team was so comforting. It was the womb space I needed for myself to process and release what was happening at the moment.

Annika is ok. Its an new day. The sun is shining, and I am wide-eyed and open-hearted, anticipating there will be another rainbow in the near future, building the confidence I already have within and supporting my commitment to myself.