Chiron and healing the soul wound: making excuses.

Chiron was a respected teacher and skilled healer, and was known as the wisest and most just of all the centaurs.

What a stand out guy and I’m sure we can learn a bunch of stuff but let’s just get to the part where I give the f*-k up on life and swap places with Prometheus.

In the beginning, an awakening

I used to believe in myself. I used to feel that I had valuable things to contribute to the world.

I used to believe that I was part of  something, that I was going to help the world by doing some thing, whatever that might be.

I used to believe that I had something valuable to say.

OMG I was so full of words since (probably starting around May) 2018. For months words were just pouring out of me.

I struggled to speak (literally, verbally) whenever I would become stressed or excited, which was a massive issue since I am a high school teacher. My voice and ability to communicate is absolutely fundamental for my job and is also a huge part of my personal identity. I couldn’t articulate what ever I wanted to say.

It’s like I was coming to this real awakening, and my mind was piecing together the various pieces of a puzzle I didn’t even realise I’d been solving.

My heart and my mind were on fire and I felt so sure and whole and completely radiant in my heart and my mind.

Reason, intuition, sensation and emotion. My inner worlds were aligned and in sync.

I was so excited, I knew there were going to be obstacles and stuff, but there’s always hurdles in life.

There was so much going on inside of me and I just had to try to find the words to express … something. I dont know. I just had to share whatever was happening.

Breaking down, into manageable pieces

How does one describe something that hasn’t been described before? Some way, somehow… something that I didn’t explicitly (or consciously) know, but inside I just felt and knew. 

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. My physically limited human self just couldn’t keep up. My brain wanted to try to translate into words as quickly as I could, and of course I wanted to speak as it is the fastest means of communication.

I was getting tripped up on words, as if my words were stumbling blocks my tongue could no longer carry.

As I would struggle to say a sentence without stammering, my brain would start to fail even finding the words I wanted to say.  

I felt I had devolved into a dementia patient who wanted to speak but couldn’t remember how to say what I wanted to say. I would need to take regular breathers, to calm and focus on what I was doing and the exact thing I wanted to say.

I stopped talking for a while. Conversations became a deliberate and concentrated activity. I couldn’t just “talk” casually and fluidly anymore. It was so frustrating, but I could write. So I did.

I stopped socialising. I stopped conversing. I tried to make the most of it by writing potential talking points for my random ideas. I had so much I wanted to share, and I waited all day, each day, to pretty much expand on whatever point I had started to rotate in my journals.

Many of my hours I spent curled in a ball on the floor, writing intentionally and with care (preparing myself for these kind of one sided conversations, haha) only to consistently end up scrawling with such frustrated fervour, my hand moving furiously scribing my words on page after page.

Silent in body, but my written words were screaming. Desperate for engagement, I’d begin to physically lash out in the hopes of being acknowledged… eventually I abandoned paper and thus I began writing online.

Falling apart, further away from me

I tend to get confused pretty easily. It could be the chiron in gemini and mercury retrograde. I like to converse with people because other people help to give me perspective.

I can get lost pretty easily chasing shiny tangents in the labyrinth of my mind, distractions and interesting side quests are fun! I often don’t realise I’ve gone off track or lost myself until it’s too late. I tend to go off on tangents that diverge far from my original intentions, and as a result I tend to do a lot of back tracking and trying to remember what I was trying to achieve in the first place, what was I saying to begin with. 

I have a garbage memory. I don’t play chess strategically, I always forget what I was planning to do with a move when it’s my turn again. My husband nick-named me ‘al-qaeda kim’ because I’m like a suicide bomber of the chess board.

I don’t have any cognitive memory problems, it’s just that I get distracted and my brain will hold on to whatever it thinks is or will be worth retaining. There are so many branches that diverge in so many directions…

I get confused as to which thread I was meaning to weave, and in which dimension? I am holding on to a guiding line but which way am I going? Am I forging or following? Am I raggedy patchwork woman that I am.

All imagery, symbols, and words are the same. The meanings derived are all valid, the interpretations are contextually sound. Perspective is what alters as we move through time.

People only recognise or acknowledge the final point of their own physical experience, and deny the possibility there ever were a myriad of potential paths.

That’s what sucks for me, I guess. Im like Poe, the AI of the Raven hotel from Altered Carbon.

As much as I try to define, describe, explain or divide, myself as i ainan independent but connect to and I am the paths and the paths are me.

Only a figment of a shadow remains fragments of phrases

I remember what it felt like having a purpose. A completely irrational yet deeply resonant belief that I was supposed to do something, that I was part of something greater than myself.

I desperately want to cling on to that feeling, but so much has changed in my little sphere and… I can’t do it. Or rather, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, and I am so full of doubt that it was anything more than a paranoid self delusion of grandeur. 

I am afraid that it was all just in my head, I’m afraid of being seen and thought of as crazy and deluded by the one person I only ever wanted to really believe in me. 

I never cared what anyone else thought of my because I knew what I thought of me, and that used to be enough.

Purpose and value. I need a purpose, I have no purpose. I am clinging onto a tendril of hope that maybe I have something worth sharing. But… I am not an initiator, I am a responder. I see a need and must be asked to respond to it. I cannot take the initiative because I do not move unless I will be received.

I improvise, I go with the flow, I respond to the world around me. I don’t do anything unless I know someone needs me to do it, as I often forget what I am trying to achieve. Without regular check ins, I never tend to finish things because if it’s not important enough.

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