Stalking Our Stories ~

Stalking Our Stories ~

What do you still want to impress? How aware are you, of the implications of the stories in your head? Some of this type of seeking has to do with respect or admiration or career advancement. Some is more subtle. Most of what is up in the collective is both more obvious and more subtle and definitely all-pervasive. Over the full moon I noticed that leftover trauma imprints were shaking loose within my physical and emotional bodies. Shaken, but not yet stirred. What would it take to stir them to the surface?

My attention was drawn, over and over, toward two films currently offered by my streaming services. When this happens, I’ve learned to listen. HER breadcrumbs, that used to take the form of “re-read this book” now in more manageable time sequences. I watched the first film, without any particular attachment or reaction, only to have my physical body begin to exhibit trauma symptoms. My body shook, internally, with that ‘wanting to weep’ feeling that is all the more strange when there is no actual tiger in the room. I felt no triggering other than the physical/emotional symptoms, so I persevered, watching the whole of the first film, and dipping into the second. Different films, these, each depicting a woman’s (lack of ) choices within the patriarchal systems of her time. In the first, no choices at all except to learn to manipulate, whether she wanted to or not, and that manipulation ended her life or life as she wished it {The Other Boleyn Girl}. In the second, choices were made that left the woman in question self-supporting, barely so, and yet outcast from societal norms of love and support {Miss Austin Regrets}. Set in earlier centuries, earlier times, it might have seemed strange that my body was reacting. “That kind of thing has changed…” Or has it?

As we become the Stillness, it becomes easier and easier to stalk our stories. What do you still seek to impress? Prior to this full moon I would have answered “nothing”, and believed it to be so. Then, as the shaking continued, I watched old… very very old… stories unfold in my head. A montage of saviour-martyr-hero rubbish floundered through my head, making me laugh and, finally, groan under its egoic weight. Really? Where was this coming from? And so SHE showed me.

I had just spoken with an acquaintance; a person who studied with my Teacher and whose respect, once upon a time, I would have liked to have had. Then, when we were all twenty and thirty-somethings, the ‘guys’ had zero respect for the ‘girls’ and vice versa. We were all battling it out with our internal demons and were told, by our Teacher, to stay the hell away from one another. “Fine with me”, and yet… these were my brothers, friends in the sangha from whom I could have learned, and vice effing versa.

My Teacher used to tease me mercilessly about my “hatred of men.” It took years of clearing and processing for me to realize that the hatred, the disgust and lack of respect I felt for certain patriarchal indulgences and behaviors was directed precisely at aspects of myself. I had been holding myself accountable for my own internally held misogeny. I had designed a lifetime that would force me to experience patriarchal disenfranchisement firsthand, in the midst of the cycle-shift of its demise, whilst awakening in a feminine form. And you think you do things the hard way!

The stories that flew through my head would have been really embarrassing if I still had that kind of ego. Images of me chatting on Oprah {I mean, on Oprah! } with Buddhist notables, spiritual avatars and the like, who, in these stories, would invariably finally recognize me as a Divine embodiment and do so publicly, for all to see. Uh-huh. No ego there… so let’s see, projected authority, self-aggrandizement, addicted to celebrity, notoriety… all rank, ‘beginner stuff’. So what was this really about?

SHE laughed and whispered, “What did you want from your friend?” I blinked… and gasped. I was happy to help. I felt nothing more than gratitude for the opportunity to ladle light in that direction… and yet…Deep within me, somewhere that had remained hidden all this time, was a sliver of a seed of a thoughtform of wanting to be respected by “those friends”, by “those brothers”. It could be tracked back to Tibet and the last lifetime there, if I felt like being distracted by still more stories… or it could be the patriarchal webbing woven into this body that is still, even now, releasing…One thing you will find, after awakening, is that “your” stories were never yours at all. Every story is everyone’s and no one’s. We pick our past-life memories just like we choose our parents, in order to facilitate what we are incarnating to learn. A story is a story is a story. Some are more fun than others. I recommend choosing the fun ones.

So here it was, and the next wave of montage held all of the allegedly agonizing detail anyone addicted to drama might crave. Someone “dressed as” me, imparting wisdom to “the brothers”. Now, wait a minute! Where, in this body, is it still written that the male aspects of anyone, wearing the male or the female biosuit, need to be impressed? Deserve to be? Or it is this aspect of me that wants to deserve and still feels need? My body spiraled out images of safety and support lying that direction… as I repeated the mantra “let go, let go, let go”… and there the viral symptoms began. Viral intestinal purge. So much fun!

I asked my primary healer to clear the viruses {viral attack} and to validate where the opening had occurred. What triggers us, even when it is only held in the physical body, creates an opening. The opening can be used for release, health and healing, or as a portal for other energies. The choice is ours.

Stalking the story of how some vestige of self still wanted to impress someone else freed my physical body further from the patriarchal matrix. “Wake up, Neo…” Let me count the ways.

What stories are you stalking? What patterns and programs are up for release? What parts of you still believe these templates are more powerful than SHE is? Be absorbed, shining ones. If you’re going to dream stories, dream the fun ones! Let HER show you the way to stalk and release the rest.

Love to you,