I’ve had a bit of a layman’s obsession with numerology and seeing recurring number sequences for quite a long time now, such as 2020, 1111, 3113 and so on. Over the years I have taught myself various calculations and ways of interpreting the results. My newest venture is to learn about Chaldean numerology, which is a much, much older system than the Pythagorean one, and some people feel it is more accurate. Of course there are those who think we’re all bat shit crazy, but to each their own. Learning about this new system, (following legally changing my name with guidance from a numerological genius named Psio ) has rekindled my obsession and I’ve been learning more about all of my friends’ and family’s numbers too. Just because single parenting isn’t enough work – why not add some pointless maths?
I got a bit lost in the world of writing inactivity…. again! January went great with the self focus and February was a bit more of a challenge as I kept forgetting to do my gratitude practice. March has been the hardest by far, though, as I have sought to look at nutrition and healthy eating and activity practices. I planned to observe how the food I ate made me feel for a while and then set about changing things up, but as I am writing (and only as I am writing) I have realised why it was so hard. Focusing on what I was eating and how it made me feel is one of the most uncomfortable things I can do. It shows up how unhappy and how unhealthy I feel in my body and it shows up how little I feel like I have control. And I suppose, seeing as our bodies are the vehicles in which we journey through life, it is symbolically shows up how I feel about my place in the world.
I feel too big, too heavy, too tall, too masculine, too sweaty, too tired, too lethargic… I feel like I need to be different to what I am. Obviously there are lots of levels where I say ‘fuck that, that’s not OK, don’t talk to yourself like that’. Unfortunately it takes a bit more work than not eating cake to rewrite not only your internal script but decades of societal and familial pressure to ‘be’ a certain way. My body feels like it belongs to my nursing daughter, who isn’t particularly kind to my body, but neither am I! So yeah… this month was never going to be an easy month. I tried and failed and tried and failed and tried and failed to implement change, though if I am still here trying I suppose I haven’t failed at all! Hoorah!
Usually when I disappear from my ‘duties’ (like this is a duty, ha!), it’s because I am stagnating and not really committing to myself properly. For once, I’ve actually been upping my game fractionally every day on the self worth commitment front. Is my life better? No, i’m still grumpy and miserable and stressed and I moan and bitch all the time. Perhaps I could even say things feel a little bit worse, but that isn’t true. All that has happened through this process so far is that I have become more aware of what I am creating mindlessly. I am yet to return to a level of control over what I am making manifest in my life, but awareness and acceptance is a first step, as they say.
I am aware that I look for or expect the worst, I panic, I blame, I give up or don’t even start, I don’t believe myself or others (less of this latter one) capable of something big or small… I am basically a fucking doomer. I don’t feel unwell, I don’t feel really low… I just feel disconnected from my happy, wholesome source. And my absent progress is that every day I am doing something to step closer towards my core. There will come a time, as there has in the past, when I will be able to do this at the flip of a switch. I don’t feel there yet, and another thing that’s changed is I am more ok with that… I am more accepting of where I am at. Life can be better but I am taking steps to make it so.
I have had a burning desire to write for days but feel like I have absolutely fuck all to say. I feel pretty void of meaning at the moment and am still struggling to commit. Writing a big ol’ blog post about self selecting to partake in changing the world kinda put more pressure on the public nature of this ‘awakening’ shit.
Here is the score.
I can commit to keeping the baby alive and happy, cleaning the house and feeding us decent stuff and going somewhere a few times a week. I can maintain this with ease. Some days the baby doesn’t make it possible for me to feed us and for me to shower too, though. Sometimes I can shower and dry my hair. Others a very quick wash is managed. Lately I’ve been trying to follow a 30 day yoga program and there is zero relaxation to the sudden smell of poo and a child jumping all over your plank. But I’m ploughing on. Some days are better than others. Most nights lately I can’t step away from her when she sleeps, because she wakes. I can’t make too much sound near her, because she wakes. Daytime naps are much the same. Some weeks I can put the bins out. Some weeks it’s easy to get up the town and buy nicer groceries for better meals. Occasionally I can make an effort with looking after myself more externally with clothes or make up or hair straighteners. Some days I need to see other adults and choose between that and any other of the above in a variety of arrangements but I can never do all the things I want or need. Sorting out the house that still doesn’t feel very loved? The laundry? The garden? Crikey. Writing? fuck… I don’t even know where to add that in, because I used to have a set sort of method for encouraging the motivation to do it. Ive had loads of exciting ideas bubbling up but they dramatically disappear whenever my brain finds reasons that I can make space to use them.
I know I keep harping on about them, but I’m still reading those books. I’ve nearly finished the fourth of the trilogy (there were only meant to be three) and I am loving the confirmation of what I’ve always felt I knew and understood but couldn’t articulate. The remembering of our truth. Of who we are and what we are trying to do…
They’re setting off fireworks in my heart and soul. Rejoicing at feeling closer to a home state, not a suffering, powerless and pointless one.
Our aim is simply to experience the grandest vision of our reality we can manage,and to keep enlarging that as our awareness of truth increases. Our aim is to be create the best design for life we can come up with. Literally … No limits. Apart from the walls we’ve built around ourselves and our knowing.
Its Yule, or winter solstice, here in the Northern Hemisphere. The shortest hours of daylight in the year and tomorrow marks the return of the light. I am welcoming that with big massive bells on!! There is also a full moon, a meteor shower and I just finished my second period in two years. LET IT ALLLLLLLL GO!!!!!!
I have been seeing a chiropractor to help with both historic and pregnancy related pain. There is physical, mental and emotional shite trapped in my bones, joints, muscles, tendons – all over the bloody shop – and I’ve decided to get some help for the stuff I can’t reach myself. Its like stirring up the murky bit at the bottom of a pond – it looked clear, but give it a stir and all hell breaks loose and you can’t see clearly. Throughout last night I experienced what I can only describe as a swarm of bees and electricity jolting through the tissue in my body. It needed to be wiggled and stretched out. The sensation is horrid, but the release and the freedom, the sense of greater clarity and better movement – both physically and spiritually – are worth the shit bits.
Last night I was talking to a friend, about how we both felt a bit disconnected from our ‘creative flow’. We both like to write. Talking about it again today made me remember a few things I had planned to include in my last post, but that had escaped me. Pre baby, words would bubble up inside me and I’d rush to a pen or some device. There would be no thinking or planning, it would just flow
Post baby, sometimes I can’t even run the tap without being interrupted by my daughter, and her needs trump my need to write about 80% of the time. Maybe all %s of the time, or maybe less. Who knows. My point is that I can’t write freely like I used to. Not always at least. That had left me feeling quite stifled and it’s taken me until now to even attempt to break out of the writing rut. Even my new phone is against me, because I can’t type as fast as I used to without spilling gobbledegook onto the screen. It’s like some force is trying to slow me down and make me think more carefully, plan better and create more space and pace for self-expression. Based on the last post, that force will be me if I want to be liberated into sole responsibility for my life experience!