24 persons of the gentlest kind, bright eyed and shining last night. It was hot, too hot and I felt dizzy, like I was about to faint. My first panic attack during a class. Not good. I love yoga. Or I used too. And still do, kinda.
Here is a story:
I cannot even bring myself to take a yoga class outside of my own bedroom's four walls. It's like this right now. There is a new graduate at the studio, I will call him Jack. Jack is me 10 or 15 years ago before yoga was all Lululemon (side note: I had to google how to spell it, that's how much I could care less about these great fitting awesome ass making pants) outside of a yoga studio. Fuck, before Lululemon even existed as a matter of fact. Lululemon was not yet born, (2nd side note: personally I like the men's wear A LOT) not even a seedling. Jack is shouting from the rooftops, so eager and light and full of yoga I want to shake him- HARD and say: it's BULLSHIT, stop this nonsense right now! (side note 3: Thing one just walked in, earphones and music loud as hell, barely a hello, jacket, knapsack, intact and walks on by and up the stairs to her room; DOOR CLOSED) Sigh. This life of mine. Why do I take it so personally? What behooves me to think my life is so important? More important than anyone else? It isn't. So I won't. Shake him, I will let him be. We need the Jacks of the world, the Jacks that used to be me. (side note 4 Carl gets home, a huge argument ensues between the both of them, regarding make up and the borrowing and not returning of it (of all stupid things) and Carl asks? why is this family so not normal?-well she said it with much more vigour and colourful words than that: insert FUCKED UP????!
So I know I'm not the only person who has had a near death experience, or biggest trauma in the world EVER, as I'd like to call it. I know that. My therapists, my friends, my doctors, strangers even; have all told me, this is not uncommon. People die and come back. Yet.
Three years later I still struggle. I struggle. I have done energy work. I have prayed. I have read. Lord knows I have godalmighty meditated. I have looked inside. I have looked outside. High and low, up and down, still no soul. I am damaged. I'm afraid this is as good as it gets. And I can't erase it. The experience of falling, drowning into that abyss of dark light.
My vision friend/ people reader RayofSunshine lay me down a year ago and worked her magic. She traveled my death life journey with me. I was on the precipice of staying or going. I wanted to stay. There. In the void. It was comfort. No fear. I could feel it. Rayray says she felt it too BUT my work here wasn't finished. And I conclude that unwillingly being brought back HERE has fucked me up. She says Thing One needed me, begging me to come back, even though I was done. My work here, with her and her sister was finished. Complete. Over. But not. Yet.
So What Now? Still searching. Still feeling. Still wanting. Still needing. Still empty and coming up short. You can google people like Anita Mooranji who is making a profit from this story. I say: good for her. Telling her story is great. People need to know. It's all good. My story would be called: Jesus Was a Carpenter- (that's for another time). She, like me, was at the same crossroad. Do I stay or do I go? She chose to go, to come back. Here. To the people, to the grass, to the plants, the water, the brilliant shining sun and the fresh air you breath. I wanted to stay. In the void. The bliss of that darkness sheltered me. I was safe. I was home. So her and I. We are the same. And different. Soulless; I'm still looking and holding on for dear life.
*******It's pouring all out of me; I can't stop**********