One minute I’m shaking like I’m going through withdrawal, the next I want to throw my mug against the wall so it shatters into a million, billion pieces.
Then I want to cry, but almost in relief, instead of in mourning, as it has been so often recently.
I try to move, and the world shifts and pulses around me, and I can’t tell which way is up.
I look at my hands, and they belong to someone else, the same someone else who’s putting food in someone else’s mouth, only it’s mine.
My mind drifts, and I find myself wandering in the energy of the TV shows of my childhood, like “Mr Squiggle” and “Humphrey B Bear”.
While I’m eating dinner, I feel like I could sink my spoon right into the side of my head, if I wanted to.
So, would it be OK if I screamed?
And yet I amazed at how calm and composed I appear from the outside.
Like everything is utterly normal, while this utter chaos whirls inside my experience.
I’m not mad, I know I’m not mad, but it sure feels a little crazy right now.
And I’m supposed to do what with all of this?
Just ride it out? Remember to breathe and drink lots of water? Know how much we are appreciated and admired for the energy we are transmuting right now?
Hard to do something so esoteric, when the world around me is turning on its head.
Like being in labour, and they’re telling you to relax and breathe.
Every inch of you wants to scream, “How about you take my place, and then try telling me to relax and breathe! Just get this baby out of me!”
It’s definitely “an interesting sensation that requires all of your attention“.
And maybe that’s exactly what we’re doing – birthing a new world – and although we know there must be an end to all of this eventually, it’s a bit hard to see it right now in the middle of the noise and confusion and upheaval.
I like the idea that our lives are about to change drastically and forever, but I do most sincerely hope that I get more sleep when it’s over than I did when my babies were born.
Image courtesy of qualitystockphotos.com