Life is a Recovery Process…

  

“We have all been hurt. We have all had to learn painful lessons. We are all recovering from some mistake, loss, betrayal, abuse, injustice or misfortune. All of life is a process of recovery that never ends. We each must find ways to accept and move through the pain and to pick ourselves back up. For each pang of grief, depression, doubt or despair there is an inverse toward renewal coming to you in time. Each tragedy is an announcement that some good will indeed come in time. Be patient with yourself.” — Bryant McGill

Life is a recovery journey… 

I read this today and immediately felt related to it. 

This week has been really rough. Personally, I have had to face certain demons and recover from hard conversations. After those conversations, I did understand at some level, that the life process is all about recovery, “…a process of recovery that never ends.” Recovery from a misunderstanding, a lost relationship, from grief, from a broken heart… Recovery from an illness or from a treatment… Recovery from bankruptcy, from losing your job, from losing your legal status, from losing the guardianship of children you care for. 

Recovery…you name it! 

This week, I witnessed pain and sorrow in the eyes, heart, and soul of a grieving father and widower. And I’m not sure how soon he’ll recover from that.  

He was telling me he didn’t want to deal with people asking him how he was for evidently he was not okay. He didn’t want to answer questions with white lies stating he’s okay. I told him that in time, he will be able to honestly answer that he is better. As the quote says, he will “find ways to accept and move through the pain”… I told him that his recovery would take time and courage.

It’s taken time and courage for me as well. I know it’s taken time and courage for Pat, her family, for many other people, and of course for my children. 

Life is a recovery journey. Recovery takes time. Time…“that never ends.”

Alicia

Life is a recovery process…  

As Alicia so eloquently stated, we are all recovering from something…

“…from a misunderstanding, a lost relationship, from grief, from a broken heart…

from an illness or from a treatment…

from bankruptcy, from losing your job, from losing your legal status, from losing the guardianship of children you care for.”

The process of recovery takes time. 

The process of recovery is work. 

It is going into the darkness and staying there until the darkness is no longer comfortable, until there is a need to feel the warmth of the Light on our face, the warmth of the Light in our soul.

 

Recovery takes courage.

Courage to face our demons, courage to face people and situations, courage to face our pain.

Courage to face the loneliness.

Recovery takes strength. 

Strength to get out of bed to go to work.

Strength to take care of our children when we can barely take care of ourselves.

Strength to pick yourself up.

Strength to keep moving, moving through…

Recovery requires acceptance.

Accepting what is so we can move forward, move through…

 

Moving through life takes courage and strength, the trick of recovery is loving through the pain.

Loving enough to keep moving forward, to keep moving through, especially when you feel as though you don’t have the strength, or the courage, or the desire, to get out of bed.

Just give it time and be patient and kind with yourself.

Allow yourself to follow that faint glow in the dark. Follow that glow until it leads you to the warmth of the Light, the warmth of Love on your face and in your soul.

In Light and Love,

Pat

We Are Not Meant To Stay Wounded



“We are not meant to stay wounded. We are supposed to move through our tragedies and challenges and to help each other move through the many painful episodes of our lives. By remaining stuck in the power of our wounds, we block our own transformation. We overlook the greater gifts inherent in our wounds — the strength to overcome them and the lessons that we are meant to receive through them. Wounds are the means through which we enter the hearts of other people. They are meant to teach us to become compassionate and wise.” – Caroline Myss

We are not meant to stay wounded…

We aren’t.

When life hits us with all its might, we feel as if we have no other choice but to be wounded. We become the wound.

When we become the wound we incessantly pick at it. We rip off the scab. We make it bleed. We leave it open, raw, unattended. We don’t allow a scar tissue to form, to seal the wound, to protect it and consequently heal it.

When we act as if we are the wound, we try to wound others. Our pain is so big we want to bring it upon everyone and anyone. We do this mostly and especially with those closest to us.

We want them to feel our pain. We want them to only see our wound. We want them to become a wound as well.

Only when we surrender the pain to a Higher Source we are able to let go of the need to hurt others, to hurt ourselves.

Healing takes time and patience.

At some point during this process we rediscover our own innate healing capacity and we finally allow the wound to heal. We allow a scar to form.

Once this healing occurs we are able to see “the greater gifts inherent in our wounds.” We are able to find “the strength to overcome them and the lessons that we are meant to receive through them.“

When we are around those who are hurting we see their wounds as “the means through which we enter their hearts.” We help them move through…
 

As they heal, we heal. 

We are not meant to stay wounded…

We aren’t. Period.

Alicia

A Spirit of Power and Courage

I have been blessed with a spirit of power and courage!

Do you believe you have a spirit of power and courage?

At times in my life, I did not believe this. I thought I was powerless, I lived in fear of not being good enough. I felt like a nobody, felt unloved and unimportant.

The pain of these beliefs led me to a very dark place, a place where I knew I could not, would not, live for the rest of my life.

Then, my powerful, courageous,
spirit kicked in. Pushing me to make positive changes in my life, allowing me to see my Light, allowing me to remember
I AM POWERFUL AND I AM COURAGEOUS!
I have been blessed with a spirit
of power and courage.

My beloved sisters and brothers, so have you.

In light and love,
Pat

Your Most Effective Ministry

“Other people are going to find healing in your wounds. Your greatest life messages and your most effective ministry will come out of your deepest hurts.” Rick Warren

These words are true for me.

I have found healing in the wounds of many others who have had similar losses and/or have gone through similar experiences. Their life stories have inspired me. The way they have gone, or are still going, through their darkest moments has been a light in my own darkness.

I’ve met people that have tried to motivate others towards healing with words that sound wise but that are, in a way, empty. Words that have meant well but carry no healing energy, no power, no inspiration. Why? Simply because these words have come from someone who has not fully gone through a major loss, a tough or painful experience, a dark night of the soul.

Motivating others to SEE and BElieve that their own healing is somehow possible can be easier when you come from wholeheartedness, from your inner courage, from your own experience.

One of my greatest healers and ministers is Pat. The way she carries herself, the way she shows up in the world, the way she lives her truth, the way she has kept on going on has been pivotal in my own way of continuing to go on with my life during/after loss.

The “work” we do together in this “ministry” we call Iluminada is for me, one of my most effective and centering healing opportunities.

As we share our journeys with you, we find healing on the way. Hopefully, our wounds, our deepest hurts, along with our stories of joy and success inspire you as well.

Alicia

Promote Wellness Through Words

Every thought influences every particle of our physical being. Bless your body with healthy, healing, divine thoughts.

What words do you use to describe your body, your temple?
Do you use healthy, positive words? Do you use words that promote wellness in your body or words that encourage dis-ease?

We use words such as, “I am sick” or “I have…(some disease)”. The words we use will determine our level of wellness. Using negative words to describe our temple washes our cells in toxins. Toxins that poison our body, poison our thoughts about our body.

And we may, do, experience dis-ease in our body. What we believe about our body determines our level of wellness. Our thoughts and our words should bless our bodies. We should take the time to thank every particle of our bodies for all they have done for us, all they do for us.

Our bodies are the temple for our soul. Let us keep our temples strong and healthy by reminding every particle…every molecule…every atom…of our being that they are healthy, whole, complete, lacking nothing. Let us remind our bodies, our temples, they are Divinely perfect! Because that is our Truth, we and our bodies are Divine perfection.

In light and love,
Pat

Touch. Is. Healing.

Touch.Is.Healing.

When was the last time you touched/hugged/kissed/caressed someone you love just out of the blue and for no particular reason?

As I sat on the bleachers watching my son’s football game, I saw two little girls around 8 or 9 years old, meeting each other with hugs, kisses, giggles and holding each other’s hands as they walked down the bleachers in joy. Evidently they were friends, truly happy to find each other there. As they walk down the stairs they saw a toddler boy in a stroller. They went to him, hugged and kissed him. They played with him and spoke to him in a tiny, cute voice.Then, they held hands again and left skipping and giggling.

The same day, I went to the beach and saw my son, playing, and having fun with Pat’s grandkids. They were playing in the sand, one would bury their feet in the sand and the other two would gently push him back and forth into the waiting arms of the others. They didn’t mind being pushed back and forth into each other’s arms, they were not uncomfortable with each other’s touch. They were comfortable and happy being in each other’s presence.

When did we lose that sense of connection with others?

I am a person that touches and caresses the ones I love. I do this constantly. I probably do it too much. I’m a huger! I don’t get touched frequently, especially after my husband’s death. He was as touchy/feely as I am. (I miss that a lot) Yet, that doesn’t stop me from doing it.

I do it especially if I happen to meet with a person, who might not be one of my closest friends or a family member, but is going through some tough times.

Touching, to me, is healing. I am not talking about sensual, romantic touch, which is also healing. I am talking about caressing someone’s hand or arm, hugging them unexpectedly, caressing their head, placing your hands on their shoulders. All of these for no reason.

Touching. Is. Healing. We are here to connect with each other.

Today, hug someone you love and care for. Randomly. Unexpectedly. For no particular reason… Try it. The joy you’ll get from this is simply amazing.

Alicia

Allow the Healing You Desire

“Allow the healing you desire”.

Are you aware that all the health, abundance, love, and joy you need and desire is already within? You already posses all you could possibly need, but you need to awaken to this Truth. And not only to awaken to it, but to remain awake and aware to it. This, requires work. “Do you want to be made well?”

I was in meditation a few days ago after a phone call with a mentor. During this meditation, I came back with the “knowing” that the healing I desire already happened. I just have not awakened to it yet. I have not allowed it to happen. So, my prayer was, “let me see it. Let me live it. Let me become aware of it.”

I’ve had personal issues with my physical self. I have pain when I walk. I have not been able to figure out where it’s coming from, what’s causing it, why is it happening. As much energy work that has been done and as many pain killers I’ve taken, I still randomly and unexpectedly hurt when I walk.

So, after the meditation, I truly knew that the healing I need is already in me. That my body is already as perfect as it needs to be, as it came here to be. Yet I am not allowing it to express.

When Pat and I were talking about this topic, she said that any healing requires work. This work on “allowing” the healing, whether is physical, emotional, or psychological, requires work.

Important side note: We are NOT in any way saying that if there’s a medical need you shouldn’t visit a doctor. We are NOT counselors nor physicians.

The work required in the allowing, to us, means being mindful and aware of what we do, and what we say; being aware of our beliefs. Being aware of the affirmations we say on daily basis as they reflect our beliefs; they reflect what we believe to be true and it might not be. For me, personally, allowing a healing to happen, the healing you desire, is like waking up.

I think I’ve been asleep for a long time and as much as I’m dreaming this healing to happen, I have not awaken to it, hence I have not allowed it to happen. So, I have declared that I am “healthy, whole, complete, lacking in nothing”, and I will work to remain awake and aware to this Truth.

Would you consider doing this with me? To try to awaken to the Truth in you?

Here’s the VIDEO version of this post. Enjoy!

Grief’s Dare… (El Reto del Luto)

“Grief dares us to love once more.” – Terry Tempest Williams

A year ago, this IluminadaEC blog, began with a description written by my friend Pat about loss; a description that includes a healing opportunity. But, how do you heal from loss… from a profound, deep and impactful loss? Well, as she said then “…we can choose to feel it…And feel it again, and again, and again, for however many times it needs to be felt, embraced and honored.”

One of the many losses I’ve experienced is the “loss of the idea of who and what [I am]” through my whole “abandonment” story. Recently I had lunch with a dear friend and through our conversation I went back in time telling her about my past romances (the ones I lived before my late husband’s time). We talked about the patterns in my relationships. This part of the conversation started when I told her I was ready for a new romance. I told her I was previously asked if I was “healed enough” to take on this new path. My answer was that I believed I would never be healed “enough”. I am healing, yes, but I would never be totally and absolutely healed. Being a widow is a part of me. A part I’ve learned to live with. A part I hope this future “awesome loving partner” accepts and honors. She agreed.

Going back to the “patterns” again, we discovered that one of mine is that I am a forward person. In the past, if I liked a man, I simply approached him and let him know, and then I allowed him to take it from there. Something like “the ball is now in your court… Let’s play!” That’s how I met my late husband. She said that I manifested these relationships and complimented me on my “manifesting” powers.

I didn’t use these “powers” much while married hence they went dormant. My husband was a provider and I didn’t need to manifest much. He took care of everything. Having kids, emigrating from our country due to politics, and embracing this life as an immigrant, (which is easier said than done) created a whole new set of rules and beliefs. Then, after being married for sixteen years, eight months and ten days, my husband dies leaving me empty handed.

While telling her this part of my story, I became aware of how hard I am on myself, among many other things, for not being able to manifest much, to manifest the life I want, the life I yearn for, the one I deserve. My friend asked me when I began doubting these powers. This was a hard question. I did not know the answer. She told me to look in my heart and not think about it.

The answer came loud and clear. It all began ten years ago when I met my birth mother (here we go again, geez!) Yes, I know. We’ve talked about this before. Believe me, it bores me too. So, I decided to be “forward” once again and called my birth mother after lunch. Past the proper “hellos” I went ahead and told her I needed to ask her some very personal questions. I warned her that it was not my intention to hurt or upset her in any way, but that I needed to know certain things that were lingering in my head since our last visit.

As you might remember (if you follow our blogs) I did go to visit her and it was a day full of grace and ease. We talked about trivial things. She sat close to me and held my hand. She thanked my mom for raising me and, in return, my mom thanked her for the “gift” of my presence. It was beautiful and healing. Ho’oponopono does work!

So, I went ahead and asked her: “How did you feel [emotionally] when you were pregnant with me?” “Did you ever contemplate an abortion?” “What did you do when you had me on your arms?” “How were you able to abandon me?”

Her answers were honest and brave, full of emotions and vulnerability. She felt horrible due to being a widow that got pregnant by a married man. She never contemplated abortion. NEVER, she said. When she had me in her arms she breast fed me (this I didn’t know). Leaving me was the hardest thing she ever did. At first it went for short periods of time (none of this I remember, of course) then she lost her job and had no support whatsoever, so she had to leave town and was not able to come back. She had no money and four more kids to raise. Time went by, life continued to evolve and when she came back, years after, we were gone.

She said that not one night did she go to bed without either crying or praying for me. She always prayed that she would have news about me, and never lost her faith. Lo and behold… I found her.

I was in awe. I told her how hurt I felt by her rejection ten years ago. I told her I didn’t answer the phone on purpose. I said that I didn’t want to talk to her. She knew… I apologized. I apologized because I was in fact hurting her by not being willing to speak to her. She forgave me.

I chose to feel it! We started over.

This whole concept about the “loss of the idea of who and what [I am]” was brought back to me from the dark place it was hidden, into a healing light; a different perspective.

As an immigrant that needs to adapt to the new environment, anyone loses a part of their idea of whom and what they are. I lost part of this idea when I found out I was “adopted“. I lost another piece when she aimlessly rejected me. I lost a big chunk when I became a widow. I have always been a person that gets emotionally attached to the ones I love (pattern alert!). These losses have made me be even more attached to the people I love wholeheartedly, almost to a smothering point (since I don’t know for how long I will enjoy them). This pattern needs to be released. I need to work on it ASAP!

Today, after this conversation, I lost another part. This part I am willing and ready to let go of, right now, because it’s the part that believed I was abandoned, rejected, discarded, not wanted, not lovable, not enough. I am enough!!! Are my powers back yet?

Grief has showed and taught me many, many unexpected things. The one I just learned? “Grief dares us to love once more.”

To love my grieving children at their worst moments and when they scream that they either hate me or want to die (which both have done); to love my friends (and hope to be loved back) during big and unnecessary misunderstandings I’ve created due to my insecurities; to even dare to love my biological mother (who knew I could actually love her?); and… to dream about adoring my soon to be “awesome loving partner”.

I might not be healed enough, but, I am enough! I am lovable! I will love once more! It’s a dare! 😉

Alicia

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“El dolor del luto nos reta a amar de nuevo.” – Terry Tempest Williams

Hace un año, este blog de IluminadaEC, comenzó con una descripción escrita por mi amiga Pat, acerca de las pérdidas; las pérdidas que sufrimos y las oportunidades de sanar que las mismas brindan. Pero, ¿cómo se sana de una pérdida? De una profunda, intensa e impactante pérdida. Bueno, como ella misma dijo en aquel entonces “…podemos escoger el sentirla…Sentirla, y sentirla de Nuevo, una y otra vez, tantas veces como sean necesarias, sentirla, aceptarla y honrarla.”

Una de las grandes pérdidas que he experimentado es la “pérdida de la idea de qué y quién soy” debido a mi “abandono”. Recientemente almorcé con una querida amiga y a través de la conversación que mantuvimos viajé al pasado para contarle sobre mis romances (los que viví antes de conocer a mi fallecido esposo). Hablamos acerca de los patrones en mis relaciones. Esta parte de la conversación empezó cuando le dije que estaba lista para un nuevo romance. Le conté que me habían preguntado si estaba lo suficientemente sana para recorrer este nuevo camino. Mi respuesta fue  que nunca estaría lo “suficientemente” sana. Estoy sanando, sí, pero nunca estaré completa y absolutamente sana.  La viudez es una parte de mí. Una parte con la que he aprendido a vivir. Una parte que espero mi futuro compañero acepte y honre. Ella estuvo de acuerdo.

Volviendo a los “patrones de conducta” descubrimos que uno de los míos es que soy “echada para adelante”. En el pasado, si me atraía un hombre, me aproximaba y se lo dejaba saber, luego le daba la oportunidad de seguir adelante. Algo así como “la pelota está en tu cancha… ¡Juguemos!” Así conocí a mi difunto esposo. Ella me dijo que yo había manifestado dichas relaciones y me felicitó en mis poderes de manifestación.

No usé mis “poderes” mucho mientras estuve casada por lo cual se adormecieron. Mi esposo proveía así que no tenía mucho que manifestar. Él se hacía cargo de todo. Tener hijos, emigrar de tu país por razones políticas y aceptar la vida del inmigrante (suena más fácil decirlo que hacerlo) creó un nuevo set de reglas y de creencias. Entonces, después de haber estado casada por 16 años, 8 meses y 10 días, mi esposo muere dejándome con las manos vacías.

Mientras le contaba esta parte de mi historia me di cuenta de cuan dura soy conmigo misma (además de otras cosas) por no ser capaz de manifestar la vida que quiero, la que añoro, la que merezco. Mi amiga me preguntó cundo empecé a dudar esto “poderes”. Esta fue una pregunta difícil.  No sabía la repuesta. Me dijo que buscara en mi corazón y que no pensara en ello.

La respuesta vino claramente. Todo empezó hace diez años cuando conocí a mi madre biológica (aquí vamos de nuevo). Si, ya sé que hemos hablado de esto antes. Créanme, a mí también me aburre. Por lo que decidí ser “echada para adelante” una vez más y la llamé después del almuerzo. Después de los respectivos saludos le dije que tenía que hacerle unas preguntas muy personales. Le advertí que no era mi intención herirla de ninguna manera pero que necesitaba saber ciertas cosas que revoloteaban en mi mente desde nuestra última visita.

Como recordarán (si siguen nuestros blogs) fui a visitarla y pasamos un día llena de gracia y tranquilidad. Hablamos puras trivialidades. Ella se sentó cerca de mí y me agarró la mano. Ella le agradeció a mi mama por mi crianza y mi mamá por el “regalo” de mi presencia. Fue hermoso y sanador. ¡La práctica del Ho’oponopono funciona!

Le pregunté: “¿Cómo te sentiste [emocionalmente] cuando estabas embarazad de mí?” “¿Contemplaste alguna vez el aborto?” “¿Qué hiciste cuando me tuviste en brazos?” “¿Cómo fuiste capaz de abandonarme?”

Sus respuestas fueron honestas y valientes, llenas de emoción y vulnerabilidad. Se sintió horrible al ser una vida embarazada de un hombre casado. Nunca contempló el aborto. “NUNCA”, me dijo. Cuando me tuvo en sus brazos me dió pecho (esto ni me lo imaginaba). Dejarme fue lo más duro que tuvo que hacer. Al principio fue por cortos períodos (de nada de esto me acuerdo claro está) entonces perdió su empleo y sin ningún tipo de apoyo se tuvo que regresar a su ciudad y se le hizo difícil volver pues no tenía dinero y tenía cuatro hijos que mantener. El tiempo pasó, la vida siguió su curso y cuando pudo volver, años después, nos habíamos mudado.

Me dijo que no pasó una noche sin llorar u orar por mí. Que siempre oró por tener noticias de mí, que nunca perdió la fe.  Así que pasó lo que tenía que pasar… la encontré.

Me impresionaron sus respuestas. Le dije cuan herida me había sentido por su rechazo hace diez años. Le dije que había rechazado sus llamadas telefónicas a propósito. Que no quería hablar con ella. Ella sabía… Le pedí disculpas. Le pedí disculpas pues de hecho la estaba hiriendo al negarme a hablar con ella. Ella me disculpó.

¡Escogí sentirlo! Comenzamos de nuevo.

Este concepto acerca de la “pérdida de la idea de qué y quién soy” volvió a mí, desde el lugar oscuro donde se escondía, hacia la luz sanadora; una perspectiva diferente.

Como inmigrante que necesita adaptarse a un nuevo ambiente, cualquiera puede perder la idea de quién y que es. Perdí parte de la idea de quien era cuando descubrí que era “adoptada”. Perdí otra parte cuando ella sin querer me rechazó. Perdí un gran pedazo al quedarme viuda. Siempre he sido una persona que se encariña demasiado y se vuelve excesivamente apegada a las personas que escojo querer (¡alerta de patrón!). Estas pérdidas me han hecho ser aún más apegada a la gente que quiero al punto de sofocarles (pues no sé por cuanto tiempo los tendré a mi lado). Este patrón debe ser dejado ir. Necesito trabajar en esto ya mismo.

Hoy, después de esta conversación, perdí otra parte. Pero esta parte quiero dejarla ir ahora mismo pues es la parte que creyó haber sido abandonada, rechazada, descartada, no querida, indigna de amor, no suficiente. ¡Soy suficiente!!! ¿Ya volvieron mis poderes?

El dolor del luto me ha enseñado muchas, muchas cosas inesperadas. ¿La que acabo de aprender? “El dolor del luto nos reta a amar de nuevo.”

A amar a mis hijos en sus peores momentos cuando me gritan que me odian o que quieren morirse (lo cual ambos han hecho); a amar a mis amigas (y esperar ser amada en retorno) durante innecesarios malentendidos que yo misma he creado debido a mis inseguridades; inclusive hasta querer a mi madre biológica (¿quién pensó que esto sería posible?); y… hasta soñar con amar a mi futuro compañero de vida.      

¡Puede que aún no esté completamente sana, pero, soy suficiente! ¡Soy digna de amor! ¡Volveré a amar de nuevo! ¡Es un reto! 😉

Alicia

The Physical Pain of Grief… (El Dolor Físico del Luto)

The all consuming pain of grief is not limited to emotional pain; it also includes physical and spiritual pain.

I have been experiencing back pain. The muscles of my back get so tight, it is difficult for me to take a deep breath…at times, difficult to breathe.

I was gifted with a session with an energy healer by a dear friend.
The first question asked was, “are there any areas of pain or discomfort?”
I smiled wryly to myself, thought, “yeah, my whole body…my whole life!”
I told him of my back pain, he said, “oh, that’s your heart chakra.”  (Shocker, huh?).
My friend quietly asked, “can I tell him?” I shook my head yes…she told him of my son’s recent death.  He treated me with kindness and paid attention to the intimate story that my body was telling him.

He started with my feet, performing reflexology, then worked at the corresponding areas of my body where he found “issues“.  He found several areas of “issues“.

I was told I have “issues” where my ovaries were, “mothering issues“.
Mothering issues!  Where do I start?
The morning of Gregory’s death, he was getting ready to leave town to work.  I wanted to tell him not to go, tell him, we could make it a few more weeks until he could find work locally. I didn’t say anything because I knew he wouldn’t listen.  He had made up his mind, he was stubborn, he wouldn’t listen.
I can’t remember if I told him that I loved him before I left for work that day.  I KNEW him leaving town to work was not a good decision; I was annoyed with him, with his decision to leave.  I can’t remember if I told him that I loved him, I am haunted by this daily.  I now make a point to tell my children and grandchildren that I love them every time I am in their presence, annoyed or not.
I feel profound pain because I was not with him at the time of his accident.
I wasn’t there to hold him, to tell him that his mommy was there, that I would take care of him.  I WASN’T THERE.  He was with strangers when he needed me most, when I should have been with him most.  Strangers that took extraordinary care of my firstborn child in my absence.  I am indebted to each and every person that worked so hard to try to save my child’s life.
I hope in my brokenness I am able to be all that my daughter, son in law and grandchildren need me to be for them, to meet their needs, to meet our needs.
I hope I am the best GMom to my granddaughter, as I am the only “parent” she has.
Mothering issues, yeah…just a few.

I was told that my liver is “inflamed“, told the liver is where we hold anger.
Where do I even begin with this one?
Angry, hell yeah, I feel angry!
I feel angry at Gregory’s decisions on that last day.
I feel furious that his friend, someone that Gregory loved and trusted, put him in harm’s way.  I feel angry that I did not have the opportunity to hold him one last time, when he was injured and scared.
I feel angry that I couldn’t comfort my baby one last time.
I feel angry at myself for not telling him to stay home.
I feel angry that it took over five hours for me to be notified of his accident, all those precious moments gone, moments away from him,  when we all should have been with him, been together.
I feel angry that people have made up their own malicious stories of Gregory’s accident, stories that are not true.  Stories that would confuse and hurt his daughter deeply if she ever heard them.
I feel angry that people made promises to my granddaughter that they have not kept.
I feel angry that my son was taken from us, from me, too soon.
I feel angry that my beautiful child did not know his worth, his value, to his family and to the world.
Yes, I feel angry.

My next area of “issues“, my knees.  The area that holds the need to forgive.
So much anger, so much forgiveness work to do.
I go back and forth with self forgiveness.  I know I was not going to change his mind about leaving town to work, but I did not try.
I know that I was not supposed to be with him at the time of his accident, but I am having a hard time forgiving my God for taking my child away from me before I could hold him and comfort him one last time.
I go back and forth in forgiveness for my boy.  Some days I am at peace knowing he is doing great works, BEING his Divine self, KNOWING his value and his worth, serving in his divinity.  Other days, the anger takes over and forgiveness is the furthest thing from my heart.
I am very far from forgiving Gregory’s friend.  I have been told that he held my child until help could get to him, for that I am grateful.   I know my son loved him. I am grateful my baby was held by someone he knew and loved.
I am finding it difficult to forgive those that have created stories about the accident. To these people, I feel indifference.
Lots of forgiveness work to do; I am a work in progress.

The last area the healer focused on was my back.  He explained since I had so much pain, not able to breathe deeply, I was not allowing God in.  It is through our breath, that we allow God in.  He is right; I do not allow God in.  Why would I allow my God in when I am so angry?  I’m not ready to forgive my God yet; so much has been taken away from us, from me.

At some level, I know that we all pick when and how we will be born, and when and how we will die and who will be with us at both of these events.  In my humanness, I forget this knowledge. In my humanness, I feel anger towards my God and my son.

I know that through the grace and ease of Spirit…and time…I will remember this Truth; I will forgive my God and my son.  In my present, grief hurts… physically, emotionally, spiritually…it hurts.

In the meantime, I am trying to breathe deeply.  Trying to breathe in my God, trying to be healed, trying to forgive.

I am trying.

Pat

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

El completamente consumidor dolor que el luto proporciona no es limitado a lo emocional, incluye también dolor físico y espiritual.

Últimamente he tenido dolor de espalda. Los músculos de mi espalda están tan comprimidos que se me dificulta tomar un respiro profundo…a veces, se me hace difícil respirar.

Una amiga me regaló una sesión con un sanador.
Su primera pregunta fue, “¿hay algún área de dolor o incomodidad?”
Sonreí irónicamente para mí misma, “¡sí, todo mi cuerpo… toda mi vida!”

Le mencioné mi dolor de espalda, el dijo, “oh, ese es tu chakra del corazón” (¿Impresionante?)

Mi amiga me pregunto en voz baja, “¿le puedo decir?” Moví mi cabeza aceptando… ella le habló de la reciente muerte de mi hijo. El sanador me trató con compasión y prestó mucha atención a la íntima historia que mi cuerpo le contaba.

Empezó dándome reflexología en los pies, entonces continuo con las áreas correspondientes de mi cuerpo donde encontró “problemas”. Encontró muchas áreas con “problemas”.

Se me informó que tenía “problemas” donde estaban mis ovarios, “problemas maternales.”
¡Problemas maternales! ¿Por dónde empiezo?
La mañana del día en que Gregory murió se estaba alistando par air a trabajar fuera de la ciudad. Quise decirle que no se fuera, decirle que podíamos arreglarnos unas cuantas semanas más hasta que encontrara un empleo aquí. No le dije nada porque sabía que no me escucharía. Ya lo había decidido, era terco, no me escucharía.

No recuerdo haberle dicho que lo quería antes de que se fuera. SABIA que irse de la ciudad por trabajo no era una buena idea; estaba molesta con él, con si decisión de irse. Me atormenta el no poder recordar si le dije que lo quería. Ahora me aseguro de decirles a mi hija y nietos cuanto les quiero cada vez que estoy en su presencia, aun cuando me encuentre molesta

Siento profundo dolor por no haber estado ahí en el momento de su accidente.

No estaba ahí para sostenerlo, para decirle que su mami estaba con él, que lo cuidaría. NO ESTABA AHÍ.

Estaba con extraños cuando me necesitaba más que nunca, cuando yo debería haber estado a su lado. Extraños se hicieron cargo de mi primogénito en mi ausencia. Por siempre les estaré en deuda a todos aquellos que trataron de salvar su vida.

Espero que en mi profundo luto pueda ser capaz de ser lo que mi hija, mi yerno, y mis nietos necesitan que yo sea, para cubrir sus necesidades, nuestras necesidades.

Espero ser la mejor abuela para mi nieta, ya que soy su único “padre”.

Problemas maternales, si… algunos.

Se me informó que mi hígado estaba “inflamado“, que el higado es donde guardamos la rabia.
No sé ni por dónde empezar con esta.
Rabia, ¡por supuesto que siento rabia!
Siento rabia de las decisiones de Gregory su último día.

Me siento furiosa con su amigo, alguien a quien Gregory quería y en quien confiaba, por ponerlo en peligro.

No tuve oportunidad de sostenerlo por última vez cuando estaba herido y lleno de miedo.

Siento rabia de no haber podido consolar a mi bebe una última vez.

Siento rabia hacia mi misma por no haberle dicho que se quedara.

Siento rabia de que pasaron cinco horas para que se me notificara de su accidente, todos esos momentos preciosos se han ido, momentos que no pude estar con él, cuando todos debimos haber estado con él, juntos.

Siento rabia hacia la gente que ha creado historias maliciosas sobre el accidente de Gregory, historias que no son verdad. Historias que confundirían y herirían profundamente a su hija si alguna vez las escuchara.
Siento rabia hacia la gente que le ha hecho promesas sin cumplir a mi nieta.

Siento rabia de que mi hijo nos (me) fue arrebatado demasiado pronto.

Siento rabia de que mi hermoso hijo no supo realmente lo que valía para nosotros y para el mundo.

Si, siento rabia.

Mi próxima área de “problemas”, mis rodillas. El área que se ocupa de la necesidad de perdonar.
Tanta rabia, tanto trabajo de perdón que debo hacer.
Con el auto perdón voy y vengo. Sé que no habría podido cambiar su decisión de irse de la ciudad por trabajo, pero ni siquiera lo intenté.
Sé que no debería haber estado con él al momento de su accidente, pero se me hace difícil perdonar a mi Dios por llevarse a mi hijo antes de que yo pudiera abrazarle y darle consuelo una última vez.

Voy y vengo con el perdón hacia mi hijo. A veces me siento en paz sabiendo que está haciendo cosas magníficas, SIENDO su ser Divino, SABIENDO cuánto vale, sirviendo su divinidad. Otras veces la rabia me asalta y perdonar es la cosa más alejada de mi corazón.
Estoy muy lejos de perdonar al amigo de Gregory. Se me ha dicho que el sostuvo a mi hijo hasta que ayuda llegó por él, por eso estoy agradecida. Sé que mi hijo le quería. Estoy agradecida de que mi bebé fue sostenido por alguien a quien él conocía y quería.
Se me hace difícil perdonar a aquellos que han creado historias acerca de su accidente. Hacia esas personas siento indiferencia.
Bastante que perdonar; soy un trabajo en progreso.

La última área que el sanador trabajó fue mi espalda. Me explicó que el inmenso dolor que sentía y la dificultad para respirar me hacían no dejar entrar a Dios en mi vida. Es a través de nuestra respiración que dejamos entrar a Dios en nuestro cuerpo. Tiene razón, no dejo entrar a Dios. ¿Por qué dejaría entrar a mi Dios cuando siento tanta rabia? No estoy lista para perdonarle; nos han quitado tanto, me ha quitado tanto.

En algún nivel se que escogemos cuando y como nacemos, y cuando y como morimos y quien estará con nosotros durante ambos eventos. En mi humanidad, siento rabia hacia mi Dios y mi hijo.

Sé que a través de la gracia y la facilidad del Espíritu… y tiempo… recordaré esta verdad; perdonaré a mi Dios y a mi hijo. En mi presente, el luto duele… física, emocional y espiritualmente… duele.

Mientras tanto, estoy tratando de respirar profundo. Tratando de inhalar mi Dios, tratando de sanar, tratando de perdonar.

Estoy tratando.

Pat

Ho’oponopono

“If we can accept that we are the sum total of all past thoughts, emotions, words, deeds and actions and that our present lives and choices are colored or shaded by this memory bank of the past, then we begin to see how a process of correcting or setting aright can change our lives, our families and our society.” Morrnah Nalamaku Simeona

One Sunday at church, I heard my Minister mention the Hawaiian ancient practice of reconciliation called Ho’oponopono.

“Hoʻoponopono” is defined in the Hawaiian Dictionary as “mental cleansing: family conferences in which relationships were set right through prayer, discussion, confession, repentance, and mutual restitution and forgiveness.”

It is made of four principles:

1. I am sorry.
2. Please forgive me.
3. I love you.
4. Thank you.

Since my last post was about not feeling “worthy” of the love, the time, the goodness, the blessings of people and life, I thought this practice could help me heal some of that unworthiness if I addressed it properly. On that blog I talked about my birth mother’s abandonment as the source of my feelings of “not being enough”.

I want to make it clear that I have nothing against her personally. I fully understand she did the best she could with what she had and knew at that time. I have nothing to forgive (I even wrote a blog about it). I am simply trying to deal with the “rejection” issue that has caused me so many struggles in life without me being fully aware.

Here’s my brief take on this practice (I did dwell on each case far more than what I am sharing here):

To my birth mother:

*  I am sorry… that at the time I was ready to come into this world it seemed to you as if I came abruptly interrupting the plans you had after becoming a widow. I am sorry that you didn’t have any support from family members, friends or from my birth father. I am sorry you had to go through the experience of delivering your fifth baby (one you weren’t prepared to have) alone and scared. I am sorry for all the pain you must have gone through during these almost 44 years.

*  Please forgive me… for showing up in your life and scaring you in such that you felt the need to run away (twice). For not being aware of how agonizing this must have been for you one way or another. For not being more supportive of your feelings. For not being more approachable and open to conversations you have actually started.

*  I love you… (this was a hard one) I accept you exactly how you are and respect your decisions. I understand you did the best you could at the time with the information you had and your awareness about your capability to raise me. I don’t judge you as a person or as a mother. Never have, never will. I admire your strength for facing me—thirty three years later—and for answering all my questions.

*  Thank you… for bringing me to life beside the circumstances and not choosing abortion as an option. Thank you for leaving me in good hands, in a safe place where I was loved and nurtured. Thank you for briefly receiving me back into your life more than thirty years later. Thank you for continuing to try to reach me during these last ten years on birthdays and holidays even though I haven’t been so open and receptive to your attempts. Thank you for “blessing” (typical Hispanic hello and goodbye) me and my kids every time before you hang up the phone.

To myself:

*  I am sorry… you were born and immediately abandoned. I am sorry you weren’t cradled, breast-fed and nursed. I am sorry you spent your childhood searching for that “something” you felt was missing. I am sorry you have felt “rejected” your whole life even though you grew up in a loving home where you were constantly celebrated. I am sorry this “rejection” feeling made you feel guilty and ungrateful your whole life.

*  Please forgive me… for not being more aware of your inner struggles. For demanding so much of you in times when perhaps what you needed was rest. For not taking good care of your body. For not loving you more or showing you how much I truly love you. For putting you in situations where you were hurt unnecessarily.

*  I love you… I love you so much. I admire you. I cherish everything you are and congratulate you for everything you have accomplished (even though you feel like you’ve accomplished nothing) during the trying times of your life. I celebrate your life. I love everything about you, everything.

*  Thank you… for your joy, for your resilience, for your audacity, for your strength, for your flamboyance. Thank you for being such an amazing woman, for trying to make the best out of every seemingly “bad” thing or situation. Thank you for being so supportive, so compassionate, so loving and caring. Thank you for sparking the fire in me.

As this healing process continues, I thank all of you for your support…

Alicia

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“Si podemos aceptar que somos la suma total de todos nuestros pasados pensamientos, emociones, palabras, obras y acciones, y que nuestra vida presente y las cosas que elegimos están coloreadas o ensombrecidas por este banco de memorias del pasado, entonces empezamos a ver como un proceso de corregir o enderezar puede cambiar nuestras vidas, nuestras familia, y nuestra sociedad.” Morrnah Nalamaku Simeona

Un domingo en la Iglesia escuché a mi Ministro mencionar la práctica de reconciliación Hawaiana llamada Ho’oponopono.

“Hoʻoponopono” es definido en el diccionario Hawaiano como “limpieza mental: conferencias familiares en las cuales las relaciones son arregladas a través de la oración, discusión, confesión, arrepentimiento, respeto y, restitución mutua y perdón.”

Está compuesta de cuatro principios:

1. Lo siento.
2. Por favor perdóname.
3. Te quiero (o te amo).
4. Gracias.

Ya que mi último post fue acerca de no sentirme “digna” del amor, el tiempo, la bondad, las bendiciones de personas y de la vida, pensé que esta práctica me podría ayudar a sanar parte de mi “indignidad” si la uso apropiadamente. En ese blog hablo del abandono de mi madre biológica como al fuente de mis sentimientos de “no ser suficiente”.

Quiero dejar muy en claro que no tengo nada en contra de ella personalmente. Entiendo que lo que hizo fue lo mejor que pudo hacer con lo que tenía y sabía al momento. No tengo nada que perdonarle (hasta escribí un blog al respecto). Simplemente estoy tratando de lidiar con el tema del “rechazo” que me ha causado tantas luchas en la vida sin que yo estuviera del todo consciente.

He aquí como brevemente hice esta práctica mía (pasé mucho más tiempo examinando esto de lo que comparto aquí):

A mi madre biológica:

*  Lo siento… lamento que en el momento en que yo estaba lista para nacer te pareciera que vine muy abruptamente y que de alguna forma interrumpía los planes que tenías después de haber enviudado. Lamento que no contaras con el apoyo de tu familia ni de tus amigos, ni tampoco con el de mi padre biológico. Lamento que tuvieras que parir a tu quinto hijo (uno que no estabas preparada para tener) sola y asustada. Lamento todo el dolor que debes haber pasado durante estos casi 44 años.

*  Por favor perdóname… por aparecerme en tu vida asustándote de tal manera que sentiste la necesidad de salir corriendo (dos veces). Por no haberme dado cuenta de cuan agonizante deben haber sido esto de una u otra forma. Por no ser de más apoyo con respecto a tus sentimientos. Por no ser más accesible y estar más abierta a tus conversaciones siendo que tú misma las empezaste.

*  Te quiero… (esta fue bien difícil) Te acepto exactamente como eres y respeto tus decisiones. Entiendo que hiciste lo mejor que pudiste en el momento aquel con la información que tenías y tu conciencia sobre tu capacidad de criarme. No te juzgo como persona o como madre. Nunca lo he hecho, nunca lo haré. Admiro tu Fortaleza al enfrentarme—treinta y tres años después—y por responder a todas mis preguntas.

*  Gracias… por traerme a la vida a pesar de las circunstancias y por no escoger el aborto como una opción. Gracias por dejarme en buenas manos, en un lugar seguro donde fui criada con amor. Gracias por recibirme brevemente de nuevo en tu vida más de treinta años después. Gracias por tratar de contactarme durante estos últimos diez años en cumpleaños y fiestas aún cuando yo no he estado muy abierta y receptiva a tus intentos. Gracias por darme la bendición  a mí y a mis hijos cada vez antes de colgar el teléfono.

A mi misma:

*  Lo siento… lamento fueras inmediatamente abandonada al nacer. Lamento que no te hayan cargado, acurrucado, ni amamantado. Lamento que pasaras tu niñez buscando ese “algo” que sabías y  sentías que te faltaba. Lamento que te sintieras “rechazada” toda tu vida aún cuando creciste en un hogar donde fuiste constantemente celebrada. Lamento que dicho “rechazo” te hiciera sentir culpable y desagradecida toda tu vida.

*  Por favor perdóname… por no estar más pendiente de tus luchas internas. Por demandar y exigir tanto de ti en momentos cuando quizá lo que necesitabas era descansar. Por no cuidarte bien. Por no amarte más y demostrártelo verdaderamente. Por ponerte en situaciones donde fuiste innecesariamente herida.

*  Te amo… Te amo tanto. Te admiro. Aprecio todo lo que eres y te felicito por todo lo que has logrado (aunque piensas que no has logrado nada) durante estos tiempos difíciles que has pasado en tu vida. Celebro tu vida. Amo todo sobre ti, todo.

*  Gracias… por tu dicha, por tu resistencia, por tu audacia, por tu fortaleza, por tu extravagancia. Gracias por ser una mujer ejemplar, por tratar de sacar lo mejor de cada cosa o situación aparentemente “mala”. Gracias por siempre apoyar, por ser tan compasiva, tan cariñosa y tan pendiente de todo y de todos. Gracias por encender esta chispa de fuego en mi.

Mientras continúa mi proceso de sanación, les agradezco a todos por su apoyo…

Alicia