Through the Fire
Wednesday night I went to a Reiki share at my Reiki master’s studio to join five other women in varying degrees of yoga pants, head scarves, and work outfits The act of laying hands on bodies, vulnerable and open and willing to receive was a holy sacrament. When it was my turn on the table I felt as if I’d been scooped into a bowl full of honey. The hands were warm and strong and soft and electric and full of love. I could feel all of my circuits ignite. A handy tool when the whole world is on fire.
This week, in the midst of the smoke and ash and the burning of holy buildings and government systems and entire peoples, one of my beloved students died, leaving a profound and unreal absence at our writing table. This week, in the thick of renovations, our house in a state of chaotic insanity, I’m fully cognizant of the alternate dimension in which I went full on drug addict hoarder. This week, I watched my father fall in slow motion on a walk through the new spring blooms and the fragility of life echoed through my bones as it took three care givers to pull him back up.
This week though, my fear and grief is tempered by the ability to go within to find something I can no longer live without. To find a current that is not dependent on life making sense or things going well or order of any kind. That can be tapped into during chaos and death and the dissolution of the world as we’ve known it. This week I’ve felt that pulse thump thump burn and I’m holding onto it for dear life, a hand extended through the fire.