We are out of our house on Tropaco. Roofs, stairs and floors have been knocked down. Bougainvillea and palms have been uprooted. What's left are the cinderblock walls, the footprint and the vision. As our demo crew jack hammers out the tiles, moves rocks to make retaining walls, constructs wooden frames and rebar footing for the concrete pour next week, the kestrel still comes to rest on the electrical wires, the pelicans still round the corner from Hull Bay to the Atlantic, the aloe plants still nest in the rocks. Dave and I find ourselves in the folds of further change as we dismantle what no longer serves and rebuild our foundations for next chapters.
While daunting and exciting, I can't miss the symbolism of what we're going through. As partners, parents and people, our footing is literally in the midst of one big shakedown. Mid-life is no joke. And, yet, everything that's happening is all part of the plan. Parents are meant to launch their children. Couples move and downsize as a result. Careers and purpose stretch and alter.
2 days before the kids returned to school, my back went out in the middle of a work out. Snap, crackle, pop. But, when you're in the middle of dismantling your house there's no lying down, even if you have movers. By day 5, I couldn't move without pain. As I hobbled around our echoing rental, my discomfort and frustration mounted. I was angry that my body had failed me. I was exhausted from the move, the multi-functioning accelerated parenting, my lack of sleep from all of the planning. I was angsty living in a place where there was no art on the walls and fake plants in every room. And then I took a deep breath and called in my helpers; bodyworkers and wise women who I trust to help me out of the spiral of woe when it strikes.
My body was trying to tell me something. It went along the lines of Slow the fuck down! In all of the spiraling I was doing, I'd wrapped myself into a tizzy of rigidity. With all of the abundant happenings, I'd lost my center. I consider my body as one of my greatest teachers and, because I am forever and always a student, I started to take down some notes on the messages my pain might be telling me.
-doing vs. being; eh hum... meditation anyone?
-stillness was fleeting and irregular
-patterns that bring might on the freezing in my lower spine;
-how I ask for help, and not waiting until I'm flat on my back
-change and how I handle it; I'm a fixed sun and moon!
(change is hard for Aquarius suns and Taurus moons, same goes for Leos and Scorpios)
-self-care practices; when was the last time I'd walked with a friend? taken a few hours to read a book? used my water-colors?
-location of the pain
-2nd chakra (sacrum pain), left side (feminine)
-creativity, mothering, peri-menopause, yin energy
Once I stopped to listen and surrender, the seizing started to wane. I moved out of freeze, fight, flight mode and into the rest & digest setting. And even though slowing down is annoying and not working out is humbling, I needed to refill my cup or else the next phase of rebuild was going to be built on a shaky foundation. And there are already enough variables to contend with, thank you very much. Hurricanes, salt spray, earth quakes, island time... to name a few.
Thank goodness, I am almost back to normal and I keep listening... I hope you are feeling healthy and powerful. And if for some reason you're not, or something feels off, take a minute (or two) and tune in to what your body may be telling you.
With love from Lerkenlund (our temporary digs),
St. Sunshine
Fkn Pluto