Wings 'n' Things

Last week I had just re-entered the atmosphere of PST (Pacific Standard Time) and pondered if there was much difference between PST and PTS (post-traumatic stress disorder)? The day I returned home in 1983 was probably the most traumatic event of my life to date, and everything that came after sprang from that moment, so you can understand if I might be a little twitchy upon landing.

I was looking for signs and omens. The first one came as soon as we claimed our luggage. Sister, who kindly volunteered to pick us up from the airport, locked her keys in the car so we had to wait outside while her husband took time off from work and drove to the outskirts of the city to offer his key. Hmmm, what is it I’m being “locked out of?” Yes, it was the car, but I’m talking metaphorically. I was hypersensitive to the meaning behind everything.

We finally made it back to our sweet home and the first thing I did was say hello to my kitty, who was not moving and could barely lift his head. This was not normal, so while checking him out, I saw the blood smeared all over the white pillow case. NOT OKAY! Turns out he had been in a fight that morning and his adrenalin bravado had fooled the kind housesitter, so while she bid him adieu, he smiled, waved back and then collapsed into a furry heap upon the bed until we found him a few hours later.

Locked out and a bloody fight. Dang! Both in the first few minutes of being home. What did this portend?

Next, I had all kinds of expectations. Expectations that people would actually be interested in our trip to Japan and ask questions, like, “did you get to see everybody that you wanted to?” or “What did you eat, where did you go, what did you see?”

Mother-in-law, when she called to see if we were home safe, played the offensive. “I’ll allow you to show me one, maybe two pictures.” Wow.

Other people immediately launched into everything that had happened in their worlds during the two weeks we were gone, without a single question cast in our direction. I heard about shopping lists and weather updates and blow-by-blow conversations betwixt them and people I didn’t even know.

One girlfriend, after two hours of non-stop conversation about her job, kids and boyfriend, said, “Oh yeah, did you have a good trip?” I told her yes and asked if there was anything in particular she was interested in? “No,” she said, “I just wanted to know if you had a good time.”

While receiving calls from family members, I heard recycled stories. “I know I’ve already told you this, but so and so said such and such…” Um, hello? We’ve just traveled 10,000 miles and 25 years into history for a very deep, personal healing journey and nobody has a single question??? Does this trip not compare to the bargain you found on paper towels and the pizza you eat every Tuesday night??

I’m not suggesting that I should have had all the talking time and wouldn’t be interested in hearing about how they changed garbage day from Monday to Thursday, but I am saying that I had expectations that somebody would have expressed interest in what occurred during the fourteen day pilgrimage.

And then there was the very large expectation that whatever ailed me would be cured by this return to my heartland. Much of it was, but there were leftovers. Now what? I was locked out, had a bloody cat on my hands, and those closest to me were acting as if nothing had changed for me. Not exactly the re-entry I was looking for. Much like I’ve whined here, I complained to Chakra Girl. She advised well.

“You’ve gone to Japan. You’ve seen who you’ve needed to see. Anything that is still unresolved is up to you. There’s nobody left out there who can fix it but you. And (this was really painful to hear), why do you need for people to ask you about your trip? Why are you waiting for an invitation? Seems like if there was anything interesting to share, you’d be so excited about it you’d just spit it out instead of waiting politely for anyone to stop thinking about their own selves and ask you.

“I’m afraid most people are totally self-absorbed and have a television show playing in their heads with them as the star and you come along expecting them to switch channels and plug into your show. They don’t want to, just as you don’t really want to switch from your Japan channel to the paper towel channel.”

Ouch.

Changing conversations from Chakra Girl to GlowGirl (yes, they are two different people), she told us about this amazing four day intensive personal work seminar that she had just attended and uttered the magic words – they were currently offering a “two for one” special. I’d heard about this event for years and was interested in going, but the affordability for Companion and I made the difference.

Believing (or wishing) the dates to be in the sometime near future, I was surprised the seminar was scheduled three days hence. In a jetlag hangover, we registered and showed up on time. I walked through the doors of this mysterious process with my own television channel playing in my head and the left-over things that ailed me in the pocket of my heart.

Over the next four days I was able look at what plagued me and in Chakra Girl’s words, “It was up to me to fix it,” and guess what? I did! I’d like to thank GlowGirl for extending the invitation in the first place, to Chakra Girl and God’s Minion for their flexibility in rearranging schedules so that we could attend, and to the participants for creating a safe and loving place to do the work.

The moment we stepped off the plane, we were locked out, but then we were given a key which is opening many doors. My precious cat, resting on a bloody pillow, mirrored the bruised and battered condition of my heart which was healed. The expectation of others transformed into what I could do for myself. Now that’s what I call a good entry.

I flew on a plane to get me to Japan, but upon my return, I found my wings. Fitting, for as Kobi Yamada once said, “Sometimes you just have to take the leap, and build your wings on the way down.”