I Culled Myself and Woke Up and Called Out
Death is the Mother of memory, the organic fertilizer that nourishes dreams, ideas, intuitions, imagination.
What message do I have for myself from this experience?
Feel it. Hear it inside. GIve its resonance space to expand until it settles. Now, say it.
Dead-head your pansies in your garden, or pots, or urns, or wherever you have them. It’s a verdant gesture to keep them thriving and vibrant. There’s so much cool color when you do. So much cool color ALL the time. Dead-head the flowers as they start to wilt and drop them to the base of the plant. Death will then be the Master Gardener to nourish. Death, the mother of memory, will fertilize future flowers’ dreams. Dead-head, and that energy can go into the soil, and the energy that was going to that flower will strengthen the remaining full flowers and new growth.
Pansies Are Delicate, Though…
Pansies are delicate, though they are hardy. Pansies in the garden are no weaklings. Pansies are SO not pansies. Trauma works like pansies to a degree…
So many times after an intense experiences passes, I feel there is a tendency to say, Phhuuuuueeewww. Glad that’s over. Run away! Like Monty Python. Run away! Run away!
Is it. Is it over? Is the experience really over? Or, is The End really Just The Next Beginning? Or, is the over simply that we escaped with our life? Or, escaped to be emancipated with more life, more of ourself revealed, now more evidently present?
Maybe, instead of Glad that’s over, somewhere along the line I’ve learned to dwell IN the experience while it was still fresh just afterwards, and then not have to dwell on it as some nebulous unresolved why-dafuq-do-I-get-triggered-that-way by who knows what that reminds me subtly enough that I don’t groc it until too late, for years to come.
Feel into trauma and experience wise in time or just after. Own it. Listen to its message. Allow it to integrate itSelf on its own terms. Continue WITH it as a new asset. Feel your empathy tuned up a notch in so doing. Respect and resonate in powerful witness with the trauma messenger inside. Be grateful to the person who triggered you BEFORE you act out driven by the trauma and not the totality of what you were the moment before. Express, Thank you for digging just there. I need to breathe and feel into that. ANd, if they are a solid friend comfortable in their own skin, they’ll understand, maybe even silently stay with you for the short vigil while you acclimate to the trauma re-surfacing, powerfully and respectfully and grateful listen to it in all its ferocity and candor and quiet subtleties.
Once your trauma has re-acclimated to you as well — its birth to peel off from you to protect you and bleed off overload in the system and become a disconnected Part and be buried deep inside may Be the last time it saw you — get re-acquainted, and do so allowing the Part to lead. Don’t poison it with any words or expectations or presumptive putting words in its mouth. Allow it to speak, and do so on its own time rather than yours. The 1st session with a Part may simply be an awareness of one another session. Each encounter is different. It may leave and come back to check in later. Minutes. Days. Years. Simply reserve a place At your table for it when it presents each time.
Amending The Soil
It feels like fingers in black earth while amending the soil in the garden. If, just for a moment, I honor myself enough to be silent and still, not frozen, not in shock, silent and still, when I feel into the intense experience after I have washed up on the shore on the other side after the storm I’ve experienced has broken, I can feel-discern with a fresh clarity of vision in a new perspective framed by the experience before it evaporates. And, it informs me. It gifts me the message of my experience while it’s still fresh, instead of disappearing inside to become a trigger where the trauma is always kept fresh.
Still near it, fresh and wet behind the ears from my birth from The experience, before it’s truly past trauma, still focused by it and immersed in it rather than by me, a bit still hanging toes in the unconscious semi-liminal, it or I may gift myself a message from the experience before I fully step back over the trauma prison of Inner Beyond to here. Psychologists have plenty of titles for this. That’s cool. Creativity is not a diagnosis or a malady or a disorder. The only titles that matter to me are Tarot Reader and Author, Astrology Reader and Author (by Blog), Artist, Poet, Writer, Alchemist, Architect, someone who is Alive. Bold. Courageous. Caring. Empathic without being mushy… unless of course we have our toes in the mud… to grow a Lotus from the mud in joyous and as-if-without-thought-or will sandbox garden.
Fearlessness doesn’t apply here. I have plenty of fears. I simply don’t let anxiety kidnap them and torture and distort them into making me afraid. Guess that helps get off the mountain when those torrentially experiential storms come in rain-singing, Nature’ll kill ya. Keep breathing, and you’re still alive so you’re still a problem. Keep breathing. Nature’ll kill ya. Nature’ll kill ya. And, Nature will make you stronger when you relive yourself of the excess, when you deadhead the pansies in the Soul Garden so they keep thriving more and more strongly towards perennial naturalization each year.
I’d stay in that place as long as it took, not running for dear life to get as far away as possible, certainly not frozen, quite the contrary. Not fight or flight or freeze. Aware. Still. Focused. Patience is not docile or omissive. Patience is concentrated strength.
I in-dwell in the feelingsense home of the space, of the place, of my recent, intense experience. Sometimes 5 seconds. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes decades cycling around through its paces throughout my psyche. No deadline, no expectation. I simply make serendipitous stumbles in meditative momentS moving forward in a powerful and respectful witness of what just occurred. I don’t waste trouble.
And, I do that until I’ve psychic-gold-panned past the experience’s rough geode exterior to see beyond the rawness in the moment to the refined, potent message. I see into to the colorfully kaleidoscopic, living crystal, juicy gemstone, geode interior. And, the message comes as my head begins nodding. Almost without fail. Almost without fail is an acceptable risk to me.
I’ve had historical friends for as long as I can remember. Sometimes they are spectators, sometimes assistants, sometimes colleagues, and sometimes I’m the spectator when I Engage in process towards the message with something like: What would my friend Fred do?; How would my friend Bill B handle this?; What does CG‘s ‘Red Book’ have to offer?
How Do You Keep It?
Who Are Your Historical Friends?
How Can They Help You Today?
How do I keep it? I keep it with an open palm up to the sky where it would nestle in my hand. No closing my hand and holding tight white knuckling to possess it. That suffocates things. Embrace it. Embrace the person or thing as a talisman, a talisman of THEMself on their terms. No need to digress into Psychological Projection or Projective Identity. Those two are the horseshit born of not owning your own stuff.
How do I embrace and meet up with inner, geode messages?
Open handed, reciprocal figure to ground touch, the Both/And touch of the Yin-Yang, the apogee master violin bow single-stroke bindus connecting inhale and exhale, forming breath as prayer. That’s how I embrace and meet up with these inner, geode messages.
Adversity doesn’t build character. It reveals it. ~ James Lane Allen
Be there. Be present. The present is perpetual.
Boundaries that create separation simply induce self-imposed anxiety. Boundaries that establish identity and distinctions can dance and immerse in one another without dissolution. I love swimming. I love swimming immersed with another and their uncut intensities even more. Fun stuff.
Then, if you‘re still alive, keep it.
And, saturation needn’t be drowning in the distress of a situation. Like a high performance, high speed, X-rated radial tire — rated for speeds over 134 mph, it’s on you to take responsibility for how far you take it above that… they’re not concerned about a court case at that level above 200 mph as that’s on you top make sure — you and your tires are filled up to 33 psi for stability, and maybe dropped to 32psi for added grip in the turns in the cold? Yes. Vrooom, shift n corner, baby! Shift n corner TOGETHER!
Message Gifts Kept
From your experiences, what gems of messages have you mined to keep?
They are yours, I respect that, and ask that you do as well. No need to comment them here. Please comment only IFF if and only if you care to and are full-on comfortable to share them. Otherwise, they are yours to tune your Soul’s liquid silence with the resonant chords of you and nurture the healthy boundaries of the Royal Castle Around You forming you as Presence As Architecture, or whatever you decide you do with… (Hey presumption, get the effa outa here and know when to shut dafuq up)
May I suggest that Your Presence Is Architecture, Presence As Architecture. Keep it. Upkeep it. Nourish its powerful limits and boundaries. Fly as high as your roots go deep. Swim as deep And infinitely as your dreams expand within.
How do you dead-head the pansies of trauma to nourish yourself by respectfully integrating them?
What Have You Mined, and Kept?
Thanks for You, as only you can be, visiting here today in the perpetual present.
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Blog (c) 2020 Jordan Hoggard
ImaginAction (c) 2008, 2011, 2012, 2020 Jordan Hoggard
May 24, 2020 at 4:31 pm
Interesting aspects of waking up and calling out. Tarot cards and astrology are outside my realm of being, but they are interesting. I love the reflecting photo. It’s soothing to sit at a patio table and reflect with the reflections.
May 24, 2020 at 5:28 pm
Thank you, Timothy. I thoroughly appreciate that. That’s my favorite photo that I’ve taken. Years back I lost the high res copy so I couldn’t make a poster out f it. Today, it came to mind to use, and after an hour of searching files and emails, I finally found a copy from a 2009 email, though after I published it, I noticed that black editing arrow or some such right in the middle. Shaking head. It has a history. Beautiful and a bit impish. Gotta love the character. It certainly lets me know it’s alive. I might reticle it Loki or Prankster. 🙂
Thank you very much for loving Reflections.
May 24, 2020 at 5:47 pm
We have a cat name Loki. He’s as tricky as his namesake.
May 24, 2020 at 5:57 pm
🙂 Great name for a cat. Loki. As agile and tricky in his mood as his motion? That’s great. I had a cat, Mercurius, nicknamed Merc. Very mercurial, very Loki. What a great name for a cat. I made up Mercurius to a degree as fake Latin, though if you pronounced it with a Southern accent, He’s Mercurius, Mer curius than most.
R.I.P. Merc. You were 5 days shy of 21, fit in the palm of my hand when you were 8 weeks old. At 20 1/2 you were still hopping from the 2nd floor down to the 1st floor wall below, and off you’d go on adventures.
March 3rd, 1993 – February 26, 2014
May 24, 2020 at 6:05 pm
Loki is a really good natured cat, but he can be a trickster. He’s a big, beautiful black kitty. Mercurius must have been a great cat. I had another pair of black cats, brothers, that I got on a 2 for 1 special in 2000. We named them Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and they lived up to their namesakes, as well. Guildenstern died of a kitty stroke in 2016, Rosencrantz died of kidney failure in 2018.
May 24, 2020 at 6:18 pm
Oh, great names as well for that pair. My condolences to you for them, and may your memories be blessings. They sound like a riotously funny pair.
Merc was a golden tabby, ‘M’ on the forehead, black (dark tiger brown) necklace, full stripes up top, and jaguar spots on his white belly.
Merc got worms when he was 20, most likely from raccoon fees in the garden where I hadn’t seen it, as they often enter through the soft tissue between the toes. I thought I was going to lose him, found some homeopathic SUPER INTENSE drops that cleared out the worms in about 2 weeks. He bounced right back, and within a month was trotting around with outside in the garden and on walks like nothing ever happened. 3 weeks before 21, either they came back in force, or he contracted them again. The drops and some shots were sadly not enough.
Thank you for telling me about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They sound like quite the personalities.
May 24, 2020 at 5:42 pm
Oh, and Timothy, full-on understood that Tarot cards and Astrology are outside your wheelhouse. I suggest to re-visit the post, though. I have converting to the Block Editor WordPress feature, and stumbling my way through it. Fittingly enough, the part I had about the point relating to the title, dead-heading and pansies, was grouped with the last line, and at one place or another when editing something, I inadvertently deleted that grouped block. There’s now a section under the Tarot cards about the pansies, and as well when putting that back, the last line question also came back. It may more sense from a lay perspective now if you care to re-visit. 🙂
May 24, 2020 at 5:57 pm
The blockhead editor. I hate it. I was wondering how the title fit in. I was going to ask about the pansies but decided not to. I completely agree on you dead-heading analogy. And Pansies are anything but pansies (in the sense of weak men). When everything else is frozen, dried up and dead in the garden and the temps are below zero, the pansies’ blooms are strong and colorful giving us hope for new life in the dead of winter.
May 24, 2020 at 6:00 pm
Yes, on the pansies. I hoped that would now make more sense.
And, oh boy the blockhead editor! 3 days in and I’m starting to crawl, and finding it to be a powerful tool, though still crawling. Though, the 1st day? I wish I had recorded myself. I might have just created a whole new slew of expletives and frustration noises.
May 24, 2020 at 6:07 pm
My wife can tell you about my frustrations with it. I’m not going to mess with it. You can get to the classic editor at your posts in the admin pages.
May 24, 2020 at 6:31 pm
Yes, though I’m a “ok, fun, I’ll move forward” kind of person.
If it helps you in the future if they discontinue Classic:
~ My initial biggest beef was I would click on something to edit it, and the menu would appear RIGHT ON TOP OF WHT I WAS ATTEMPTING TO EDIT. Maddening.
~ I found that that only typically happened if the passage was towards the bottom of my screen. Scrolling it towards the top of the screen, and Voila, Voici!, that’s editable!
~ Also, once you’ve clicked the paragraph button on the menu, an up-down arrow appears on the left of the menu, and you can easily click to re-arrange where a paragraph sits.
~ The OOPS, I grouped something, and didn’t even know there was now a Group function. And, being grouped, when I split up a paragraph, and moved part of it somewhere else… if I deleted one, they both went, and I was too many saves past CMD-Z to undo, so GONE FOREVER until I re-wrote it — which sometimes means NEVER TO RETURN if I’ve just written something new for me — don’t have the feelingsense scholarship to re-convey the feeling I just had. :(.
~ Also, just the way the menus are… dafuqin all over the place. There have been a couple of times I was exploring a tool, and all I could then see were menus and options and 50 places to click…
It’s beyond a process. Though, I treated it like when I 1st opened PhotoShop years back. Pick a tool, and get good at that one tool. Then 2, etc. Then of course they upgrade and I all of a sudden can’t make the pencil touch the paper so to speak.
Aggravation is a word. I hear you on sticking with Classic. That’s beyond fair. Your call, and I respect the decision. I just don’t want to come up on a personal deadline later, and THEN Classic goes away, and THEN I’m left there as a sitting duck. Of course, I can adjust my personal deadline, though that’s kinda countergrain to setting one in the 1st place. I do it all the time. I just don’t want to blow myself out of the water because an outside influence decided it was time for me to change.
It’s like autocorrect. I proofread like a Mofo, though in the end, all I can really brace against is my email footer:
Pardon any mis-spellings or awkward language constructions. Autocorrect makes me write things I didn’t Nintendo.
May 24, 2020 at 6:01 pm
“And Pansies are anything but pansies (in the sense of weak men). When everything else is frozen, dried up and dead in the garden and the temps are below zero, the pansies’ blooms are strong and colorful giving us hope for new life in the dead of winter.”
I love that last line! So very resonant and true.
May 24, 2020 at 6:08 pm
May 24, 2020 at 6:31 pm
You’re most welcome, Timothy.
May 24, 2020 at 5:44 pm
And, thanks on the waking up and calling out portion being interesting. It was very conscious and liminal at the same time, one of those indelible experiences that are best worked with comfortable with the not-knowing to get beyond the, sometimes hilarious awake-dream/Theosophic vision quality and step over the initial false summit of, “Dafuq?? What’s going on?”
Pure & Blessed
May 24, 2020 at 5:35 pm
That brought back a memory from maybe 8 years ago. I was sat in the garden and watched a butterfly emerge from chrysalis. It dropped and plopped in a wet heap to land on my left deltoid. It looked kind of dead… We sat in the sun and I watched as it dried out and wings began to pump full of life… Then butterfly turned flutter by and was gone… Up into the sky and over the fence, away to new adventures.
It struck me then people often use the caterpillar/butterfly metaphor to speak of transformation… They’ll talk about the chrysalis glooping… They never really mention necessary pause as the wings get fully pumped…
May 24, 2020 at 5:38 pm
I love that memory, Karen. Excellent point with, “It struck me then people often use the caterpillar/butterfly metaphor to speak of transformation… They’ll talk about the chrysalis glooping… They never really mention necessary pause as the wings get fully pumped… “
Pure & Blessed
May 24, 2020 at 5:49 pm
It’s a good memory 😊 I remember feeling very blessed to have Mother Nature drop a lesson on me.
May 24, 2020 at 5:57 pm
Amen, A(wo)men to that.
Pure & Blessed
May 24, 2020 at 6:01 pm
Lol I just thought about Mike Myers doing that Woman poem 🤣
May 24, 2020 at 6:12 pm
That’s a great drop-plop. 🙂
Pure & Blessed
May 24, 2020 at 6:13 pm