Nor my Stories, Nor my Plans

Every day is different. When I wrote yesterday I wasn't at my best, I was trying to do something, and writing often helps but in some cases it reaffirms the very condition I'm trying to get out of.

In Woody Allen's last movie Irrational Man, the anti-hero says that anxiety is the disease of freedom or something like that. In front of the emptiness of freedom, in the absence of a set course, we freak out. It's true.

But today it's not like that. It's early morning and I returned to my mudra for serenity and harmony, which also causes imaginary gardens to grow abundantly, and I became sort of clearer. Literally I "saw" the colour within turn brighter. Today I am having a baby.

Today I am again open and ready to see, to find, the beautiful simple things.

I am multi-layered though - I tap into that beautiful realm, but there are also all the other forms of stresses. One of them, oddly, is that I feel I should plan my mother's 70th birthday better than my sisters already have. Yet I resist it completely, like I don't feel ready.

One of them is when I accidentally checked my work email. I'm blocking that out quite willingly.

I monitor the pangs of anxiety, and I like to describe their multiple flavours, like yesterday in my French post, it was auld hollow tree like. I think in the course of the last 48 hours I have felt it within my breathing pipeline, kind of a warning warmth that I try to figure out. I've had pangs located near my heart, and I've had spikes when I raise into sudden alertness like something's gonna happen to me if I don't.  Feels like I've done something so wrong, and I've been so stupid, and I better  make it right, right away, or else I will lose everything. This is familiar, that feeling. Feels like the whole world is about the break down maybe because of me. Like I have the power to break everything that's good and make it miserable for eternity, hell. A terrible mistake.

I'm reading the Girl on the Train book and the girls portrayed here are lost like I have been in the past. I don't know if it's good for my spirit to be with them and revisit that, but I get them.  I paused from watching that gruesome series. But for these girls I see that I'm not alone, that it's probably common, I even read a story about a girl like that in the papers today, who bought a home on the internet to get away from her pain. Sometimes I imagine everyone's heart big like mine, too big, sensitive and vulnerable, and it appeases me. Maybe everyone's heart is like mine, and I don't need to keep mine a secret, nor my stories, nor my plans.

But friends, I didn't just casually drop that I was having a baby up there above this digression. I am! The embryologist just called me to say everything is well and ready, and to show up at 2 o'clock with a full bladder and my love.

Amourx.