The Soil Remembers

There I am–pacing along, with the gritty sounds of rubber meeting the ground at a BPM of one foot in front of the other–somewhere familiar yet foreign. I was in motion externally but internally encapsulated in a body and soul I did not recognize. A rush of turbulent waters trying to kiss the shore that seemingly became more distant with every ebb and flow. Oh, the frustration of trying to live a life that does not even extend benevolence to gift me a slice of lemon, but only fruit so insipid I would choke on it for hours, days, weeks, months, and unfortunately, years at a time. What is one to do in such a quandary but to pace the outdoors, fall on bended knees in the dirt, and pray as the tears flow from the ducts fertilizing the soil beneath?

Where have I been? What have I been up to? Is there still life within the voice of this humdrum narrator? Am I spiritually shifting between the dimensions of the alive and unalived? Do I even know how to put words together to give a briefing of what transpired in my absence? One can never truly know until they get through to the other side.

The theme for this blog is about being “Naked and Unafraid.” I can unashamedly admit that I’ve been layered in insulation that has kept me and the fears I had sheathed in a suffocating cocoon. I thought that maybe if I hid myself away, I would not endure any more pain. That perhaps if I quieted my speech, ceased my needs, and gave way for others to shine while I lay dormant in a self-induced trance, things would rectify themselves, and the powers that be would bring balance to my world. Spoiler alert: It did not happen.

I became so good at denying the truth of many situations that I medicated myself with delusion to not see the painful things being done unto me. What I thought was an act of service for others–and maybe reaching for a sense of self in doing so–became an abusive cycle of give, give, give and actually receiving nothing in return–and I don’t mean money. Especially when what was in my cup was being poured into drains that were not mine to extricate in the first place. I provided plenty of apples in the forms of time, tenderness, and care beyond compare. Though a few people who were deserving took delight and even pollinated my pasture, the majority were sneaky, selfish cankerworms destroying any chance of positive reciprocity for true maturation in the relationship with self or with them.

Incessant souls are interesting creatures. And funny enough, I came to find that in forgoing and smothering my needs to serve these deviant, gluttonous entities that they will take what they can get and leave nothing for anyone else. They know nothing in the realm of limits or boundaries. They’ll feast forever, which is why they will live longer.

But where does that leave us–the givers, caretakers, burden bearers, secret keepers, the ones always sacrificing selflessly or selfishly (depending on intentions)? Bearen, broken, shackled within the grace we give those who knowingly/unknowingly bleed us dry. Burned out to the point where our physical bodies begin to show signs of wear and tear.

If only we knew our true value. If only we could taste the delectable nectar that we are born with as it is so sweet, organic and richer than any elite walking amongst us. Because one minute you are an innocent, joyous, much-needed light to the world, and somehow with time–assisted by no knowledge of boundaries or requirements for patrons to bask in your presence–, like a flame in the wind, you wither away one photometer at a time. You are no longer alive, but instead are floating above yourself staring at your soul as it takes its last few breaths. Depressing shit, is it not?

So! Where’s the turnaround? Will someone send a knight in shining armor to fight diligently to reach the top of the castle where we have isolated and kept ourselves away? Will we be awakened from our slumber by the kiss of an angel sealing our fate to bring us home? I cannot tell you that from personal exeprience–as I find the power lies within us. There’s one hack that will keep us going. Awareness and action, with sprinkles of grief work..chunky sprinkles.

We have to use that light to fuel ourselves. Believe it or not, you do not need a lot of it to bring yourself back. Eventually, your eyes will open, feeling starts to come back to your extremities and the final thing you’ll need to do is inhale…and exhale all the pain, the venom and poison that put you down in the first place. It will be the most painful exhale you’ll ever experience. This process is generally messy but so necessary.

The birthing process is rather unpleasant to view but contrary to that, it is one of the most remarkable miracles of all time on this planet. For life to exist, birth and death have to happen until Mother Nature calls it quits herself. Balance. Spiritually we must die and be reborn many times. On the other side of the void is a new state of mind that will surprise us. I’ve gone through so many transformations and somehow become perplexed when I think I’ve seen it all–and then BAM! Life says, “But wait, there’s more,” everytime and I slowly fall into the feeling of what it means to know thyself.

You will learn how to strut again, pace the ground beneath you, and if you must, cry in a forest and pray for answers. Do it boldly, loudly, or at a whisper–just do it. Many have fertilized the soil with their cries, tears, and much more before you. Have no shame, no fear, take no shit, instill boundaries, be responsible for what is yours, resist the urge to pick up others’ mantles, especially when they do not help you with yours. And please, know your limits.

As lightbringers, we must become really in tune with our stopping point and learn when enough is enough. As written above, Mother Nature has a system that is seemingly universal and balances itself out. If she becomes overwhelmed, she begins to eradicate using a variety of (subtle or violent) methods and makes no bare bones about it. So if we can learn anything from her, it’s that we need limits as well and that when they are not respected, you can know longer entertain the foolishness and have to leave what is hurting you.

Do I have all the answers? No! Is there a way to breathe again after abuse and trauma? Sure. Just expect it to be vastly different. Somedays I dance, sometimes I just lay in bed letting it pass or I write, or I go for a walk in the forest and remind myself that in the loneliness of healing, the ground beneath me remembers all our pains, the weight we carry and the pressure we are under as it holds us up. Then I begin to not feel so alone. When I forget the way, I remind myself, that the soil remembers; God remembers, and eventually, I’ll find my way back home again someday–whether in this life or the next.

There are so many anecdotes I can recite that relate to my experiences the past few years. Am I back to writing now? For the moment. It’s all we have anyways, right? When I feel the need I will check in again. You all take care of yourselves. Be kind, but take no shit.

Speak with you soon,

–CAM