(no subject)
My dear sister friend, Sammie, is a Dianic Wiccan Priestess and has been for years. She gracefully holds the high space for us.
One day she asked what my mother thought of the time I spent in the strip industry. She was shocked to discover that my mother, my entire biological and some of my spirit family had no idea how I made my money- how I survived. None of them knew.
It blew her mind as she sat there listening to me wheeze, while I waited for the bitter meds I had crushed into a spoon with juice and held under my tongue to work enough so that I could stand, walk 12 steps and drive 20 minutes home.
She was stunned into silent prayer. Her prayers made my hairs stand on end, made me humm through the wheezing. I tilted my head and felt the silent prayers being carried on the wind to goddess.
I felt a pang, like a bell going off in my kidneys- the signal that the meds were on their way through my system. My lungs would be functioning enough that I could stand, walk, maybe even make it to the bathroom to piss before driving to my rented home. Once there I could isolate myself and not have to burden anyone else with the sight of a strong woman crippled from a lack of air. I attached a prayer to Sammie's that included a peaceful rest for my son. "May he sleep in the car and again in his bed when we arrived..." I prayed, "Goddess please let my lungs work well enough to not need emergency services tonight. To not wake my little boy and put him in the position of having to care for his mother..."
An hour later we were home. I had been using the car lighter/charger for my nebulizer and was shaky from the albuterol I had inhaled, but, breathing well enough to speak to my son. I woke him just enough to half sleep walk to his room. He used his key to unlock the door and held it open for me, then stumbled into his bed, clothes still on, shoes kicked off. I braced myself for the walk to my room where my other, older, bigger, louder nebulizer waited. Propped up with several pillows, a box of tissue and nebulizer treatments, I began my relaxation techniques and finally fell into a light sleep.
Those were the days of 3-4 hour sleep intervals. Deep sleep meant slowed breathing, which either led to my survival instinct waking me or death. Survival waking me, too often led to waking my son with one yell, to practice Reiki, massage the area between my scapula, inspect my nose, mouth and fingertips for signs of asphyxia (blueness) administer more medication and too often, call 911.
It's what we lived through at the time.
That night, I felt Sammie's prayers surround me and my son. That there was someone in the world fully aware of the situation and in loving, energetic support of our survival, who did not sit in judgment, made a difference.
One day she asked what my mother thought of the time I spent in the strip industry. She was shocked to discover that my mother, my entire biological and some of my spirit family had no idea how I made my money- how I survived. None of them knew.
It blew her mind as she sat there listening to me wheeze, while I waited for the bitter meds I had crushed into a spoon with juice and held under my tongue to work enough so that I could stand, walk 12 steps and drive 20 minutes home.
She was stunned into silent prayer. Her prayers made my hairs stand on end, made me humm through the wheezing. I tilted my head and felt the silent prayers being carried on the wind to goddess.
I felt a pang, like a bell going off in my kidneys- the signal that the meds were on their way through my system. My lungs would be functioning enough that I could stand, walk, maybe even make it to the bathroom to piss before driving to my rented home. Once there I could isolate myself and not have to burden anyone else with the sight of a strong woman crippled from a lack of air. I attached a prayer to Sammie's that included a peaceful rest for my son. "May he sleep in the car and again in his bed when we arrived..." I prayed, "Goddess please let my lungs work well enough to not need emergency services tonight. To not wake my little boy and put him in the position of having to care for his mother..."
An hour later we were home. I had been using the car lighter/charger for my nebulizer and was shaky from the albuterol I had inhaled, but, breathing well enough to speak to my son. I woke him just enough to half sleep walk to his room. He used his key to unlock the door and held it open for me, then stumbled into his bed, clothes still on, shoes kicked off. I braced myself for the walk to my room where my other, older, bigger, louder nebulizer waited. Propped up with several pillows, a box of tissue and nebulizer treatments, I began my relaxation techniques and finally fell into a light sleep.
Those were the days of 3-4 hour sleep intervals. Deep sleep meant slowed breathing, which either led to my survival instinct waking me or death. Survival waking me, too often led to waking my son with one yell, to practice Reiki, massage the area between my scapula, inspect my nose, mouth and fingertips for signs of asphyxia (blueness) administer more medication and too often, call 911.
It's what we lived through at the time.
That night, I felt Sammie's prayers surround me and my son. That there was someone in the world fully aware of the situation and in loving, energetic support of our survival, who did not sit in judgment, made a difference.