Making Sense of It...
“Why do you think you chose your father?” she asked…just as our session together was ending.
I have written about this belief a million times in my writing-to-heal shares throughout the years. Maybe you’ve read one of them before now? And, I cannot tell you how many times this statement comes out of me, so automatically, in auto pilot, maybe you’ve heard me say it?
What I felt in my body as she began to skillful dissect this belief of mine was the real teacher for me in this moment. I felt my ego kicking and screaming from within me, the pit in my stomach which wanted the words “she’s judging me” attached to it. Then the blood in my entire body became a bit warmer; circulating the name of “shame” for “not knowing better” slowly and so suddenly that I felt the flash of it in my human body. I felt my heart restrict a bit, and the pace of its beats quicken a with the story of “what do you know really” pounding in my chest.
All of this, reaction…human, triggered, conditioned, programmed…
Reaction.
I witnessed it, from within it.
Carefully taking notes, while staying committed to listening to her every word fully; suspended in two places at the very same time.
The truth is this belief was born out of childhood pain and suffering that makes absolutely no sense. It makes no sense that any child would endure pain and suffering of any kind. This belief came to me disguised as a download and as spiritual; with a deep, deep feeling of gnosis that I anchored myself into - for a long, long time. For years I have added strung-together-words in poems, essays and other shares to embellish it; it has become a really magnificent telling…of a story…that I once believed.
I have even shared it in sessions with sisters as I guide them; as an anchoring belief.
And when it automatically rolled off my tongue in this session yesterday, as my truth, it was challenged by someone who is so connected to Truth that I count on her to guide me and to remind me; and that she did.
“I believe we choose our fathers at the Spirit level,” I answered her. “To learn the lessons we are here to learn…” I continued.
I went on to share that this belief for me helps me feel like less of a victim; it helps me to “make sense of something that I cannot explain…”
She stayed here with me for a long moment; welcoming me to this newest place on our shared path together. My nervous system silently softened as it exhaled the breath I had been holding. She asked me again what making sense of it does for me, and I shared that in some way it feels as if I have alchemized the pain and suffering, transmuted it into love by believing that there is somehow a higher plan or decision…
“Yes, beautiful…” she smiled.
And then before she shared her next words I could read them in her eyes…and this is what shifted my belief…
“So who chooses the father?” she asked me after her share.
The one that creates all conditions for us to experience in this lifetime chooses. And, as humans we often find ourselves wanting to make sense of it; needing to make sense of it.
Oh my goodness does my mind want me to stay here most of the time — the irony that this “belief” has rooted itself in my mind…
Finding myself right here in my faith today, in the density of answers rather than trust; in the mind rather than the heart. And, so incredibly grateful for this beloved guide guiding me back into my heart, into the heart, to the heart of it all…
Where things do not make sense, they just are.