Deepest Wisdom Transmission
“Our need for control (and even the fantasy we develop around that need) is one of the central ways we avoid responsibility for the nature of our experience. In fact, through our desperate attempts to avoid real pain, we can create ever more neurotic suffering for ourselves. We buy into the fantasy that we can control our fate because it makes us feel safer but when things don't work out, we curse our fate, even though we may very well have had a hand in it. If we don't accept responsibility for our actions, we're also likely to be unaware of our limiting patterns that lead to self-limiting choices.”
Muscle-tested from My Deepest Wisdom Self to share The Soul Speaks by Mark Jones, page 13, 6th paragraph in its entirety.
Ahhh, neurotic suffering, my familiar foe.
I have been rebelling against my astrologer duties (that I assigned myself). I am not currently tracking the transits, perhaps so I can be the only astrologer (not) doing it or maybe because I just want to be in the now as much as I can. My brain doesn’t need much help catastrophizing. When I attempt to unravel my uncertainty, it all just becomes that much more uncertain. It is most likely more true that I am still finding ways to subconsciously sabotage my success, and this is just another attempt at blocking my full expression (whatever that means).
I’ve never been one for fate or feeling like I’m destined to be a trainwreck exactly. Just, that’s how the cookie crumbled. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve “come to” in my life, looked at the cards I dealt myself and decided I didn’t want to play anymore. The gift has been in recognizing that I’m the dealer in this life. Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s the luck of the draw but I have an undeniable hand in it.
The older I get, the more life seems to be falling together. Perhaps it’s the promise of my natal Moon conjunct Saturn after 40. But the longer you get to live the more opportunity there is to see how the pieces have come together putting you exactly where you are today.
Twenty years ago, I was in an AA meeting listening to a woman speak from the podium. She had five years clean and sober and told a heartbreaking story of addiction and abandonment. A decade later our paths crossed more frequently, and we became friends.
During that decade, relapse was cyclical. Though I searched for a spiritual solution in Buddhism and in crystals and in books about Shamanism, I was cynical and separate. Unable to deconstruct and unlearn decades of religious dogma. Then I went to rehab. A moody, withdrawn teenager with a husband and four babies at home. It was my Saturn Return.
In a smudging circle led by my indigenous roommate, we were visited by spirit. An elder Grandmother had come with a boy. A boy who needed to comfort his distraught mother. A mother who had found her son’s lifeless body. A woman who was standing next to me, her frail hand in mine. I felt the sharp change in temperature. I saw the black vines that ran through her body like arteries, lift and dissipate. I felt her relief when he told her that where he was, it was as warm and as bright as the sun. I listened as he described a speckled green stone, he had sent for her. Remembering now, my heart pounds in my chest just like it did that night as I walked into my room and pulled open the desk drawer. There next to the amethyst I kept in my pocket “for sobriety” was the green speckled stone. That experience convinced me that there was a spiritual world and my journey as an atheist came to an end.
A decade later, after an extremely hopeless relapse The Dead would get me sober again. This time it would be what should have been my best friend’s 42nd birthday, and a timely message directly from beyond the grave.
The woman that spoke at the podium all those years ago was in my inner circle and was in a different kind of therapy, some “weird shit that she didn’t really understand.” When my mental health reached a tipping point and I had exhausted trauma therapy here in the physical, I asked for more details.
Was it fated all those years ago that this friendship would open the door to the healing that would change my very existence? Did The Dead get me sober not once, but twice because it was fated that in turn, I would come to serve them and the spiritual evolution of humanity? Maybe it’s not so farfetched.
Every decision I make matters. Like a choose-your-own-adventure book each choice funnels into a specific outcome. If I stay isolated and silent, I will not create community. If I do not create community, I cannot experience the fullness of the human experience. We are not intended to exist in a vacuum. We each have a unique gift, a unique perspective to offer and it is through those shared perspectives that divinity speaks. That we have the opportunity to see and be seen. It is through witnessing the humanity in ourselves and others that we experience the grace that only divinity offers.