How to handle reality?

On November 17 I decided to talk to my pain. What does she look like? I pictured the lady in white gown, portrayed in my ‘Benthic’ art piece — hair down, sepia tones, a suspended Mermaid overlaid. She was crying, which at first seemed theatrical. Why? She’s pretty, no one’s bothering her... at the moment. But then I looked at her hands.

As Sherlock Holmes would say — first of all, look at this person’s hands. Hers were bleeding, hanging down helplessly. Seemed like all the skin was gone, leaving just red clots of meat over the bones. Eeeeek.

Of course that pesky habit of fingernail picking, still persisting in the nerve-wrecking moments came to mind :( I asked again, why. What happened. Obviously the piano lessons my mother forced me into and the whole family turning a blind eye to her sadistic ways. All the while my hands were being raped so to say.

I saw this girl in white making attempts to do something, to grab a hold of the steering wheel of her lifeboat — but whatever she touches would burn her hands.

*My pain IS in my hands*.

I lifted mine up and blew on them, gently. It was my first impulse — to do symbolic healing the way we try to cool the burns. It felt awkward... will I ever stop feeling this way? Too symbolic, not real enough.

I felt like grabbing some special small object from my night table, which would speak healing to me. I’m tired of being hand-tied or handi-capped in my dealings with the world.

There are some crystals and runestones to pass my hand over... I closed my eyes to pick one randomly. Instead, I got a hold of the clock — that ugly mundane thing only tolerated to not lose track of reality. At first I was disappointed. Of all things.... pleeeease. 🙄. But then it occurred to me that

*My time is in my hands*.

And that’s the single biggest thing I’ve been struggling with. Being slow. Being tardy — because in my heart I really don’t want to do all those things and go all those places which waste MY time... regardless if other people and society pressure me to do so. The reason I’m reluctant to “go get a job” is because I’m afraid of this worst kind of slavery: when my own time is taken out of my hands. What for? Some scraps which never allowed me to buy a car, a home, to travel to the places of my choosing?

I imagined holding a symbolic clock in my hands and could see them healing. First some random patches of skin would begin to grow... then all the wounds would close, leaving uneven coloration... then it smoothed out.

It was time (lol) as my partner had nudged me, to go to town, do errands. I didn’t feel like going. But the way it is with many things, only so much is a choice. I dressed up nicely and put on makeup from my special kit... plus a rare essential oil gifted by a friend recently. I gazed at the mountains while driving, enjoying this country road from Frenchtown to Missoula, always traffic-free. I even liked the office buildings complex with the small gazebo, tempting me to Dance while this guy was renewing his food stamps. I did later — at Walmart. lol.

Once in a while, they will play a song for the shoppers that catches my attention... feeling like a special message.

This time it was ‘Head over Heels’ by ‘Tears for Fears’. I really liked the melodic pattern in the first part... and couldn’t help but Dance in front of the shelves with Christmas ornaments — those I have no money to buy, no place to store and no time to make them myself. Never mind that... just Dance. Not for show — for me.

Then I saw a woman with two kids. Both girls had bright red hair like little foxes. The younger one was seated in the shopping cart, looking as confused as I feel these days. The older wasn’t yet in her teens but the red locks were quite long and she wore them down. I could tell she’s becoming a real beauty as she Danced through the isles too.

Now I’ve never had much sentiment about kids; it always felt goopy to me. lol. But I’ve been looking for the things which would make this stupid trip to town meaningful. Those things had found me: a note from a friend, a scenic drive, and some people who caught my eye and ear.

On the way home, in Frenchtown again, I walked into the gas station store. One cashier girl is always optimistic and friendly. This time she was laughing together with some guy who at first seemed like another cashier. I felt good vibes around these two and was curious what is it they found so funny.

“I love my job!” the guy exclaimed, so loudly that I heard him across the store.

“What? Is there such a thing?” I actually blurted out at him while paying for gas. Aren’t all people just hating their jobs as loathsome thing they only do for the money?

A short awkward silence. “Sorry I’m goofy”, I said. Never speak your mind, Foxy. It embarrasses people and they don’t like you for that.

“I am goofi-ER!!” the guy replied in the same funny manner; he must had been heard outside. lol. He was likely an IT specialist rebooting the store computer after the power outage.

Someone loves their job... unless he was sarcastic. My jobs were infused with high expectations but ended up in disappointment. Obviously “they” are right and I’m just ungrateful. They are saints, I am the bad one. Yes I’m being sarcastic but I still feel like not enough of a person for not tossing my useless talents to show up at work at 9am each day to be robbed of my time and energy... for the payment which would barely cover crude basics.

The other night I pulled a card from my Mermaid oracle. The question was — what is it that will WORK to get my Dream Home? (for that’s what a worthy job would be for). The answer: “Re-energize.” A manta ray was featured, frolicking with a mermaid, both glowing with bright blue high voltage sparks.

One specific message was to avoid people and situations that drain me. I have been running on empty and urgent pampering is needed. I have to watch the daily interactions and see which ones deplete my energy. Duh..................

But strangely I can feel something coming towards me. Unless I’m so stressed and grief stricken that it’s making me delusional... but why not allow the possibility of a “miracle”. It would be scary since misery became my comfort zone. But I’m willing to keep my heart — and my hands open to receive this special Something. So far everything had ended in degradation and disappointment. What could I have done differently? How can I find myself within a better scenario? The one where my pain is transformed into Joy? The one where handling reality doesn’t itch, burn and gross me out? The one that will feel like soft feathers and gloves which fit perfectly? Is there such a thing? For me?