Yet another lesson; part two…

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Soon after my encounter with Turtle, I wasn’t expecting to journey again so soon. The veil to the other side gets thinner this time of the year, so it shouldn’t have surprised me.

Lately, after all my years of Shamanic Journeying, I have gone to new places, which frightens me when it happens. 

I was scared shitless when I was led through a dark forest where Wolf was waiting for me. I was even more frightened when he started stalking me. So I ran.

This journey led me to another dark place. I was walking into pitch-black darkness. I was terrified. I wasn’t sure if I was in the middle or the lower world; I didn’t know how I even got there.

I stopped, trying to understand where I was and why. I telepathically heard a voice say, “Take my hand.” Um, no, thank you.

I was frightened to take the hand and didn’t. My mind was racing about what to do. Why wasn’t this a happy journey? Why was I in the place?

I kept hearing over and over, “Trust me, take my hand.” I was afraid to, but then I got the courage to do so. 

As soon as I reached out and grabbed that hand, I was back to the loveseat in our back room. I understood what that journey meant.

In addition to overcoming my worrying and anxiety, I forgot about depression, which I have been battling significantly since my lung issues began. 

When I think I’m climbing out of deep, dark depression, I am shoved back down the rabbit hole. 

The night before this journey, I finally called a dear close friend of mine who moved to Washington state close to five years ago. 

She and I were very close. She was about 15 years older than me and a great source of answers to many questions I had as a woman. 

I never had someone I could confide in before this way. She explained a woman’s middle-life crisis and how I wasn’t alone in things I felt about this and that.

She texted me a few times asking if I was ok. She worried about me since I never posted anything about me on my Facebook page. No news is good news.

She said the stuff I have been sharing on my page is somewhat cryptic, and she was worried. I finally called her back. 

Kaaron is someone I should have called months ago, but answering questions about my lung disease is very depressing to discuss with people. 

That’s when she said, “Give it to me.” I started talking and talking about my physical and mental health issues. Everything just poured out of me.

She knew exactly what to say after she listened to everything I said. Kaaron was my stand-in mother for years since my mother, Eileen, was not that kind of mother or person.

In a very assuring, quiet tone, she said what I’d been waiting for someone who knew me to say. 

I mentioned how I pretended to “get over” my lung disease prognosis and move on. She said, “Sweetheart, you don’t have to get over anything. Why would you think that?”

I told her because it made people close to me feel better, and I knew people were sick of me wanting to talk about it. 

In her best Karron fashion, she said, “Well fuck everybody else. This is not something you get over.” Finally, those magic words filled with love and experience.

I cried and told her I felt like I was swimming in a dark sea alone. She said that’s because I was. She was right, I was.

She told me this was how she felt when her oldest son ended his own life 12 years ago. People thought she should get over it; she swam in her own dark sea alone.

I thanked her and told her I wanted to keep in touch because I missed her; she made me feel better about how I was handling my situation and to honor my feelings and not everyone else’s.

I am crying while writing this because that phone call meant so much to me. I am so grateful to have her in my life, even if she is across the country from me.

After I hung up, Marty asked if I was ok. I told him precisely what Kaaron told me. She was the only one who said what I’d been desperately waiting to hear. 

The next day, I had that metaphoric journey. It took me a while to realize that the voice that told me to take their hand and to trust them was either Jesus or God. It freaked me out.

I still feel like I am still swimming in a dark sea alone, but I know a hand is always ready to grab mine when needed. 

Talk about fucked up, right? I haven’t shared this with anyone because it’s weird to casually mention this type of shit without people thinking I am totally off my nut.

On my blog, I promised myself and my readers to be honest, genuine, and authentic, which is not easy. I feel like these journeys are necessary to honor and talk about.

These posts are difficult to write and even harder when I lose readers because of them.

I never said this journey would be easy, but I seem to be progressing slowly and steadily regarding a fraction of my life’s lessons.

Thanks for reading and even more for sticking around. 🖤