I’m 37 tomorrow.
Last night, I realized that 3+7=10=1 in numerology. 36 is 3+6=9. Aside from the ability to do basic math, (I’m a big kid now) in astrology, 9 is about endings, and 1 is about beginning. New cycle. New start. In the tarot, 1 is the magician card – the master of the elements, the alchemist, a master of opposites. A person who invokes their will, and understands “as above, so below”
This 36th year of my life has been more endings than I can count. There is an entire continent in the Pangea of my heart that had to crack and break away, and I have spent months trying to find peace in that. There’s an entire country between me and the 36 years of familiar.
In year 37, I step further into the unknown. I have no plans, I have no purpose, I have no expectation. That’s not a depressed statement, it’s a fact. I just don’t know. And the thing is, I don’t need to know. I’ve spent 36 years attempting to control my life, attempting to protect myself, and trying to cobble together sanity in the midst of my own insanity.
Try as I might, I’m still scared I’ll go psychotic again. Depression enjoys the mountains as much as I do, and anxiety takes my breath away as much as the view. I can change none of these things, I can only welcome them. My 36th year’s mantra was very often “what you resist persists” (Jung) and “you cannot change anything unless you accept it” (Watts)
In this new beginning, I’m channeling Morpheus. As much as I can remember and remind myself: every moment, every feeling, everything is exactly as it is supposed to be – it’s perfect. Always. If it wasn’t, I’d be dead. It’s not as if this understanding exists only in the movies, Alan Watts, about 572937 gurus, and so forth all say the same. Maynard says it “reaching out and embrace the random, reaching out to embrace whatever may come”
Everything in our reality is always a reflection of what we think, how we feel, and what needs to be healed. Many allow TV, other people’s opinions, and politicians to think for them, and gorge themselves on fear. When you create space and let yourself be inspired, it becomes more clear that fear is a prison you choose to create. The only way out is to trust and ask for help.
I don’t even know how I make myself breathe or how I make my heart beat, I think it’s time to turn over the illusion that the person I call Daina is really an amalgamation of what other people have told me, and any way I could describe myself involves things that aren’t me. If I were in a room with 100 people who knew me, not one would know the same person.
What does that mean? I have no idea. Except to say, if I don’t even know how I operate my body, why am I so insistent I can operate my life? In the words of my dead philosopher husband, “…true power comes when you give it away. When you turn it to the universe and say alright then, let’s see what you can do. You’ve been doing it all along, you just thought you weren’t”