Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Sunday Coral ramblings…

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Good morning everyone! Happy Sunday! I asked Alexa to play songs by Ram Dass this morning as I write. I am so drawn to Him, to his story and his writings. I just ordered his book, “Be Here Now”. I saw Nahko reference Ram Dass this morning as I visited his web page, and I was reminded that I needed to get this book. I order books and then I don’t read them, because I get so busy. Lately, it’s more because I don’t feel well enough. Anyway…suffice to say that I always have great excuses for not reading the books I buy. I am dedicated to reading this one.

I was looking at Tony Robbins and I was trying my hardest to figure out how to go and see him. I looked at dates and costs and something held me back. I was pumped and so I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t moving on it. The money? Obviously and of course, and yet it was more subtle and less obvious than just the money. In all of this looking, Ram Dass kept popping up everywhere, even more than Tony Robbins, and it feels right, for me, for right now. Ram Dass and his teachings and his Maui retreat…they are very much in my awareness, shifting more into my consciousness, and I am so at ease and comfortable knowing that this is my next step, with Ram Dass, however that looks.

My situation with my surgery and my unaddressed pre-op pain, now piled on top by my post-op pain has me going a bit mad. The physical pain and turmoil has me in a state that feels uncomfortable. I am in so much pain the last couple of days that movement just hurts. Sweating and chilling and smelling foul…feeling irritable and tired, like sleeping is more passing out than resting, really. Chronic pain accompanied by her BFF depression, coupled with PTSD…a mother fucking doozie…oh, yes and let us not forget, my deceased Mom that I have hardly taken the time to mourn…

My memories…a few hours sitting across the table yesterday from eyes like mine, pain and loss like mine…with my little Brother who has been just as gone and even more inaccessible to me, than our deceased Mother, since she died less than three years ago. My little Brother and I his big sister, all we have left of our Mom. Estranged in turmoil and unresolved conflict and conversations never spoken, exacerbated and further out of reach when we lost our Mom, in the same house, in the same moment in time, and a million miles away from and almost comple separate from one another. We sat Together in the same church and we buried her together, not together, in the same cemetery, on the same day. Before our Mom got sick and way before she died, we had lost our way to one another. Losing our Mom just made it impossible for a while, at least for me, to reach my little Brother. When he reached for me, I knew how to do that. I have always known how to reach back for him when he really needed me. We lost our way. In so many ways, we never stood a fucking chance. We were told who and how to be. We were surrounded by “family” that didn’t love or treat us like family and we were none the fucking wiser. Hypocrites and the self righteous sat at our tables and swam in our kiddie pools with us. We did as we were told. We minded our manners and we love and respect our elders. Please and Thank you…yes and no sir…we were so well behaved. We were good kids and we had good parents. We had a big family that loved us. We know how to mind. We know how to be seen and not heard. We know invisible. We have been invisible. For me, our most dangerous invisibility has been toward one another. We know each other, Shawn and I, and we always have. Even when people told us how we felt about one another, we knew better. We lost our ability to tell each other how we felt. We lost or more accurately, never knew, how to communicate effectively, with one another in conflict. We communicated best with alcohol…at least I did. Without the alcohol and with all of the conflict, I guess I couldn’t find my words. Without my Mom, I could not find anything other than my deepest and darkest pain and a lifetime worth of uncried tears and unresolved pain and conflict. Every day, at least a few times, I missed my little Brother, right along with our deceased Mother. They were gone and so I put all I had left into my Father. We were taught, Family first and I tried it like I learned it. My family was gone though. There were four of us. And then there were three…and then there were two and two…and then there were one and one and one…

My world feels foggy. My pain isn’t really on a chart anymore. I mean, Sigrid pointed out earlier this week to me, that we don’t really have a pain chart, not with our pain and our pain tolerance. Our pain tolerance is an odd thing, and I’m not even sure I can explain it. It definitely is not explained or encompassed on a 1-10 chart though…at least not for me. 10 is not 10, and it really isn’t 15 either, because 15 doesn’t exist on the “standard” pain chart. Nothing about me is standard or orthodox or politically correct. I am Coral. I am Sam. I give a fuck, I really do, except for when I’ve no fucks left to give…at which point, I just stop letting you know that I give a fuck…even though I still do, in actuality, give a fuck.

Anyway…thank you Ram Dass for this morning’s inspiration. Thank you Shawn for figuring “us”out with me. However that looks, and however we figure it out, I am glad we are finally figuring it out. Thank you Tamara and JiSan for loving us through this and for helping us through the worst pain of our lives. Thank you JiSan for holding space for me, and for loving me through it from a distance. Thank you Tamara for loving me and letting me do and be and feel and think and say whatever the fuck I need to as I sort my life and all of this fucking pain out. Thank you to my biological family that stuck around and who love me me like a verb. Thank you to those who left, who never, not for one single solitary second (my Mom used to say that…for emphasis…not sure why, but I just remembered it and wanted to try it myself)…loved me at all, much less loved me like a verb. My Mom died…you didn’t…you just fucking took that opportunity to leave, and all I’ve to say to that is don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you on your way out of my fucking life. Be gone. Be well. Be forgiven and mostly, yes, just be gone. My life is my life to create and mine to piece back together. If you are not here helping that effort, please find your way to that door.

As always, thank you for being here this morning. Thank you for spending this time with me in our healing room. Please take what you need and let’s send he rest back to the universe, to be recycled for the greater good of us all, shall we? And so it is.

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