We ain’t got the time

Before my Father had passed away in October of 2017, I had a feeling that he didn’t have much time left.  So I sought out a journey to return to self, and to gain acceptance and awareness of the events that were soon to occur.  I wanted to feel grounded and present for the time we had left together, and for the time when we both would have to say goodbye.  In doing so, there were many things I had chosen to do.  One of them was to seek out metaphysical healing modalities, another to learn Quantum physics of change, I completed a theta-level energy cleanse, and I also came to acceptance.

A poem I had found during this time, read as the following:

We ain’t got the time

Hey dad,

I ain’t much of a writer

I’ve seen big ships pull out of nasty weather

Rock back and forth and sail on.

And now there’s a storm moving through

Tell me dad, what’s a girl to do.

Not gonna lie, this don’t sit well

And it hurts my heart to see you go through hell

I say my prayers at night; in my bed

When the heaps of thoughts run through my head

Don’t cry

We got a life to live.

Thank you for bringing me up right

You will soon learn just what I need

Yeah I’m a wild one, but you planted the seed.

There ain’t nothing I could do

To show appreciation for a friend like you.

Dad, please don’t cry

We ain’t got the time.

-unknown 

During this time, I had also read an excerpt from Mark Nepo’s: The book of awakening.

It read like this:

Questions Put to the Sick-I

“I was lying flat on a stretcher in a large hospital room after one of my surgeries.  I had just been wheeled in, rejoining four others all mending in the one open room.  There was a deep silence as we looked at each other; there was only the slight breathing of machines and the clear drip of fluids and the hum of old radiators.  Suddenly, an older man began to laugh, and without a word, our eyes bounced back and forth to each other, and one by one, we joined in what became a cascade of coughing laughter interspersed with short moans; for with each laugh, our incisions and bedsores poked us sharply.  But we laughed and hurt and laughed and hurt, like a flock of broken birds dreaming of their next flight.

The laughter was raw and primal sort of song, an elemental way of giving voice to our suffering.  It was remarkably healing.  I learned a great truth from that unexpected chorus.  I learned that even when we feel powerless, we can always give a voice to our pain and home, to the slim, ongoing fact of our being alive.

We often underestimate the power of giving voice, but it is real and sustaining.  It is the basis of all song.  It is why prisoners break into song.  It is why the blues are sung, even when one is listening.  It is at the heart of all hymns and mantras.

And it works in giving voice to what lives within, even through the softest whisper, we allow the world of spirit to soften our pain.  In this way, the smallest moan is in itself a lullaby.  In giving voice to what we feel, the darkest cry uttered with honesty can arrive as the holiest of songs.”

–Mark Nepo

At the end of every daily excerpt, Mark gives a guided exercise for everyone to practice and to gain awareness.  Here is this one:

• Sit quietly and breathe slowly until you feel a catch in your breathing.
• Focus on the catch, for something is pressing there on your heart.
• Place your hand on your heart and inhale deeply.
• On the exhale, give voice to what is pressing, even if you don’t know what it is.
• Even if all you express is the slightest sigh, it is the beginning of your song.

I took these compilations of useful tools, and I brought myself into awareness of what was going to soon later happen on October 6th.  Saying goodbye is never easy.  But it is where the real healing journey truly began.  For everyone.