Still Healing

I don’t see nearly enough of this on Instagram, the unadulterated truth of what healing looks like.

It’s not sexy or “professional” or put-together. Just down-in-the-shit healing. Laying in bed for hours more than you’re supposed to. Discovering sub-layers of yourself you thought you’d excavated years ago.

The work continues. It never finishes, really. That used to frustrate me to no end. Now it energizes me, because there are always more notes I can add to the symphony of being alive.

Yes, I consider myself recovered. Yes, I still have occasional dark and difficult days. No, it isn’t “schizophrenia.” It’s called being human. Please, enough with the over-diagnosis.

If anything, I’ve got a regular case of 2020-itis.

If this year taught us anything, it’s that we all breathe the same air. We all partake in the same collective unconscious and we all are affected by the same vibrational uptick occurring on the planet, causing all manner of psychic disturbances as our deep inner reality clashes with our crudely constructed outer reality.

We are all in this together. We are all healing together.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite scientific truths of all time, as told by Guy Murchie:

“With each breath, you take into your body 10 sextillion atoms, and—owing to the wind’s ceaseless circulation—over a year’s time you have intimate relations with oxygen molecules exhaled by every person alive, as well as by everyone who ever lived. Right now you may be carrying atoms that were once inside the lungs of Malcolm X, Christopher Columbus, Joan of Arc, and Cleopatra.”