July 31, 2010

Land of the Midnight Sun.

I’m sitting in bed in the land of the midnight sun.

It’s 11:30pm at night in Juneau, Alaska, and the sky is still lit up like a shining sapphire unwilling to cease its majestic glow.

The land of permanent twilight—a vampirelier’s dream come true.  The air is crisp, the landscape is staggering and the omega fatty acids run freely along with ravens big enough to steal your dog and make Edgar Allen Poe look like a wussy.

It’s a peaceful world, seemingly untouched and presented in the way mother nature intended her to be.  I think time moves slower here, as if Alaska is knowingly laughing and whispering in my ear, “What’s your big rush?  Your life is for living and it is right in front of you—slow down and enjoy.”

I showed up on her doorstep sick and emotionally depleted, fighting an inner ear virus that had been plaguing me for weeks. I let myself sink deeper, knowing it was a work trip and that I had to get better in order to teach.  I managed to pull myself together long enough to fulfill my duties as a teacher, and get outside to absorb the beautiful land.

The qi of Alaska is extremely strong and a mentor of mine told me that the smartest thing to do is go outside, connect with the land and ask her for protection and help.

I took his advice, bundled myself up with my beanie and hoodie and sat on the grass in meditation with both palms touching the earth.  I asked her for help—to help me heal my body, release the virus, release old memories that pained me and to surrender what no longer served me.  I asked in exchange for her protection and guidance.  To leave my un-grounded energy and take her power with me.  I continued to meditate in this fashion for 20 minutes until I felt a small swoosh come out of my right ear—exactly where my inner ear virus had been camping out.  I opened my eyes to the gorgeous twilight and simply said,

“Thank you.”

Fast forward back to my couch in Los Angeles, where I’m finally beginning to feel better.

The steep mountain landscape has been replaced with the never ending sea of automobiles, but I still hold tight to Alaska’s energy.  I realize as my body slowly heals from this virus that change is upon all of us.  We’ve gone through two eclipses in the past month—lunar and solar.  We’re approaching August 7th, which is the Grand Cross.  In a nutshell, the Grand Cross only happens every 2,000 years where 4 major planets will align in a geometric equidistant diamond shape, which creates a frequency.  This alignment directly affects our energy, pressure, influences and reactivity.  It’s no longer about if we’ll be affected energetically or not—but rather how we choose to deal with it.  Old programming, limiting beliefs, deep seated fears are surfacing to be purged.  It’s a classic case of clearing out the smoke and mirrors—the true self will be revealed and we have a choice to freak out and react, or to slow down, face ourselves, memories and experiences and decide to move on.

Normally, I’d say a virus is a curse.  Today, I see it as a blessing.  This virus forced me to shut up shop, slow down and observe.  I’ve been shedding years worth of baggage over the past few months without finding a sacred place to do so.  Now I realize nothing is permanent, change is a constant, and that we are forever evolving if we chose to.  I chose to release old memories and holding patterns, to cleanse my body and mind, re-program my thought process and come back stronger.

Until then, I rest quietly—part of me snuggled up to my computer and juicy slice of reality on my fluffy couch—the other dancing with possibility in a never-ending twilight speckled with endless stars of change.

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