A Farewell

I am marking the close of this blog, which from the start I’ve considered to be an experiment. This little adventure has served its purpose of moving some energy and giving me insight that was needed, and I am grateful. But maintaining it is like volunteering to play the target at a shooting range. Or walking into a really tough bar in the Wild West and asking for a glass of warm milk instead of a gin with a human hair in it. (Rhustler’s Rhapsody – see it!).

I don’t have the energy. Here is part of what I have learned. Those who support the necessary efforts I am making to integrate my memory recall are very few. Even without understanding, these few have the presence and love to be there for me, plain and simple. Some folks just want to keep me at a place that is comfortable. Any deviation from their idea of my norm is grounds for drawing out the sword of suspicion, doubt, dismissal or worse. But as I learned from that lovely temptress Ms. Noxema – Let good thoughts be your shield and sword, and ignore adversity.

So I wouldn’t mind any of this, but for the call to change. I am healing. To meet the demands of my unraveling memory and integration – and if this has never happened to you, you are likely clueless – the landscape of my life is bound to change. I did not seek the memory recall – from what I could see of its arrival, it was the next piece on the evolutionary agenda. Regardless, it has happened and I must deal with the effects. Like a food I just can’t eat anymore, I find myself unable to go with stories that don’t vibe as real, despite their advantage of time and repetition. It is awful to feel like I have to agree to what doesn’t resonate truthfully and this causes me to isolate. I’m willing to accept it as a flaw – heck, those who would rather see me as dead than changed might have a point – I don’t know. But I do know nostalgia ain’t what it used to be. And this too shall pass. I’ll eventually get my theater back on – I am a good actress.

A small person builds cages to keep people in. A sage keeps dropping keys all night long for the rowdy prisoners to escape. I hope I can remember this no matter where I might sit – ever. It is an old Hafiz gem, but it never sang to me quite the way it does now – as a great reminder for good living. Here’s another: God blooms from the shoulder of the elephant that is courteous to the ant. Whether I be ant, elephant, dead or alive, imprisoned, free, none or all of the above – blessings, peace, and love is the only real message. Violence is no way to get that message across. That’s the truth. I have long wished for and taken action toward harmony – it is one constant witnessed as my memory returns to me.

I am grateful for the invaluable help received in refining my wish. Heaps of gratitude and blessings to my teacher(s). In the spirit of my wish for Harmony, I bid this blog farewell. I humbly thank you for taking the time to share a bit in my journey. If you’d like, you can catch my writings on less personal but equally passionate subjects at my Fragrant Alchemy blog- blog http://theperfumerie.wordpress.com/, and my Essential Artist blog http://anessentialartist.wordpress.com/. Or you can check out my book – Journey to the Heart of the Maker, http://www.gatewaysbooksandtapes.com/books/bk140.html. Blessings of Peace and Love to All – Graciela Milagros Rivera aka Grace Kelly Rivera, An Essential Artist.

Repair Work

There is repair work going on. No one has to understand, approve, or bless it.

The weight of memories sometimes makes a sink hole in the center of my chest. It comes over me like a bad flu. I don’t lack in effort. Sometimes the only way out is through. I write to move through the immobility. I do not hang in self pity.

I don’t need advice. If love pries a mouth open to speak, that’s one thing – it can be felt even through babble or liturgy of dogma. I admit love is needed. The non-judgmental variety. There’s plenty of the other kind around. Whoopee Goldberg did a wonderful characterization of a pregnant Valley Girl seeking an abortion. She talks to a nun who claims to understand how she feels, to which Valley Girl says, “Penguin, how would you know?” No offense to any nuns, the image is just what comes up when people assume and conjecture me out of existence. God forbid they should stoop from their loftiness to actually inquire within. Human kindness is highly underrated.

I had a childhood that did not allow processing of pain, of which there was more than your average bear. I took this lifetime on with the ability to make prayer of it, and I walk this responsibly. If you think otherwise, that’s your problem, not mine. I have already learned well to shed tears for others, for God, and to feel shame over my hurt. I am learning something else now. When I protested my pain too much as a child my body was beaten with a doubled over strap on the bottom of my feet and legs by my stepdad, the boss man, Mr. Alpha. I cried with shame for hours, so humiliated. It should come as no surprise to see phantoms appear now as I trust my voice over any that would humiliate or frighten me into submission. Violence is not okay, end of story.

For a woman not to be sexually violated in her lifetime on this planet of the militarized apes is pretty remarkable. My life in this sense has not been remarkable. I have recalled memories of blacked out sexual abuse to add to the ones not blacked out. Afraid my little mouth couldn’t – the red light room, the submarine, trembling uncontrollably… so many strange impressions that come up without warning. So many new relationships to negotiate.

Memories fall into place inconveniently, dissolving ground under my feet. I dance anyway. Consciousness was taken away repeatedly. I integrate the memories as fast as I can upon their return. Memories reflect out of body perspective and a morphology that encompasses all in the space. Ever since I can remember I’ve had trouble distinguishing me from not me. I am repairing this, so that I can better use it for my service work.

A life lived for others is worth living, but one must first have one’s life to be given. Transcendence does not happen without ground. I’m mending the ground as I am guided, not as I am told. If you don’t understand my actions, patiently accept your present lack of insight. Don’t worry, be happy. Your insight will return. And we’ll be jolly friends for ever more, more, more.

 

 

Unraveling the Coil of Fear From Grace

In the past year and a half I have lost a house, a husband, friends, and the innocence of not knowing just how my innocence was robbed at childhood. I have gained strength, courage, fresh consciousness, embodiment, compassion, psychic abilities, attention skills, and a whole lot more. This writing is a righting – I am using this medium to heal. I am speaking to you Graciela, remember that.

Graciela Milagros was the name given to me by a single Puerto Rican mother back in the fifties. I almost died and people prayed to the “Virgin Milagrosa” for my survival and thus my middle name translated means Miracles. Starting from the time I was very young I had visions of the Virgin Milagrosa and a whole lot more. In fact I was trained to – like a little soldier – and this is a loaded statement that will remain as such. I used to run away from my given name. Now I turn to embrace it, embody it. Graciela Milagros Rivera is one of the bravest people I know – has been all her life, and was given the grace to find her way to make gold of some very heavy lead. Wait – I am learning to inject myself into my speech – for so long the work was to be impartial. That is not the calling now. So let me say it another way – I am one of the bravest people I know. I have been all my life.

Childhood training taught me to feel what is hidden. The sixth sense had to be sharp, it was a form of early warning signal. I am unraveling the fear coiled round the grace. I feel the occult, which means the hidden, essentially. This can have a strong effect when what is being hidden has to do with me. It can be confusing as well. It used to be I wanted to know what someone is hiding in order to get some peace. I still feel that if someone has something to say to me, they should say it straight. However now I see peace will be found in not knowing what someone is hiding from me. I do not wish to know anyone’s hidden right now. I want my space clear of the cacophony of hidden agendas. Once the fear has been uncoiled, exposing grace in its fullness, I will be able to soar above the irritation of frantic gnat groupings drunk on dusk. Or feel right past the clouds of fear to the sun at the center of the chest. Soon. I am moving swiftly toward my stillness.