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Soul stretch

I caught myself off guard this afternoon. 

It was lovely.

I stretched in my office chair and my mind emptied – I was suddenly only aware of my flesh and bones and the soul within me wanting to be fed.

In that single stretch – I was not thinking of worldly ‘things’ I had to do – thoughts I had to have, or needs yet to be met. 

My body sung in my stretched position and I felt absolutely, deliciously, human.

Every inch of me exhaled in a glorious release of tension.

goddess-delivers

I was Amanda.

I found her.

I was wide awake spiritually and in that brief moment, so very aware. 

Aware of my body – my heartbeat and breath, and urgently aware that time slips by too quickly. 

As I returned from the stretch, I brought with me the short and important list of things my soul wants to experience.

Love.

Knowledge.

Truth.

And nothing, nothing at all was more important.  And time is of the essence. 

I was given this today.

All in one single stretch. 

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Enough

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The 29th was my 44th birthday.  It was unlike any other.

Other than the fact that I spent it alone after work,  I just felt different.

Okay, if I’m being fair, the quiet house and the importance, to me,  of the special post I wrote that night was a pretty awesome way to spend my birthday.

Up until this year though, it seemed no matter how many birthdays I’ve had, I always experienced that twinge of excitement either the night before or morning of.

That warm, fuzzy, childlike moment when your head tells you “It’s my birthday!”

Not this year.

I’m glad I was born, don’t get me wrong.  And I am grateful for life every day.

Flashback time … gather ’round.  Little story for you.

When I was 9 or 10, and living in England, I had a rather complicated appendectomy.  It resulted in staying in hospital longer than the other children.  They went home minus their appendix and I waved goodbye, wishing I was going home too.

My poor (now 40-year-old) Teddy had to have an appendectomy too.  I performed it.  We had to match 😉

A while after that surgery, (and after I finally got to go home) I became very ill.  I was misdiagnosed with gastric flu.

I got sicker.

My mum, deciding it was ridiculous that I could not even keep a drop of water down, walked me to the doctor.  (Yes, we walked.   We didn’t have a car, we walked everywhere.)

When she got me inside the practice, the doctor took one look at me and said something along the lines of “Oh God, she’s in trouble.”

An ambulance was called.

I remember being very aware of my surroundings.  I was so excited to be in the ambulance!  It was my first time after all!  I remember chattering on and on to the doctors and nurses when we arrived at the hospital. 

My mum had promised me I could have Ribena (A blackcurrant drink in the UK) I specifically recall telling them this as they wheeled me down a hall on a gurney.

I also remember wondering why they didn’t seem to care! LOL!

Their faces were serious and they were in a hurry.

Turns out, scar tissue from my mucked up appendectomy had grown around my intestines, resulting in strangulation. 

Also turns out, due to dehydration and the seriousness of the diagnosis, had my mother not brought me in, I would have had died within half an hour.

I lived.  (Obviously.  That always cracks me up, when someone is telling a serious story and it gets to a dangerous and life threatening part and the listener, with wide eyes, asks, “Did you make it??”)

The surgery was a success.  I recall the doctor telling me that he cut me so that I could wear a bikini and the scar wouldn’t show.  (Dude! I’m 10!)

I used to hate that scar!  I even got my belly button pierced years ago so that the jewelry would be the first thing I noticed while looking at my naked body, instead of the scar.

I still rock the piercing, but I look in wonderment and respect today at my scar, my reminder of how near to death I was.

Then came the partying.  SO much partying.  I treated my body like a carnival for a while.  Albeit a carnival in a bad part of town with really crappy rides … but a carnival none the less. (Debauchery Soup people, Debauchery Soup.)

I lived.

Ever wonder why?  “Why am I here?”

I have throughout the years pondered that question.

Was I spared for Nicholas to be born?  Is he to be someone great?

Obviously as his mother I can tell you he already is someone great, but you know what I mean. 

Like a Terminator type ‘great’ – “He will save the world in the future!  So you shall live to bear this child!”

That kind of great.

On a serious note, a friend of mine lost her partner the other day – whenever I would call her to chat, or get advice, I could hear him in the background saying “Tell her she’s enough!”

Tonight my friend Samantha had posted on her wall: “People who tell you how to be a better person, offer advice, point you to their path or try to fix you, don’t realize that they are already enough.”

I liked that.

I like the thought that everyone is right where they are meant to be.  And not only am I enough, but so are they.  Just as they are.

(And if no one has told you today, “You are enough.  And you are loved.”)

Lately I’ve been feeling like more than enough.  I’m filled with a magical, mystical sense of hope and life.

I feel every experience I have had in these 44 years is soon to reveal a purpose.  A destiny.  A bell has been rung.

And thank God I’m ready for that!  Because I am so very grateful for everything I already have.  I do not want for anything.  I have shelter, food, family, friends.

I have passions and causes.

Dreams and desires.

Yes, something has been awakened in me.

It truly has been a week of birth.

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