Earlier today I had a shamanic healing done. I’m never sure how these things will go. I’ve found it’s best to stay open but have no expectations.
The last year has been the hardest of my life. It’s felt like the equivalent of someone breaking into my home, stealing all my shit, breaking my legs, then setting the house on fire with me in it. It has knocked me down to a level that I didn’t feel like I was capable of, and then some.
I won’t get into all the details, but it goes something like… I had the most grueling, excruciating health crisis of my life, spent months in a near-death bardo state, unable to work, spent a significant amount of my savings on getting partially better, ended the best relationship I’ve ever been in, sold all my stuff, drove to Mexico with my 15-year-old cat to live with family, immediately got mold illness and parasites, have struggled with more health complications and finding work that I’m physically able to do for months, my cat almost bled out and died in my arms due to a miscommunication at the vet, my estranged uncle died, and then a handful of things I’m not ready to talk about.
Yet, there is a part of me that understands that on a cosmic level this is what had to happen. This is the cleansing fire that has taken away every distraction, every comfort, and forced me to confront things I’ve not wanted to look at.
During the first icaros, or “medicine song,” the shaman sang during my healing, I started to cry a little. It felt like the tones in her voice were keys reaching inside deeply hidden parts of me, unlocking parts that were ready to be seen. By her second song, I was sobbing uncontrollably.
The last year has felt like a deep grieving over the death of a version of reality and of myself that I was holding onto for dear life. The Los Angeles comedy writer who knew all the right people, who was jaded about anything too sincere, and whose worldview was carefully curated and in lock-step with the cool kids. She has died. And in her place, a person she absolutely would have mercilessly berated was somehow born.
I’ve written about some of my spiritual experiences, but mostly through the lens of, “I get it, this is weird and I didn’t believe any of this was real either. I’m a skeptic, too!” And yet now, after being brutalized by several excruciating spiritual awakenings that have fundamentally changed everything I know to be true, framing things in that way for the comfort of others who may never get it or experience a fraction of what I have feels like trying on a coat that’s three sizes too small. I cannot do it anymore.
Over the last several months I’ve written more than I ever have in my life, but haven’t published or posted a thing out of fear that people I barely know and in some cases don’t even really like anymore, will judge me. That they’ll read about my experiences with altered states of consciousness, plant medicine, shamans, psychic phenomenon, and interdimensional entities, and think, “Yikes. Go back to making jokes.”
The message I got today was that it’s time to let go of what no longer exists and embrace what is.
So here it is.
Some of it.
It’s a start.
Wow, Chelsea, I’m so sorry to hear about how grueling the past year has been. I also had a rough stretch, but only about 9 months and nowhere nearly as crushing as yours.
I, too, have found myself worried about how people might react to my spirituality, which is not conventional. But if it helps, I have learned that it’s very freeing to just say things out loud to others. The sound of the voice expressing your beliefs and ponderings in the “real” world (whatever that is) can unlock the doors that sometimes shackle us as writers.
Either way, I’m glad you survived and have found your footing. I look forward to reading about your journeys to new vistas, both physical and spiritual.
Peace,
George