The Call for Retreat

IMG_7173Retreat: an act of moving back or withdrawing.

This year began with a strong message from spirit to stay home, rest, to BE. My guidance was to sink into my own work and to limit information inflow from others. I felt strongly pulled to work in my yard and garden, to thoroughly organize our home and to declutter with a heavy hand. As this peace began to roll through my life, I also began to see what I need to be doing, teaching, offering to my community in order to create a bit of an income stream but also to help create and sustain that community.

It is not time for that yet. My life is in the dark moon phase, a time to neither plant nor harvest but to rest. Everything is done, fertile, ready to grow but not yet. This is the cave time and I know I must take advantage of that.

In other terms, this is the time of death that immediately precedes rebirth and it really feels that way to me. I am so strongly pulled to completely withdraw from the world that even grocery shopping or lunch with the family seems like too much.

I am in cauldron of change, that much is certain, and the cauldron is a pause, is the inbreath, is the cave of hibernation and regeneration and I am here, sleepily staring out at the world with glowing green eyes, not yet prepared to rejoin you.

The fact that my life provides the liberty to do this, to take this time, is a blessing that I firmly recognize. Many of you would have been back at work long before now–a month post-surgery–and carrying on with life, unable to examine your exhaustion too deeply for fear it might get the best of you and tear down what you’ve so carefully constructed. Life has a way of doing that to us and I simply have the liberty to surrender to it without fear that the electricity will be turned off and so I offer prayers of gratitude for this, for all of it.

It has been a rough few years with summers fraught with medical intensity. On July 13, 2015, my mom was hospitalized. She was under-treated and abused, I was often traveling and none of us took the time or care of her that we really should have. Especially the staff members of the facilities where she starved and thirsted, was carried by the seat of her pants and treated like she was intentionally misbehaving to get the best of the staff.

I didn’t realize how much bitterness I still carry about this until just now. Bitterness and disgust and judgment. But there it is, welling up, making my heart squeeze.

Mom died on August 22, 2015 in a hospice with a wonderful staff. Kind, loving, tender. I was with her, as were my husband and youngest child.

In July of last year (2016), my appendix ruptured. By the time they got me into surgery I had gangrene in my abdominal cavity. It took several months of drain tubes and recovery to get back to anything close to normal.

This year, June 9th, I again had surgery and my left ovary and tube, along with masses of cysts and fluid were removed from my abdominal cavity.

I am tired. Exhausted in fact. And so, until summer’s end I commit to being with this need for solitude, sanctuary and retreat. Life will still make it’s demands and I will respond but only as necessary. The rest–communication, socializing, etc–will have to wait. I find, for the first time ever, that I often do not even have the ability to respond to prayer requests. There is simply no well to draw from.

The well will refill in time. My body will heal. The classes or telecourses will be created. For now I offer this to you in hopes that there is medicine here for you, permission perhaps, to also withdraw and honor yourself.

Blessings. Be.

 

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