The Invisible Truth

Although every single heartfelt word in my last post was entirely true, in an effort to maintain balance, I thought I’d give you some of the raw details this time.  As with all things in life, nothing is perfect, and, where there is light, there must be darkness.  Think Yin Yang.

To start, the drive up to Rhinebeck last Sunday night was nothing short of terrifying.  I’d already spent the day in an emergency room (this time, edema), and had never driven on the Taconic…alone…at night.

I’d done some research the day before, googling the address of the Airbnb I’d be staying for the week.  I rented from a lovely woman, who—I assumed—lived alone and rented the apartment adjacent to her home to “Omegis” to bring in some extra income.  I never saw any mention of her husband in the Airbnb description (guess I didn’t read far enough down) and didn’t learn of his existence until later, in a message in which she stated she and he would be busy working the day of my arrival.

When I googled the address, there was no street view.  Of course there’s no street view.  The entire area is completely secluded!  But, what I did find was my host’s husband’s full name.  Curious cat that I am, I googled that, too.  Turned out, said husband turned himself in for sexually assaulting a woman during a massage three years ago.  It wasn’t until later in the week that I learned the woman never pursued and all charges had been dropped.  It was a little too late by then, though.  The damage had already been done.  The reservation confirmed.  The fear instilled.

And, there I was, driving head-on into fear.  Alone.  In the dark.

I did bring my husband’s rusty camo pocket knife, just in case.  If nothing else, it gave me a sense of badassness.

After a quick stop at Omega to register, I made my way into the dark woods and to my temporary abode.  When I arrived, just like the Taconic at night, there were no lights (other than a couple of dim hues up in the apartment and the motion light over the garage).  The stairs I had to climb to get there were pitch. black.

I called the number given to me by my host, and…it was he who answered.

He kindly came outside to help me with my bag.  I carried my own bag, but he did follow me up the stairs to the apartment and, as I fiddled with the lock (pocket knife in hand), he stood over me.  Once I managed to get the door open, he let himself in and gave me the tour.  I didn’t hear a word he said.  All I kept thinking was, “Please, God.  Make the creepy man go away.”

That first night was rough.  I settled in, took a shower, and read a book (startled by sounds of rustling leaves and gusty breezes) until I finally couldn’t help but fall asleep.

The next morning, I awoke at 5:30, got dressed, and—with pocket knife in hand—I walked out to my car, in the murkiness of the early morning, and headed over to the 7am Tai Chi class.

On the third night, when I got into the car to head back to what ultimately became my peaceful sanctuary, I tried to open the knife, only to have it literally come apart in my hand.  WTF?  Coincidentally, by then, my desperation had dissipated.  I’d spent the last three days melding with nature—and with the likeminded souls around me—and felt protected by their beautiful collective energy.

Brain fog about started to set in around that same time, though.  As did the consequences of five and a half hours of lecture every day, combined with two hours of exercise, another hour of workshop samplers, and lots and lots of interaction.  Enough to make even a normal person’s head spin.

After dinner, in the later evenings, I’d done a coaching workshop, a writer’s workshop, had a surprise Angel Card reading, was healed by Qi Gong Master, Robert Peng, danced freely like a fool, was entertained by Acorn, the reggae band, and laughed hysterically with incredible new friends in a tent by the lake until we could no longer catch our breath.

Every. single. moment—amazing.

Although I drove home in the daylight, I had trouble focusing my eyes.  The fatigue was slowly seeping in now, crowding the peace I’d just worked so hard to awaken.

This week, my brain and body are both worn out.  I’m having trouble getting out of bed at all, let alone at 5:30 for 7am Tai Chi.  I cannot focus, am having difficulty remembering things, and am limping when I walk (the result of a minor knee injury incurred via foolish dancing).

On Monday, I had my usual shot of cyanocobalamin (B12).  Tuesday, Vitamin C via a painful intravenous needle.  I pushed through a slow flow class Tuesday night, but felt even worse on Wednesday.

I barely even had enough energy to take a shower earlier in the week.  Thank God the majority of my work is done via phone.

But I keep going.  I do my work; I take care of others; I practice yoga; I laugh; I smile; I take showers.  I sternly refuse to settle into the darkness, as I am aware that its mere existence—its sole purpose—is so that we may experience all things wonderful on the other side.

Are you ready to share your invisible truth and find out what’s on the other side?  If yes, click here and tell me your story.

Until next time…

Namaste tuned.  There is so much light on the other side of darkness, please don’t ever settle for but a glimpse.

xoxo