I enjoy talking about myself, but I rarely get to. Definitely not as much as I make others open up about themselves. Not many have the depth or the ability to converse with me in a way that makes me want to trust and open up. Nor do many know how to flow with the rhythm of conversation. This is because they lack listening skills, but, at a deeper level, it actually stems from a lack of self-awareness and authenticity. That’s why I’d rather just listen to them talk, even if it bores me. Or just leave. I’ll open up only when it’s natural and when I’m asked questions in the right context, with curiosity and sincerity. I used to think I was closed off for this reason, but back then, I didn’t know why I was the way I was. Now I feel unapologetic about it because I am more in touch with myself.
She often shares pictures and videos of her daughter. The baby is 8 months old. I get the impression that she is more entertained by the baby than gently loving her. She is learning to love, to love herself by loving her daughter. The baby is filling the mother's lack of love. She gave birth to a girl rather than a boy because the girl is the healer for the mother.
Someone recently told me my energy was addictive. They meant it as an honest description of their experience with me, not as a compliment or an insult. I didn’t know how to feel about it at first. As it sank in, I felt weird. Many people I meet and become friends with end up admiring me so much that they start acting more like fans than friends. Admiration can be exciting, but fans tend to grow possessive of their idol. And when fans don’t get what they expect from the idol, they feel betrayed.
I woke myself up from a dream, before it was too late this time. It was a sweet, sweet dream. But it wasn’t right for me. I knew that. I guess I wanted to believe it was.
My mind and heart are dancing in harmony. My body feels warm, and I have been crying more. This started after the encounter with the horseman from the valley. As we rode our horses around the ancient rocks, he sang a Navajo song about the air we breathe. His grandma, a singer and herbalist, taught him the song. I felt incredibly touched and humbled. The next day, I hiked in the biggest wind I’d ever felt. It was as if the air song called in all the winds. I felt the power throughout my body, from head to toes to my fingertips. Later, he sent me a couple of songs he sang. One of them vibrated in my heart, and the other in my throat, third eye, and head. It was a visceral experience. I felt it immediately — the healing, the opening and softening of the heart, and the remembrance of the soul.
