My body is alive sixty one years today…well, most of it is. A few weeks ago, I discovered–through the serendipity of following the guidance I received while in Abadiania, Brazil with John of God to get a full spectrum of lab tests when I got home (see: Final Day of Trip Six)–that my thyroid was dead. That’s right. Post-mortem. Apparently, ever since the emergency surgery to repair the shattered vertebra in a horse riding accident in May, 2012, (see: Abadiania, Here I Come ) my body has done the best She could to function without a thyroid and the hormones it produces. Masked by the variables of recovery from a shattered vertebra, four fractured ribs, and two ruptured discs…the symptoms went un-noticed. Until I got the lab results and all of the dots came together in a crystal clear awareness that my body–without the support of a thyroid for almost two years–was starting to fail.
Why didn’t the entity just heal my thyroid? That’s the natural question to ask, right? It’s certainly the question I asked myself as I wondered, “Why make a direct connection with me to tell me to get to a doctor rather than just bring the thyroid back to life?” I don’t know the answer. I am called, once again, to trust the Will to Good to know–better than me–that reasoning.
Could it have to do with the path I chose to take in negotiating my way through health care system to get the type of replacement therapy treatment I intuitively knew was best for me? Was it a matter of willingness to stand up for myself–when I could literally barely stand–in a system that gives little to no value to intuition or my ability to understand my own body?
Was it so that I could learn when and where my stubbornly strong will serves me well and where it doesn’t? It did keep me alive and kicking. It did get me on the treatment protocol I wanted for my body… it also made me push myself to exercise and keep moving even when my body was crying out for me to stop…please.
Perhaps, it was for me to learn the lesson that strength can be found in vulnerability. And power in surrender.
And, maybe, it is the opportunity for rebirth into new frequencies–broken bones, failing organs… regenerating tissues coming forth into a new paradigm beyond my personality’s ability to grasp just yet.
These answers will probably come clear to me in hindsight.
Part of my body–part of the me that is All I Am–didn’t make it alive through that surgery. Part of me died. The rest of my body came very close to that veil in these past few weeks while I stubbornly refused the allopathic treatment and while I educated the doctors around me until I found one who would listen and respond with an open mind to my heart…barely beating. And, yet, here I am. It is a long path I walk, step by step in the unfolding mystery of why and what is happening in this sixty first year since my birth. I step forth into the unknown, each step trusting the ground to appear and meet my foot.
For now, it is a moment to celebrate that I am alive and kicking, coming more and more awake in the awakening. Happy Birthday to me!
Thank you. I love you.