Revisiting Chaos

A while ago, I had an awful dream that I was in a river, drowning. The river became more aggressive as the water rose, threatening to sweep me away. Just as I couldn’t hold on any longer, I heard a voice say, “Alice, stand up.” I did as the voice commanded and discovered that the water barely came up to my waist and I was safe.

From the chaos of thinking I was drowning to discovering that I could just stand up was a valuable gift. It taught me that even in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation, I could look for ways to stay fully open and receive instruction which, in my dream, saved my life.

From the chaos of my dream to real life chaos of the world and its news, I could just turn off the news to prevent revisiting chaos; however, that doesn’t work because as humans, most of us can pick up the energy of people. Ever see a person who looks like they’re having an awful day and you feel their heaviness? You and I can feel, in varying degrees, the chaotic emotions around us.

The part I wanted to explore further is the change that happens after chaos. How do we recover emotionally and physically? A friend said something recently that illuminated my exploration:

Chaos is the reorder of change, and change is the only constant. Staying fully open to the frequency of change allows us to receive. It keeps us aligned within all that is, which is ever changing and expanding.

When I heard that my heart jolted and I inhaled sharply, sensing the words held a deeper meaning. Chaos gives us the opportunity to “stand up” and receive the gifts that always accompany change and keep us growing inside.

Since chaos is not likely going to go away, I also wanted to examine the role of chaos in our lives to understand it better and perhaps feel better. Chaotic events include moving or immigrating to a new country. We moved between B.C. and Saskatchewan at least once every three to five years. Military families do the same. Uprooting is hard on everyone and chaos tags along with the uncertainty. Families move away from extended family and start again with a new language, home, work, and friends with no guarantee their lives will live up to their hope for the future.

My life has had its share of chaos, too, mainly through illnesses. Ill health interrupts lives and puts them on hold until healing can occur. Since I am currently dealing with a second autoimmune disease, I’m taking this opportunity to explore different avenues of healing. I have a wonderful team of doctors and pharmacists who take care of the medical side of healing. A new drug shows promise. I am also exploring other aspects of healing that I believe impact me spiritually, such as the consequences of not dealing emotionally with past episodes of chaos. It begs the question: could my autoimmune illnesses result from stuck emotions at the cellular level?

I know from experience that chaos can jam the centres of our brains that are valiantly trying to make sense of the huge amount of data coming at us. There is a way to calm our minds to let our brains know they don’t need to be the CEO of us. Only when “our connected hearts and souls are full partners and can inform or instruct our brains to work as a team toward a better outcome” can we calm our brains long enough to make a difference when facing chaos and change. Easier said than done. (The Boundaries of Chaos)

Finally, no matter where we call home on this planet, we are more connected than ever before. What happens in our towns and cities reverberates in others’ lives worldwide. Chaos can spread like an infectious disease. This is why it is time to consider taking that journey into ourselves to find out who we are by discovering the patterns that don’t serve us, replacing them with empowering beliefs, and healing the emotions that keep us stuck. Transforming from the inside out is where all of us need to begin.

IT

 IT wasn’t a tag game. IT meant

I could be anyone I wanted

as long as I swore to believe who I became.

In grade school I was an orator and singer

weaving stories other people wrote

and won awards.

Barely an adult, I was a court reporter;

the union—fractious and blaring—and me

refusing to proceed until they behaved.

At a party I drank cheap whisky;

everyone was playing the game. I danced and whirled

as Mata Hari in my friend’s trench coat and worn fedora.

 When I was old enough, I was free to play IT

all the time to earn a living, to fit in,

to survive, to forget.

 The game then became

who IT thought I was

from my repertoire of roles.

 The mom adored her children; the preacher’s wife

knew how to behave and make meat loaf,

potluck casseroles, and lemon squares.

 The home dresser made people’s homes irresistible

so buyers would love them

and want to buy them.

But my heart, oh my heart, deflated and failing

grew tired as I forged ahead

stalking yet another sparkling role.

 Panicking and falling, I dove into endless inner closets

trying on countless outfits then wrenching them off me

for violating my skin.

 A flicker of light in the darkest chasm

a flash cube moment exploded, revealing waves upon waves

upon waves of tossed-aside costumes.

 Straining to peer through the exposed light

suddenly wobbly and vulnerable, there was no game

no costume, no role. IT was me.