My Last Post?

Well, all my hundreds of thousands of readers (and listeners to my blog radio show at www.blogtalkradio.com/isitjustmeor), I want to let you know that this may be my last post.

Now for those of you hundreds of thousands of readers and listeners who also followed me on my first blog, www.theyearoftheboy.blogspot.com, I know you have read this declaration from me before. I closed www.theyearoftheboy.blogspot.com once too (only to re-open it a week or so later before it naturally closed itself).

But it feels different this time.

Since I returned from my second trip to San Francisco (to retrieve my heart), I have spent a bit of time trying to find the right fit for my re-claimed pulsating mass of love in the once familiar space left vacant in my Irish body by my heart's unexpected and extended stay at the San Francisco Hilton in Chinatown.

And, even though my heart is safely nestled in its bed and seems to fit just dandy, we don’t seem to be speaking the same language anymore. (Perhaps it prefers Mandarin or Cantonese now?)

We (my heart’s desire to write and I) have lost the fluency, the ease and the bodily resonant vibration with the words of English. Words and writing them on paper doesn’t sing to me right now. It doesn’t lift me to my cliffs. It seems foreign, not of me, external to who I am.

And I ache to feel the joy, the wonder, and the gratitude of it again.

I don’t mean to put any responsibility for this on my heart. After all, I was the one who left it in San Francisco and took several weeks to realize it wasn’t pumping in my chest cavity or consciousness anymore. While it sat in San Francisco, abandoned, I chalked up the emptiness I felt around writing to feeling misunderstood and shot down at the writer’s convention. I thought I had lost my confidence.

I am now afraid that I might have lost a lot more.

At the same time, I recognize that I have spent the past seven weeks in a universally super-sized intensive study program with Barbara Marx Hubbard and a group of fellow evolutionary travelers. I know I am not the same woman who began study with that group when we entered the chrysalis together seven weeks ago. I recognize I am living in a liminal state…the state of between…I am not who I was, but I am also not yet who I will emerge to be. Much like a caterpillar in it’s chrysalis, suspended somewhere between caterpillar and butterfly…not enough of my caterpillar is left to escape the chrysalis and go back to life as it was and not enough of my butterfly is formed to spread my beautifully vibrant Kelly green, sky blue and wavy red wings and gently soar into my new incarnation.

Honest to G the Father, while writing this I had a startling revelation…

Perhaps letting go of the Caterpillar Me means also letting go of the Writer Me.

The pain of letting go of parts of mySelf that I no longer need or want is difficult and sometimes excruciating, but when the the journey is completed and the pain is gone, deeper integration and more profound understanding of mySelf are welcome rewards. That self-generated and magnified light at the end of the tunnel is what keeps me moving through the pain.

But (someone please tell me), where is the motivation to move through letting go of parts of mySelf that I absolutely love and adore? Parts of myself that are shiny and new and that transport me to peace and joy and my beloved God-view?

Do I have to give that up too?

Is Evolving Metamorphosis the surrender of it all? "Good" and "bad"?

And, if that answer is "yes," most importantly to me right now is this.

If a caterpillar has the instinct, faith, intuition and trust to follow its inner evolutionary guidance, enter the chrysalis as one being and emerge from it totally unrecognizable to itself and the world...

Why don’t I?