My grandma is in the hospital and has indicated she wants to go to heaven as soon as my uncle arrives from the Philippines tomorrow night. She had her gall bladder removed, she has heart problems, the respirator, Do not rescucitate, dialysis, the works. As I sing to her I am reminded of Barry in his coma, not even 1 year ago. All the love and singing in the world is not like the movies: it's there to give comfort, but there's no bringing them back.
I've been doing guided imagery and singing to her. She can't speak or see. I tell her to give herself permission to let go. I tell her to remember the birth of her every child, her grandchildren, the smells of orchids in their garden, the smells and sounds of the marketplace. I tell her we all know her concern and worry was her expression of love. I tell her we are proud of her, of being her family, of her hard work and sacrifice. I tell her to count her blessings, to use her sharp accounting skills, which are still intact to her last breath, to keep count of her blessings so she will know what to thank Jesus for when she meets him. I sing to her, a list of old songs in my pocket, and she clutches my hand and I respond to her trembling with all the solid presence of health and energy - trying to infuse her, at the very least with comfort and love and connection.
Lots is going on besides. My private hypnotherapy practice, Teaching voice and optimal performance mindset. Applying my marketing skills for global domination through voice and hypnotherapy. Culling my writings for packets to publish. Lots of therapy and self reprogramming. Time alone. Recluse. Solitude.
And as I gather myself back unto me, I begin to feel my Multiplicity again.
My new "prototype" jew turns out to be too selfishly neurotic and debilitated by his own anxiety that he can't offer me any comfort because he is frustrated that we're "fighting" Plus I think there's an ego conflict. I dunno. But the secret joy is the mastery of pain says anais nin and if there's one thing i've mastered it's pain - so i made the disconnect on the deepest energy layer, and this auto-excision has been only dully throbbing at best. Or maybe the numbness of impending grief is taking the edge off. At least I know I'm still capable of love, that I can change my communication style, that someone exists who, to an extent, was adaptable WITH me, finally.
But love is not my goal. Sentience is my goal. I can live without love, it allows me to be aware of other things. It's working. The change and the therapy. It hurts just as bad, but different.
