When I began this 30 days of guidance, I truly did not know what would be on the other end of the thirty days. I only knew to take the first step, and then the next. I’ve shared with you where I’ve been in the meantime. It’s amazing to look back and see what has taken place over that time, from damp green forested trails to a brightly-lit hospital room, from the serene ocean lapping on a stony shore to the wonderful community wrapping me up in colored spheres. We walk together, you and I.

And this journey has only truly begun. I am not stopping now. I knew this would change my life, and it has. But there is more to uncover and more to experience.

The cancer thing still remains partly a mystery. I know that at the very least I am expecting a second surgery in a few weeks. There may be more — more surgeries, more treatments. I feel that further lifestyle changes will feel right as well, to be even more mindful of the connection between farm and body, between food and the cells that comprise the physical being that is a part of the whole that is me. And the small changes that took place over this month’s time will further grow and blossom into other changes, other evidence of the evolution of my presence on this planet.

And I would love for you to walk this with me.

[Blog (Non-channeled) May 2010]

My life has been one of walls.

In early childhood, being the emotional repository and safekeeper for the rest of the family, I created walls around me for protection. We were a family of walls and it seemed normal and natural to be spinning in my own private sphere while my parents and brother marched in theirs. Later, in school, when confronted with other children, the walls grew stronger. I saw that I was unlike them and could never be like them. I took on my father’s wall of arrogance and “better-than” that covered up the emptiness inside.

In sixth grade, a classmate observed about halfway through the year that she had found me “stuck-up” but now regarded me as nice. Me? Stuck-up? I was trying to keep my head afloat in the strange dance that was the sixth grade social dynamic. I felt I had failed miserably. I tried to be like other people but always felt the presence of the walls between us. I knew nothing different. In high school it was much the same. I had unrealistic and romantic relationship ideals that quickly led me into feeling hurt. I was social but always felt alone.

[Blog (Non-channeled) May 2010]

Wow. Can I just say wow? I knew this would be amazing, and I knew I’d be in an enormous spectrum of emotion and experience, but living it has been more than I could have imagined.

I am home from the hospital. The first greeting from home was in my glasses case, which Matthew brought me yesterday. Part of the surreality of hospital experience was in wearing glasses instead of my accustomed contacts — the blur that crept in around the edges and corners of my vision was dosconnecting and disconcerting. I thought I’d feel more solid without the blur. When he brought the case I opened it to slip my glasses in and was brought home to the scent of the top bedside drawer in my bedroom. Home. Amid the beeps, lights, sounds, and bustling energy of the hospital, Matthew had brought me a piece of home.