21 May 2018
24 January 2018
In This Place
Arrival
We approached the border, my heart raced. My hands trembled as I picked up my bag, digging for our passports. We drove up to the gate where I saw a camera flash and heard an alarm sound. "Is that for us?" We approached the sensor line for the rail to lift and nothing happened. Heart pounding, passports in hand. Cuauhtemoc moved the car an inch further, the light turned green and the rail lifted to let us in.
We continued into Mexico. The roads became strange and unforgiving. The first large speed bump crunched against the bottom of the car. "Sorrio Volvo!" Traffic was a tense situation, streets merged with uncertain proceeding. The maimed and poor walked the middle of the streets with cars zipping around them.
My map was automatically unhelpful and the street names held no resemblance to those of our directions. Thank God for modern technology and that Cuauhtemoc's data was still good, GPS saved us from having to ask directions. Normally I wouldn't mind but that day in that way was anything other than normal.
My lovely husband felt moved to compassion with every beggar and I felt compelled to keep the windows up and the money away. 'Please let us just get to the hotel.' This was my begging at the moment. Cuauhtemoc drove on, though in his heart he was passing out US $ to all in need. God bless him for his pure intent.
We finally saw our hotel, our gated little sanctuary. Walking in was respite to my weary pregnant body, hyper-alert from hours in the car and the stress of surpassing the unknown.
Medical
I told him I was going to eat and go back to bed. I told him that I wouldn't be bored or in want of distraction because I would sleep, wash laundry, read my books, and work on dance. I told him, but it must have been a lie. I did eat. I came back to our room and sent him a message on Google Hangout- Llegaste? He didn't respond, maybe his data didn't work anymore? Maybe he didn't have time to respond as the shuttle was late getting to the hotel that morning.
I laid down on the bed, watched videos on Facebook about protesting police brutality toward black Americans by kneeling during the National Anthem and another about a Holocaust survivor who embraced her authority to forgive. I read some e-mails from family. Then I lay there on the bed holding tight to the shirt he wore the day before, squeezing it as he had my hand before sleeping.
He left only an hour and 15 minutes ago. This will be an exhausting wait.
.
.
.
.
This referred to the entire moment of Juarez. That moment of Medical was a glimpse of the wait I would have today, Friday, Interview day.
Thursday passed as the calm before the storm. We exercised, we washed our clothes, we went to the fingerprint appointment, we ate, and went to a movie. It was a day of preparation, like nesting before the magnificent trauma of birth.
We argued about things to say, about how to respond to certain questions. We fell silent. I felt many things of anger, doubt, fear, and a little hopelessness. But not so much to take away my power to act on the bright glimmer still beaming inside my mind's eye. So I pulled him to me, I held him, and maybe gently slapped the back of his head. We were meant to be together on that night, not torn apart. And so we prayed. I blessed his mind and body and called for angels to go before his face, fill his mouth, and the ears of the official with the words of a Visa secured.
And we slept.
This morning he rose, bathed, dressed. We dedicated this day, this interview in prayer to the sanctification of and receipt of the Visa. I walked him downstairs where he boarded the shuttle, then walked back to our room. That walk, my sleep moments before, are a memorial. Though I slept, I knew every minute of that night. As I walked, I felt every solid piece of ground under my feet. Now, as I type I feel the weight of my being in this space. But there are moments between then and now that must be shared.
I entered the room and began to supplicate the involvement of all I know. We need you. I wrote to them all: "Cuauhtemoc's on his way to the Consulate. I've pleaded for angels to surround him and to speak for him. Now I'm pleading for the officials questions to be worded in a way that Cuauhtemoc can answer with confidence and surety."
Knowing that action to be wanting, I began to speak. I spoke to Father, Mother, Earth, Space, Distance, Jesus Christ and all things good within the reach of my movement. I let my lips plead our case, I let the air in my throat flow out forcefully. I wanted nothing more than to act, to move in some way that will push ongoing power to my husband in his moment of solitude. We will be able to accomplish more in the world from having residency in the United States, my argument. We will be a source of goodness and warriors of truth and light, I bribed. I reasoned that our intentions have always been to amplify our influence of goodness with this process of immigration, that it isn't a selfish inward motion but rather complies for the wholeness of all. I begged, let us go home with a Visa!
In all of that speaking, I was confiding in sources that I held confidence were on my side. Yet I began to shrink when I stopped speaking. I stopped because I felt faint, I was exhausted. I wanted to sleep, I felt the need to distract or to restore the energy. I began to curl up on the bed and felt fear put a blanket over me. I wrote: "Are you there? Tell me how perfect love leading will open my air ways. Tell me how to cast out fear. I am exhausted. I feel that I know why the disciples slept while Christ suffered. Could they have known the extent of the anguish, no. But they may very well have spent themselves praying for him. I am receiving constant messages of hope and Faith and petitions to the highest power yet I am weeping in my solitude because of his. I can do nothing for him but what is already done. Did I do enough?"
It was a question to myself, that strong part of me that I knew would not allow me to shun the fight. Because I knew she was still fighting within me to relinquish fear, I actually sent it to my sister. I wept waiting for her reply, waiting for myself to be personified in her because we are allowed to be one. As was my hope with all whom I spoke my power to, I was waiting for the echo to come back to me.
I wept and I tried to keep my body spread out across the bed. That strong part of me was not going to allow me to become small in the space I could affect. It must have given me courage to open that way, because I sat up and said aloud, "I will not allow fear to rob me of any strength or power that I might send to Cuauhtemoc in this moment!" Then the thought came, Que Firmes Cimientos is his favorite song. Listen to it. So I did, and it gave me power. How Firm a Foundation
Then the echo came back to me, my sister called. In all that was said, in all that was given, myself was speaking to me. She said, "You are more powerful now as a body in pain and suffering than you ever were as a spirit of light and intelligence. You knew things but you had no power to live." That is what I heard. You are living, she said. I am fighting. I am a warrior and I am sending forth power with my word.
The movement of my breath, the vibrations of my words, will push forth from rock to air, to tree and sea. The God of heaven and earth, Mother and Father, Christ, my family present on earth and in heaven, the Holy Ghost, all are working together for the good of our family. And I accept their sacrifices and their labor.
I accept the pain that comes with the birthing of a child. Immigration has been carried in our lives for seven years. Like a the baby within me will soon do, it outgrew its circumstances. I will not be able to supply life and nutrients to this child in my womb for much longer. Immigration can no longer be sustained in our hands. It is painful to push it out into the hands of someone else, but it is necessary.
It's been three weeks.
I finished typing that Friday at 10:29 am. Though I didn't consciously feel the shift in wind, or the tremble of the ground beneath me, the molecules of my body suddenly burst with energy. Their vibrations moved within me and I said allowed, "It's all finished now, he's coming, our Visa is coming."
The call I sent out returned more swiftly then I knew possible. They excited and calmed me instantaneously. And with this knowledge of success sitting on my heart, I had only two things to do: I sent my gratitude forth on the wind, through the Earth, into space, and on wings of prayer. Then again, I waited.
Around 11:10am, Cuauhtémoc knocked on the door. I looked out the peep hole to see him standing with a giant grin on his face. He had finished around 10:25am.
We celebrated. We rejoiced. We were humbled.
The wait for his packet to come, with his passport and Visa, felt eternal. We just wanted to get home and hold our children close. Yet here we are at home, three weeks from that Friday. That place seems distant now, as though it happened years ago. The anxiety attacks that used to wake me in my sleep, are now non-existent. I still wake up constantly, caused by waiting for the baby to come- heartburn, bathroom runs, getting constantly uncomfortable.
The place I'm in is no longer dependent on a physical space. In this place, there is breath, life, freedom. It is familiar, like it was always there but for fear and time, I couldn't see it. Moments in which this place quietly revealed itself to me along the way, I call those moments hope.
I can't wait to see what is held for us in this place.
We approached the border, my heart raced. My hands trembled as I picked up my bag, digging for our passports. We drove up to the gate where I saw a camera flash and heard an alarm sound. "Is that for us?" We approached the sensor line for the rail to lift and nothing happened. Heart pounding, passports in hand. Cuauhtemoc moved the car an inch further, the light turned green and the rail lifted to let us in.
We continued into Mexico. The roads became strange and unforgiving. The first large speed bump crunched against the bottom of the car. "Sorrio Volvo!" Traffic was a tense situation, streets merged with uncertain proceeding. The maimed and poor walked the middle of the streets with cars zipping around them.
My map was automatically unhelpful and the street names held no resemblance to those of our directions. Thank God for modern technology and that Cuauhtemoc's data was still good, GPS saved us from having to ask directions. Normally I wouldn't mind but that day in that way was anything other than normal.
My lovely husband felt moved to compassion with every beggar and I felt compelled to keep the windows up and the money away. 'Please let us just get to the hotel.' This was my begging at the moment. Cuauhtemoc drove on, though in his heart he was passing out US $ to all in need. God bless him for his pure intent.
We finally saw our hotel, our gated little sanctuary. Walking in was respite to my weary pregnant body, hyper-alert from hours in the car and the stress of surpassing the unknown.
Medical
I told him I was going to eat and go back to bed. I told him that I wouldn't be bored or in want of distraction because I would sleep, wash laundry, read my books, and work on dance. I told him, but it must have been a lie. I did eat. I came back to our room and sent him a message on Google Hangout- Llegaste? He didn't respond, maybe his data didn't work anymore? Maybe he didn't have time to respond as the shuttle was late getting to the hotel that morning.
I laid down on the bed, watched videos on Facebook about protesting police brutality toward black Americans by kneeling during the National Anthem and another about a Holocaust survivor who embraced her authority to forgive. I read some e-mails from family. Then I lay there on the bed holding tight to the shirt he wore the day before, squeezing it as he had my hand before sleeping.
He left only an hour and 15 minutes ago. This will be an exhausting wait.
.
.
.
.
This referred to the entire moment of Juarez. That moment of Medical was a glimpse of the wait I would have today, Friday, Interview day.
Thursday passed as the calm before the storm. We exercised, we washed our clothes, we went to the fingerprint appointment, we ate, and went to a movie. It was a day of preparation, like nesting before the magnificent trauma of birth.
We argued about things to say, about how to respond to certain questions. We fell silent. I felt many things of anger, doubt, fear, and a little hopelessness. But not so much to take away my power to act on the bright glimmer still beaming inside my mind's eye. So I pulled him to me, I held him, and maybe gently slapped the back of his head. We were meant to be together on that night, not torn apart. And so we prayed. I blessed his mind and body and called for angels to go before his face, fill his mouth, and the ears of the official with the words of a Visa secured.
And we slept.
This morning he rose, bathed, dressed. We dedicated this day, this interview in prayer to the sanctification of and receipt of the Visa. I walked him downstairs where he boarded the shuttle, then walked back to our room. That walk, my sleep moments before, are a memorial. Though I slept, I knew every minute of that night. As I walked, I felt every solid piece of ground under my feet. Now, as I type I feel the weight of my being in this space. But there are moments between then and now that must be shared.
I entered the room and began to supplicate the involvement of all I know. We need you. I wrote to them all: "Cuauhtemoc's on his way to the Consulate. I've pleaded for angels to surround him and to speak for him. Now I'm pleading for the officials questions to be worded in a way that Cuauhtemoc can answer with confidence and surety."
Knowing that action to be wanting, I began to speak. I spoke to Father, Mother, Earth, Space, Distance, Jesus Christ and all things good within the reach of my movement. I let my lips plead our case, I let the air in my throat flow out forcefully. I wanted nothing more than to act, to move in some way that will push ongoing power to my husband in his moment of solitude. We will be able to accomplish more in the world from having residency in the United States, my argument. We will be a source of goodness and warriors of truth and light, I bribed. I reasoned that our intentions have always been to amplify our influence of goodness with this process of immigration, that it isn't a selfish inward motion but rather complies for the wholeness of all. I begged, let us go home with a Visa!
In all of that speaking, I was confiding in sources that I held confidence were on my side. Yet I began to shrink when I stopped speaking. I stopped because I felt faint, I was exhausted. I wanted to sleep, I felt the need to distract or to restore the energy. I began to curl up on the bed and felt fear put a blanket over me. I wrote: "Are you there? Tell me how perfect love leading will open my air ways. Tell me how to cast out fear. I am exhausted. I feel that I know why the disciples slept while Christ suffered. Could they have known the extent of the anguish, no. But they may very well have spent themselves praying for him. I am receiving constant messages of hope and Faith and petitions to the highest power yet I am weeping in my solitude because of his. I can do nothing for him but what is already done. Did I do enough?"
It was a question to myself, that strong part of me that I knew would not allow me to shun the fight. Because I knew she was still fighting within me to relinquish fear, I actually sent it to my sister. I wept waiting for her reply, waiting for myself to be personified in her because we are allowed to be one. As was my hope with all whom I spoke my power to, I was waiting for the echo to come back to me.
I wept and I tried to keep my body spread out across the bed. That strong part of me was not going to allow me to become small in the space I could affect. It must have given me courage to open that way, because I sat up and said aloud, "I will not allow fear to rob me of any strength or power that I might send to Cuauhtemoc in this moment!" Then the thought came, Que Firmes Cimientos is his favorite song. Listen to it. So I did, and it gave me power. How Firm a Foundation
Then the echo came back to me, my sister called. In all that was said, in all that was given, myself was speaking to me. She said, "You are more powerful now as a body in pain and suffering than you ever were as a spirit of light and intelligence. You knew things but you had no power to live." That is what I heard. You are living, she said. I am fighting. I am a warrior and I am sending forth power with my word.
The movement of my breath, the vibrations of my words, will push forth from rock to air, to tree and sea. The God of heaven and earth, Mother and Father, Christ, my family present on earth and in heaven, the Holy Ghost, all are working together for the good of our family. And I accept their sacrifices and their labor.
I accept the pain that comes with the birthing of a child. Immigration has been carried in our lives for seven years. Like a the baby within me will soon do, it outgrew its circumstances. I will not be able to supply life and nutrients to this child in my womb for much longer. Immigration can no longer be sustained in our hands. It is painful to push it out into the hands of someone else, but it is necessary.
It's been three weeks.
I finished typing that Friday at 10:29 am. Though I didn't consciously feel the shift in wind, or the tremble of the ground beneath me, the molecules of my body suddenly burst with energy. Their vibrations moved within me and I said allowed, "It's all finished now, he's coming, our Visa is coming."
The call I sent out returned more swiftly then I knew possible. They excited and calmed me instantaneously. And with this knowledge of success sitting on my heart, I had only two things to do: I sent my gratitude forth on the wind, through the Earth, into space, and on wings of prayer. Then again, I waited.
Around 11:10am, Cuauhtémoc knocked on the door. I looked out the peep hole to see him standing with a giant grin on his face. He had finished around 10:25am.
We celebrated. We rejoiced. We were humbled.
The wait for his packet to come, with his passport and Visa, felt eternal. We just wanted to get home and hold our children close. Yet here we are at home, three weeks from that Friday. That place seems distant now, as though it happened years ago. The anxiety attacks that used to wake me in my sleep, are now non-existent. I still wake up constantly, caused by waiting for the baby to come- heartburn, bathroom runs, getting constantly uncomfortable.
The place I'm in is no longer dependent on a physical space. In this place, there is breath, life, freedom. It is familiar, like it was always there but for fear and time, I couldn't see it. Moments in which this place quietly revealed itself to me along the way, I call those moments hope.
I can't wait to see what is held for us in this place.
24 June 2017
Creation
I'm in the middle of the very beginning of fulfilling some artistic dreams and right now I'm super excited. I think creation is all our life is meant to be. We create relationships on all levels, we create ways to live and journey through life together. So, this I will remember when darkness creeps on my mind, I just have to create a way to get to the light and turn it on.
28 January 2017
...
I've decided that my current perception of depression and anxiety are very much like ellipsis. Not that they are skipped over but rather encompass a set of ellipsis. That set of ellipsis represents a multitude of thoughts and emotions that pulse through me as I transition between waves of anxiety and depression. It is in these ellipsis that I fail or triumph and learn.
If we zoomed into the ellipsis of my mind, like scientific movies zoom in on cells, we would find a monumental battle ensuing. I have had quite a few people ask me how I over came my depression, because I have felt so much better in these last couple of months and it is almost palpable.
BUT, I always answer that it isn't over and we ought not be deceived into thinking the condition has passed. The thing is that many people continue having attacks flung on them, even though they smile. For me personally, the storms of depression are still a magnitude like unto any that contributed to keeping me in bed an entire day, or turning me into a monster toward my children and husband. It's still very much real and very painful.
BUT, I have come to a point of eureka. I have found it, that moment so microscopic that it literally took me months to even fathom a "pause" between thought and reaction. I couldn't see it, when Therapists would mention pausing, or breathing, or even recognizing an erroneous thought, I repeatedly asked, "HOW?!"
So I was taught to work backward from the situations I found myself in. Starting with negating the shame that came about every time I hurt someone or sent normal situations flying to crazy in .02 seconds. I came to understand that the feeling of shame fed my next entertainment of the adversaries thoughts that flooded my mind in the aftermath of negative reactions.
I then found it possible to find a pause mid reaction. I became as familiar as possible with the tool I was given and tried to breathe them into my being. My reactions began to be shortened and with each cut, each pause, I heard a little voice of reason asking, "Is this an appropriate response to the matter at hand?" The more I listened to that tiny profound voice, the sooner I craved it and the sooner it delivered.
You see, depression is a very overwhelming feeling. It is hard to describe, but when it is prevalent, I think your entire being craves something as powerful, anything other than that doom. Which, in my theory, is why anxiety easily couples depression. Anxiety feeds secondary emotions, giving them strength to lash out. In my case, that secondary was often anger. No, wrath. My ignorance of this entire realm of depression allowed my anger to become a beast, not just an inclination. The process of battling, then breaking and calming that beast to a trained tool is still a goal, not a complete success.
Now, I have found that point of being able to ask if my response will be appropriate before it comes out of me.
BUT, that is not to say the urge and the attack don't entice me, that they don't win sometimes. Because they do, some days I simply lose grip of my reigns and I have to fight my way back to getting them in hand again.
I can smile more now, and choose to do so in spite of the gloom because, for the most part, I have found that I can control my reactions. It's hard and often takes all mental and physical stamina. Just like retraining a muscle after atrophy, the joy of having full use and ability of your limbs is undeniable.
Please, keep fighting, I know you're tired and sometimes don't know how to battle effectively. I know it's hard to find allies, but please don't stop searching for those who will help you succeed and teach you the way through the battlefield. There will be a time when you too will exlaim, Eureka!
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
If we zoomed into the ellipsis of my mind, like scientific movies zoom in on cells, we would find a monumental battle ensuing. I have had quite a few people ask me how I over came my depression, because I have felt so much better in these last couple of months and it is almost palpable.
BUT, I always answer that it isn't over and we ought not be deceived into thinking the condition has passed. The thing is that many people continue having attacks flung on them, even though they smile. For me personally, the storms of depression are still a magnitude like unto any that contributed to keeping me in bed an entire day, or turning me into a monster toward my children and husband. It's still very much real and very painful.
BUT, I have come to a point of eureka. I have found it, that moment so microscopic that it literally took me months to even fathom a "pause" between thought and reaction. I couldn't see it, when Therapists would mention pausing, or breathing, or even recognizing an erroneous thought, I repeatedly asked, "HOW?!"
So I was taught to work backward from the situations I found myself in. Starting with negating the shame that came about every time I hurt someone or sent normal situations flying to crazy in .02 seconds. I came to understand that the feeling of shame fed my next entertainment of the adversaries thoughts that flooded my mind in the aftermath of negative reactions.
I then found it possible to find a pause mid reaction. I became as familiar as possible with the tool I was given and tried to breathe them into my being. My reactions began to be shortened and with each cut, each pause, I heard a little voice of reason asking, "Is this an appropriate response to the matter at hand?" The more I listened to that tiny profound voice, the sooner I craved it and the sooner it delivered.
You see, depression is a very overwhelming feeling. It is hard to describe, but when it is prevalent, I think your entire being craves something as powerful, anything other than that doom. Which, in my theory, is why anxiety easily couples depression. Anxiety feeds secondary emotions, giving them strength to lash out. In my case, that secondary was often anger. No, wrath. My ignorance of this entire realm of depression allowed my anger to become a beast, not just an inclination. The process of battling, then breaking and calming that beast to a trained tool is still a goal, not a complete success.
Now, I have found that point of being able to ask if my response will be appropriate before it comes out of me.
BUT, that is not to say the urge and the attack don't entice me, that they don't win sometimes. Because they do, some days I simply lose grip of my reigns and I have to fight my way back to getting them in hand again.
I can smile more now, and choose to do so in spite of the gloom because, for the most part, I have found that I can control my reactions. It's hard and often takes all mental and physical stamina. Just like retraining a muscle after atrophy, the joy of having full use and ability of your limbs is undeniable.
Please, keep fighting, I know you're tired and sometimes don't know how to battle effectively. I know it's hard to find allies, but please don't stop searching for those who will help you succeed and teach you the way through the battlefield. There will be a time when you too will exlaim, Eureka!
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
27 October 2016
Epiphany
A thought: maybe we need to redefine the course. Our goal pathway usually focuses on how we will trod and when we want to arrive. Maybe it's time that we all recognize that the pathways we choose also include unforeseeable terrain, monsters/demons/and other travelers. It also might not always supply us with provisions the path. Maybe we need to start knowing that there will be unexpected stops because of hardship or insurmounted beauty to withstand. So when we are forced to stop progressing on the path we can know that it's still progression in the journey. To move forward on the path again is not a matter of overcoming shame or guilt or incapability, but rather wisdom to know it's time the journey continue down the path.
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
03 October 2016
Remembering the Promises
I've been thinking about faith, because of the things discussed in the General Women's Session. (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds a General Conference Semi-annually).
I discussed with my good friend, Jane, how I might trust God in a way that recognizes my fears (realistic or not) and allows my faith to lead my fears to the Lord. She reminded me that Heavenly Father not only hears my petitions for my family but loves me enough to desire my same desires for my family.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught that "[faith] cannot violate another person's agency....[nor] force our will upon God."
What do I want from Life and God? Specifically, at this moment, I want our vehicles to sell so that we can pay off some debt and not go into more debt to pay the $585 and $85 fees that we need to turn in with our 601-A application. And, I want this application to be approved. Both rely on decisions made by other people. I questioned if my faith that these things could happen might be erroneous. That perhaps I should not have faith in something that is up to the chances of people's choices.
I respectfully negate that question because I know that there are good people in all aspects of life. What I ask is that those be the people whose eyes see or ears hear of our ads to sell the cars. I ask that the good people working in Immigration will be those that receive, review, and approve our application.
I thought about what my faith is based in; 1- Jesus Christ makes Life, Progression, and Change possible. 2- My ability to become the me I currently can't see. 3- That there is a law, an eternal law, that with no beginning exists: All things will work together for my good because I love and serve God.
That reminded me of a post I wrote a few years ago that I'd like to share part of with you.
I discussed with my good friend, Jane, how I might trust God in a way that recognizes my fears (realistic or not) and allows my faith to lead my fears to the Lord. She reminded me that Heavenly Father not only hears my petitions for my family but loves me enough to desire my same desires for my family.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught that "[faith] cannot violate another person's agency....[nor] force our will upon God."
What do I want from Life and God? Specifically, at this moment, I want our vehicles to sell so that we can pay off some debt and not go into more debt to pay the $585 and $85 fees that we need to turn in with our 601-A application. And, I want this application to be approved. Both rely on decisions made by other people. I questioned if my faith that these things could happen might be erroneous. That perhaps I should not have faith in something that is up to the chances of people's choices.
I respectfully negate that question because I know that there are good people in all aspects of life. What I ask is that those be the people whose eyes see or ears hear of our ads to sell the cars. I ask that the good people working in Immigration will be those that receive, review, and approve our application.
I thought about what my faith is based in; 1- Jesus Christ makes Life, Progression, and Change possible. 2- My ability to become the me I currently can't see. 3- That there is a law, an eternal law, that with no beginning exists: All things will work together for my good because I love and serve God.
That reminded me of a post I wrote a few years ago that I'd like to share part of with you.
28 September 2013
" a Fear not to do b good, my sons, for whatsoever ye c sow, that shall ye also reap; therefore, if ye sow d good ye shall also reap good for your e reward." Doctrine and Covenants 6:33.
I find that when I do good things, however small, the greatest blessing I have is contentedness. I find myself to be more joyful. I am able to recognize the good things that others do, however small. The good things they do bring gladness to my life, hope when thinking of my children's future, and opportunity to resolve to be a better me.
Don't be afraid to speak the kind thoughts. Don't fear the kind gesture or good intent, the Lord will make everything alright.
The promises of these scriptures are real and it moves me to hope, to trust that Heavenly Father will take all things that affect my life and He will orchestrate a grand symphony. He will not dismiss my righteous desires and I will not dismiss His ability to turn fear, anxiety, depression, worry, and heartbreak into a life more beautiful than I can imagine.
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
27 September 2016
Making Space
You know, sometimes the anxiety I feel makes my brain want to explode and projects a false identity of space for my life.
When my house starts looking like the picture above, I can guarantee that my mind is in a similar state. I create spaces in my home for creation only when I take the focus off of the anxiety.
Please understand, my home is by no means ever really clean. My children are master storm debris creators, we are working on the aftermath clean-up pros part. But the thing is that when my mind is calm and has space to think things through logically, I am more motivated to create a space in my home, my family, and my life for the creation (new and adventurous things).
I am learning to hear the anxiety, recognize its voice and then move on. I want to move on because the anxiety is usually based on things that are not true or blown out of proportion. Sometimes anxiety comes up with a lot of what if's that are meant to scare me out of doing something I love, something that soulfills me, or neglect inviting my children to do something soulfilling. I'm glad I'm recognizing this and am able to enlarge my sphere. Imagine yourself in a sphere, like a very elastic bubble, anxiety wants to shrink that bubble around you until the point that you are in the fetal position. You take up the least amount of positive space that way. The immense amount of negative space surrounding you feels very heavy this way, breathing even feels like too much strain on your little space.
As I learn not to give heed to the anxiety, not to let it dictate my life, I am able to stretch this sphere of space as far as I want and am seeing that the larger I make it the more it can withstand. The space of breath and creation is so needed for me to feel complete and it is controlled by my will, not by circumstance.
I took what felt like a huge step toward creating more space to be me over the weekend. I auditioned for a local artist's original ballet, A King is Born. Not only that, I signed my girls up as well! I was both amazed and sore afterward. I was shocked at what my body could still do, longs to do. I was also very aware of the amount of work I have to do in the next few months, but I did it. I will have 3 roles in the work and my girls are so excited to be dancing with mommy!!!
I am nervous and have a lot of body image, capacity, concerns. I recognize those concerns and am taking measures to make sure I do the best I am capable of doing through exercise and technique practice. However, I am more excited about being part of this beautiful work than I am concerned about failing.
Con mucho amor,
~Anna K. Morales
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)