At the end of 2019’s summer, I got healed.
That was the day I flow in a 6-seater plan to a small village called LLanchamacocha, to prepare for our stay in the jungle, in the area called Naku, that the Sapara people built for people to come and experience the Amazon with them.
We spent 4 days there, and right after that, 3 days high up in the Andes Mountains with the Otavalan people in serious elevation; I mean I felt loopy from that elevation sometimes, just walking around and looking over into the mountains!
In both Naku and Otavalo, two different shamans told me that I had been given things to carry, and the givers were long gone from this physical plane.
Both shamans, one of the Sapara people, the other of the Otavalan people. Both told me that I had been entrusted with painful things that the people before me could not carry, and trusted me to carry it.
Recurring, painful fibroid tumors, and the effects of severe endometriosis, were my silent torturers for years, beginning in the year 2000. I was told that my medical issues were permanent, and that my only solutions were a full hysterectomy and constant attention to my diet, which needed to be mostly raw, vegan foods. And I was told that even though a hysterectomy should minimize the pain, it would not “cure” the issues because of the nature of endometriosis and my particular fibroids, both of which grew outside my uterus as well as inside it.
Multiple doctors offered the same diagnosis. They were wrong. I had options that I know I wouldn’t have gotten to if I didn’t have people, language, and practice for the work I’m doing now.
Because the genesis of that healing is some karmic awesomeness I may never be able to understand or explain, but the logistics, like how I ended up there, is as a direct result of my connection to people, language, and practice around intergenerational healing.
Someone who is part of my make-it-happen family (patreon) invested in my life in a major way by inviting me to be part of a journey that eventually took me to Ecuador, and to get healing there, and also among other waters, like Lake Tahoe.
Through all of that, I was able to recover from years, nearly two decades now, of womb pain and suffering. I was able to reclaim my body, and my mind, because if anybody in here has a mostly invisible, chronic illness, then you know how emotionally rigorous and fear-inducing it can be.
My whole life, from 2000 until now, 2019, was about waiting for my period to come, and managing the effects of it for weeks, just in time for the next one. Learning each month which foods your body is completely rejecting, and noticing how fucking tired you always are, even though you slept long and well.
Not anymore. I recovered from that.
As a result of my recovery, I’m also reclaiming a lot of things, things I can touch, but mostly things that touch me. My reclamation work started before this, for sure, and maybe even led me to this, but now I’m reclaiming all over the place, and this shit feels…good/scary/hard.
I am getting better and better every day, I am more available to recognize and receive in so many ways. My healing has given me access to people, to language and to practice.
And glimpses of other areas of pain too far back for me to reach and to heal before now. But now I see them, and I have language for them.
The language of deschooling is language that I developed (or more accurately, developed me) over these years doing the work with my family and with so many other families through conversation, counsel, crying, all that.
And all of that is what informs and roots my practice, which is what I call raising free people. You and language make my practice always accessible to me in some form, even when that form is a robust nothing.
Thank you for that.
For reading, listening, watching, saying, feeling, sharing, showing up, all of it. I need it. I use it. I appreciate it. I appreciate this work. I will let it work me until I am done.