inspiration.

Order

…it’s time for something new…
This is the feeling that inundated me, through and through when I woke up this morning.   The freshness of 2015 had not hit me at all, because all I’ve felt is confusion-pain-madness and despair.  DESPAIR because I still don’t know if my meningioma is cancerous or non-cancerous…PAIN because as of yesterday I was still without my pain medication due to the cost (and Medicaid not covering it because it’s experimental; still in the process of being clinically “trial’ed” as a pain management med)….CONFUSION, because no one seems to know what-who-why-or when they want me AND Finally-MADNESS because I spend way too much time in my own head, constantly and without regard.

But then, last night, at the crest of a long day fighting pain (and 2+ nights of insomnia), I had an epiphany.

As I prayed to my pantheon; my various gods and goddesses, I added my ancestors.  More specifically, I added my Grandma Lula.  My beloved Lula and I are said to have shared the same ailment; a bad case of ‘still-waters running too deep’ + hearts big enough to encompass the world and take on all the pain of those trampled by it.

I prayed to Ms. Lula because if anyone knew pain as intimately as I’ve known it — emotionally and physically — my beloved Lula did.  She loved those that were hers and even those that weren’t; she felt the pain of others and devoted a good portion of her later life to taking in those humbled/hurt/hungry & in midst of various bad happenings. She was a lover of people, through and through.  I have always felt connected to her, no matter where I am or what I’m doing — because I’ve always admired her courage in going where others wouldn’t concern themselves too.  And so it’s her that I write about today, because it’s her voice I heard last night in my dreams.

Like a warm glove, a feeling enveloped me and almost immediately made the pain racking my body stop.  Her voice was any-woman’s voice, timeless and without age as she spoke to me:  ‘Babygirl, we come into this world alone, we walk it – for the most part — alone; we DIE IN IT, Alone. Don’t concern yourself with unnecessary things.  You’re my granddaughter; hear me?  YOU are a granddaughter of MINE. There is nothing you cannot handle; least of all and especially, *this*. I love you.’

I love you, Ms. Lula.  I miss you, So So much.  And I hear you.

Until we meet again, friends…

Brightest Blessings,
~Porsha

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