Like driving. It's a bit liberating not to be so afraid of a crash (although I still don't want to be hurt or mangled). Or at the gas station where the filler-upper had a lit cigarette in his mouth. I was curious how it would feel to be blown to kingdom come, almost daring his cherry to drop near the fumes. Even reading labels and eating unknown foods -- will I still ask about peanuts? It's a deeply ingrained habit to steer clear.
I feel badly for my nephews, who will only have pictures of me and whispered secrets about their crazy aunt.
Even in dying, I see how I don't do things whole-heartedly -- hanging on to the unbrokenness of my body (e.g. no violence) while I'm intent on dousing its life force.
***(the next week) -- The problem with the method of dying I've chosen is the time it takes to do it -- weeks or months of willful dying when the body is programmed to live. I feel like the dark curtain has lifted, in spite of my best intentions, and I probably will survive this funk.
***(the next week) -- On the Today show, coincidentally today, was news of a newborn found in a toilet at Disney World, and the doctor who just happened to be there to save her. I thought I was over the hyper-sensitivity of baby-loss, but I bawled. It's so damn senseless, so wrong. Getting pregnant is supposed to be the easiest thing in the world, and apparently it's too easy for some. Later, I listened to Sinead O'Connor sing about her 3 babies. I am newly shattered.
The Course in Miracles today is about following the path god wills for us, because in reality it is our will, too. What the $&#* path is it? I want guiding blue lights, like airplanes have when they land in the dark. I want voices in my head. I want dreams I can interpret. This silence makes me think I've been played for a fool.
***(next day) -- I am out of pain, so I don't really feel like writing today. I feel back in the world of the normal. Or at least willing to get to know my new normal.