I haven't written on here in 20 days. It doesn't feel like it.
Being on this adventure has made time a lot more fluid. My ability to know the day of the week is wholly contingent on how regular the schedule is of whomever I am staying with on a particular week and how often I see them.
The five weeks I spent in Orange County and LA all blurred into one as I was alone most of that time. Doing solo adventures through the city and writing in parks and stuff. I lost sense of time completely. I had a sense of when it was morning and afternoon and night, but no sense of when it was noon or when I should eat or what day or month it was. There was nothing grounding me to anything.
I spent two days in Big Sur and that sensation was far worse there. The day was grey and foggy, which made it harder to decipher even what part of the day that it was. It remained the same cool, misty light from sunrise to sunset. And because I was sleeping in my car on the side of the road, I would only sleep for a handful of hours and wake up long before the dawn.
No wonder I so often felt like I was losing myself.
And the good news is I actually was losing myself.
Self now being a very strange concept that I have trouble explaining.
I have been in Santa Cruz the last ten days. I am staying with an astrophysicist who has been studying shamanism, reiki, and hypnotherapy. She led me through a past-life regression a few days ago.
I don't know if I believe in reincarnation or if it's all just a trick of the subconscious. My friend says it doesn't really matter. If it is the subconscious you can still learn from it. And I do feel I learned something from it.
I saw myself in a past life. A was a woman in her early fifties. I was an American doctor living in the jungles of South America. I was working with a small village when a major epidemic broke out. I saw dozens of beautiful children dying in my arms.
I saw myself decades later, living in Cincinnati. It was the early 70s. I was older and alone. The children in my apartment building loved me. Nobody knew who I was or what I did when I was younger. I knew only my older brother. My much younger sister never talked to me for some unknown reason.
Then I saw myself older still on the day of my death. I was in a hospital bed. I saw the tubes sticking out of me. I was alone. Only a young priest who I had never met was there.
And then...
Then I was in a different place. A vast black space with different colored lights in the distance. I walked over a bridge just as black as the room. I only knew I was on a bridge because I could see different colored lights below me. Then I saw my daughter run out to hug me. She had died when she was 9. Then my husband was there. He had died at the same time.
And then I was back on a comfortable couch in rainy Santa Cruz.
I have been in a bit of a daze since I woke up. But I was already in a bit of a daze. I have been utterly lost in my thoughts since I left on my trip. Tomorrow starts week 10, but it hasn't felt like it.
I walk around barefoot whenever I can as an attempt to ground myself. I think it works. But it is always new ground. I am rarely orientated. I have trouble with mundane tasks, almost always choosing to go for a walk or write instead of doing things like eating or earning income or taking care of myself. I've lost a considerable amount of weight.
I prayed for ego death.
I wonder if this is it.
I wonder what I'll be when I come out of all this.
12:38 p.m. - 2018-04-22
Recent entries:
This Entry Says Nothing of Importance - 2018-07-10
Redding, Portland, Philly, Richmond - 2018-07-08
Silence - 2018-06-21
The Changing Landscape of the Highway - 2018-05-16
The Changing Landscape of the Highway - 2018-05-16
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