Nibbling into one of my favorite little tomes, Tom Hodgkinson’s The Freedom Manifesto this morning—as I do every so often—my second thought (after the first: note-to-self to look up what this man is currently up to, after his ultra-prophetic 2006 warnings have come to er, horrific life in current times*), is how free I actually am these days.
Now granted, there are certainly areas in which I’m clearly not so free, but wow, there’s an expansive overall free-ness I currently swim in of which I am often not aware and thus appreciative of, that’s been brought to light this morning by the Hodgkinson reading as well as a dip into Claire Dunn’s wonderful excursion into Nature in the city, Rewilding the Urban Soul.
As I sit here typing in the glorious morning sunlight at my friendly, worn little desk, wearing a T-shirt that claims that I am “Unapologetically Free”, I begin to reflect on how many times I’ve been externally (and often concomitantly, internally) assured I was doomed but instead broke through into increasing awareness of freedom.
Countless.
But, okay, I’ll count a few of them:
When, pregnant at 18, I attended a High School graduation celebration of some sort and was told by my foot-stamping history professor something to the effect of “you could have really been something”. Hmmm.
When I quit my job as a speech pathologist in the public schools and my supervisor anxiously wondered aloud how I would feed myself and my son. Ha.
When I made the leap into eating raw vegan foods—how many, many people anticipated I’d sicken from nutritional deficiencies, lose my hair and teeth and on and on. Ha.
When I kept going to college, learning because I loved it and was told that I was being irresponsible—by the chair of my own department. Ha.
When I moved to L.A. on pure intuition, how could I leave my well-established career and life?? I’d certainly regret it. Ha.
When I joyously found myself pregnant with my very-much-planned-and-hoped-for daughter, at age 46, that I was being recklessly irresponsible. Hmmm.
When I declined this or that medication and medical intervention or procedure, that I’d never recover, or die and leave my children motherless (by doctors, family members, friends). Uh...
My son and I did quite well, thank you very much, I can’t imagine NOT having left my public school career (thank GOD), my health and awareness skyrocketed as a result of changing to raw vegan foods, my later college years were some of the most fertile of my life so far—the knowledge from which I employ constantly, I love L.A. and well, here I am, healthy, happy and well, joyfully parenting, and uh, now that I think about it: pretty darn free.
NOTE: This isn’t so much an “I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG!” diatribe (the experience has always been I have pretty much no idea what I’m doing as I’m doing it) as a “Woah! It’s always headed toward freedom!” realization. While many of these warnings could be, and probably were, issued out of what some may consider “love” or “care”, I personally hold a quite different view of love and care.
Though I can’t say I don’t have any regrets (when clear, however, I see this as a mind-fuck illusion), in retrospect, today, in this moment, I am just in love with all of it. I see that, conveniently congruously with my very first book, Guided by Your Own Stars, I have indeed been absolutely guided by my own stars.
I suppose I have somewhat of a rebellious nature. And looking back at all of these circumstances, though I can’t take personal credit—it’s just what happened, after all—I see this “I” undeniably has guts. Yeah.
I can’t say how or why.
But somehow…
…this I has (at least mostly) left the cage. Perhaps, I suspect, by more and more often leaving the building. And slowly, the sovereignty of Life made itself undeniably apparent.
It seems to have been, and continues to be, a process.
I unknowingly and involuntarily gave the medical industrial complex the first 30 years of my health, all the while under the impression that it had “saved” me, not knowing it had actually ruined my health and then “treated” the self-wrought damage—the pernicious plan to create a “customer for life” didn’t quite succeed. The past 13 years, I’ve taken all of my power back from these institutions of death. My health does not belong to anyone anymore, and I listen to my body for its care; imagine that!
The same occurred with my reliance on my parents, the educational system, the corporate culture system, the food system, and on and on. And somehow, they lost their hold, their power. While I recognize that perhaps the Life in this body could be transmuted if one of the systems that appears to “control” access to life-sustaining processes denied this access, also, perhaps not. Perhaps the illusion of control is just that. In any case, this I gives it very little thought or attention.
I sometimes watch from this aperture that appears to be my individual consciousness, this something other than this perceived I, the bigger whole, unfolding into these “mine” decisions. Into this “mine” awareness of more and more freedom of “me” blooming. Or not. I am grateful.
It seems we must often live out a period of a type of indentured servitude before we find ourselves in a space of freedom we couldn’t have previously imagined.
But also, perhaps, at some point, the gates swing open and Heaven is revealed, at least for that moment:
I am free to live in a way that is harmonious with my integral makeup.
I am free to make my own choices.
I am free to express in any way that wants to happen.
I am free to turn away from mis-aligned offers and options presented as obligations.
I am free to experience the paintings of Life from the vantage of the canvas.
I am free to be.
I am free.
I have always been free.
*Turns out he’s doing quite a lot!