A Postcard From The Road
“Are you excited about this trip?” he asks, as we weave our way toward the airport parking lot.
“I’m more nervous, I guess,” I admit after thinking for a second or two. Keeping up at two conferences in the last ten days left me exhausted and served as a reminder that I am, in fact, still very much healing from everything chemotherapy did to my body. “I mean, if this stuff doesn’t work, I’m kind of screwed.” I take a breath before asking, “What if I am making a huge mistake by doing this?”
As we pull into our spot he says, quite matter of factly, “Well, if you don’t do this, they’ve told you you’re screwed. So go and do it and don’t worry about that.”
We make our way toward security talking about everything but whether I’ll be at the same two conferences with him next year, or in the five years after that. When we reach the place where we need to separate to find our respective gates he reaches out his arms to hug me.
“Have a great trip,” he says as he lets me go.
We have known each other for over ten years. This is the first time he has hugged me of his own volition.
I have to wonder if he also worries it may not work.
* * *
As I head through security, a lot of unexpected emotions start welling up. I can’t figure out what all the sadness and anxiety are about until I make it to my gate. The last time I had flown I was en route to RVA, dreading the CT scan that awaited me. I was so bloated I couldn’t button my jeans, and I was genuinely afraid my spleen might rupture during the flight (initially, we thought there could have been an issue with my spleen or appendix that was causing all the pain I experienced in Tucson). That trip from Tucson to Richmond was one of the longest and most painful of my life. But I hadn't revisited it since I left the cabin of that plane.
I didn't anticipate spending so much of my time on the flight to Sedona mulling over the last several months, but that’s what I did. The contrast between my life when I sat on that eastbound flight and my life as I headed back west is stark. It is all good. But it is different and I am still grieving in ways I don't always realize.
As the wheels touch down in Phoenix, I have never been so happy to be off a flight.
* * *
Sedona is, in a word, remarkable. I am going to save the details of the trip for another time but I wanted to check in with y’all on my one quiet morning here. I have the gift of tagging along with my cousin while I am here. I remember as a little girl wanting to be just like her, and having the gift of her friendship as adults is a blessing beyond words. It’s through her that I found my medical intuitive – someone I credit with helping me get to a place where I could be open to all the work God gifted me with in this space. And to be here with him is surreal - as if I have known him for lifetimes but only now get to hug him in this one.
Angela and Ron are basically part-time Sedona locals, so I left it to them to guide me through what this healing trip would look like. In less than 48 hours I have interacted with two vortices, prayed in a beautiful chapel, worked a ton with crystals, spent time at a stupa, explored with an astrocartographer (who helped me realize just why crystals and gemstones work so well for me), and had a very intense session with my medical intuitive. I was out cold just after 9 last night – I am telling myself it’s from the time change, but I am pretty sure all this work has me exhausted too.
* * *
I think the hardest part of this healing project will be figuring out how best to share what I am discovering with each of you. So much of it is internal. I wish I could bring that sense of healing and peace and calm to each of you – even for a moment – as a way of explanation. I worry there aren’t even words available. But I'll try.
I am taking copious notes and already have a small rock quarry packed to ship home with me from here. For now just know that I know that we are on the right track. That God is working here. That He is ready for all of us to heal.
He is ready for us to heal this world.