Perception – micheleplumbstowell.org

77. Teeth of Wisdom

The injections were so painful that I claimed that I felt nothing, and the tooth was pulled with my full awareness, and relief. Why do the shots hurt like an amputation?

I had my wisdom teeth removed back in the ’80’s. They didn’t knock you out back then. It was laughing gas and numbing. My lower teeth were impacted, and my lower right is never numb, not really. They did four injections. The injections were so painful that I claimed that I felt nothing, and the tooth was pulled with my full awareness, and relief. Why do the shots hurt like an amputation?

In my kids’ era, Max, Maia’s brother, was anesthetized for his teeth. His brain works differently than the norm. His body was out of the game. But his awareness was not. He heard and felt everything, and was unable to scream out, react, or give notice that he was experiencing it all. Horrifying!

In the colon surgery, my anesthesia played the game the way of expectation. I do not have memories of the surgery. I was out. But there is something that watched, some part of me that is very aware, that has memory of losing organs, of the words of the surgeon, of the drama of cocreating with a team of medical miracle makers in order to remain in this consciousness.

The mind has to heal. The heart has to heal. There awareness must be acknowledged and tenderly assisted through its own pain.

Wisdom teeth, they share the wisdom that will be valuable for a lifetime.

64. Listening to the Sound

It buzzed in my heart like tinnitus in the ear. It woke me. Puzzled me. Made me pull pillows over my head. And it took years for me to name.

I don’t know why you would want to listen to the Sound of the Universe. Originally, I didn’t have a choice. It buzzed in my heart like tinnitus in the ear. It woke me. Puzzled me. Made me pull pillows over my head. And it took years for me to name.

Maybe you would listen for meditation. Maybe because it is different on different days. Maybe you would hear it because you sat without thought, and it was just there.

I was listening to the Universe. It was warm and deep and lightly pulsating, consistent.

And then I heard my body. My intestines. My abdomen. They were synching up to the sound. It was like having millions of ants in a cocreative hill, never a step out of place, all faithfully doing their individual part. A buzz of determination, a thrum of reparation.

It was never so obvious that I am One.

36. Fern Babies

A friend once said that ferns heal, that if one is struggling, she only needs to sit among the ferns.

At the Granite Falls house, hundreds, nay, thousands of ferns grow on the property. In the spring, the new life unfolds from the center in a literal uncurling of the leaves.

person touching green plant — Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

They are new and innocent. They emerge in bright green infancy from the center of the plant. The baby fern fronds are delicate, vulnerable. If the plant is transplanted or if a foot steps too close, those fern babies will not uncurl.

But if they are left to nature, if they are nurtured by the purity of the environment, the sun and the rain, they will slowly unveil their glorious, chartreuse leaves. First the stalk comes up and uncurls in a cosmic spiral. Then the individual leaves express by the same untwisting. There is a stunning new beginning.

A friend once said that ferns heal, that if one is struggling, she only needs to sit among the ferns.

In Dad’s yard, the ferns uncurl. Their sweet innocence has come to see the light. The bright new leaves are reaching for the sun.

It is 2020. We are the fern babies.

34. Noxious Weeds

“Chocolate, vanilla, choose”. Of course, some love vanilla. But the follow up premise is “Chocolate, choose”. There are no options. Choose what is before you. Cancer, choose. I choose it.

One year when we were spending inordinate amounts of time at the Evergreen State Fair for 4H, there was a display of Noxious Weeds. After we looked at the examples at a booth on the fairgrounds, I can remember Shante pointing out the invasive plants at every siting. Noxious weed, noxious weed, noxious weed. They are literally everywhere!

A flowering vine, a seasonal ivy, grows in the yard. I feel hatred. The things climb the cedar limbs, pulling the branches to the ground. They choke out the plants, cover them, bury them, use them as a transport to the sun. Why do I have an emotional reaction? God’s plants. Survival of the fittest.

I do hate them. I yank them out at every siting. I plot against them, scheming ways to use ground cover and mulch to protect the other plants. Vinegar, vinegar kills some plants, maybe these.

But I like the other ivy, the evergreen, native ivy. It climbs all over, snakes into the grass, tries to occupy everything. Why do I have a preference? What is this emotional difference?

In the Landmark program, there is a phrase “Chocolate, vanilla, choose”. Of course, some love vanilla. But the follow up premise is “Chocolate, choose”. There are no options. Choose what is before you. Cancer, choose. I choose it. There is no battle. Noxious weeds, choose. I still hate them. There is still inner turbulence and emotional reaction to a stupid, flowering ivy. The moral of this story, I’m not as enlightened as I appear!

33. Naked

I see myself as the elephant. People hold various parts and describe truths of how I appear in the world. But each evolving picture can only reference its own experience and interpretation. I stand naked.

Kwami is circling the wagons, all of the people of contact, all of the mutuality of paths and cross connection, all of the realization that we live elements of one life… I stand naked.

DeeDee asked if the unfolding felt comfortable, if I am okay with opening the journey to others in a group. I wondered why it could be an issue. I tend to believe that I am straightforward and honest, that what you see is who I truly am (in this character). Right now, the reality is unveiling itself. I stand naked.

The story of the blind men and the elephant comes to mind. Google it if you don’t know it by heart. I synopsize it like this: There is an elephant. A bunch of blind guys are touching the elephant. One holds the tail, another strokes the ear, yet another hugs an enormous leg, and so on. The men are then asked to describe the pachyderm. Ya, not similar descriptions, not similar at all.

The blind men and the elephant
(wall relief in Northeast Thailand)

So now I see myself as the elephant. People hold various parts and describe truths of how I appear in the world. But each evolving picture can only reference its own experience and interpretation. I stand naked. Luckily what you are holding is a toe, ’cause the options get dicey!

With the creation of a group, there is creation of cross referencing and hearing about other parts of who I have been or am. There are spaces and places that some have never considered, that just haven’t come up, that you just don’t know about me because, well, why would you? I’m on that pyramid, staff in hand, I stand naked.

So there is an odd discomfort. You have been holding my toe, and now you will have to consider that I have a nose (and there are boogers in there). And I have a plastic port for chemo under the skin on my chest, and it has left scars. And my feet stand apart from one another and hold me firmly to the ground, but as you hold my toe, did you know I had feet? And my spirituality runs an undercurrent that overwhelms the moon and stars, and makes my brain spin, and my body shiver with Kundalini energy. And I use the bathroom. And in honesty, I dislike the flavor of peppers. There is a lot of elephant. And I stand naked.

31. Sound of the Universe

No one told me that the universe has a sound. I did not know.

The universe is high pitched today. I remember when I first heard its sounds. It woke me in the night. I thought there was something wrong with the wires in the walls. I pulled my pillow over my head. I wanted to scream. I woke over and over, night after night. No one told me that the universe has a sound. I did not know.

The Sound of the Universe here may refer to Schumann Resonance, and testifies to the author's acute perception. — Schumann Resonance, Courtesy of NASA

I usually ignore the thrum, or the squeal, or the om of it. But I’m comforted to check in, to know it is still there, to be supported by the current of the Divine.