India Tears Speak to me

Vision: meditation. (INDIA- writing entry)
Box for me
Opening it like large green leaves
One leaf
Then another

The books I have written
Placing on shelf in a beautiful space
A Home
Smiling

One stood out
A pretty, soft red one
With turquoise writing
My name
Micah hardke in turquoise
Some white accents on the cover

“Diamond in the rough”
“Fire in the water”

India through the lens of America
Mama India Through the Lens of an American Girl
Mama India as seen through Heart Eyes of American Girl

Namaste, I repeated to myself as the plane touched down in Delhi. It was the prayer hands tattooed on the outside of the terminal we were approaching. It was the first time I had ever been to India, yet it did not feel like the first time I had been to India. In my heart, I heard “welcome home”.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. This moment marked the beginning of a journey of being submerged in the water of my very own tears; tears that would not cease until I returned to the States almost 4 weeks later. Each tear seemed to speak something ancient; each tear seemed to spark the next to release. One by one, they blended beautifully from raindrops to a flowing stream to a rolling river to an ocean, her waves of water reminding me to submerge, to surrender, to remember, to come fully home. The release of tears seemed to create sacred space in my soul, my brand new home coming into view. I remembered something. A faint recollection of who I was, who I am, who I am becoming, who I was born to be.

As I heard in my heart, “welcome home”, I heard a sweet “thank you” emerge from my lips. A voice so ancient and present at the same time. “It’s so good to be back.” I sensed a homecoming rather than a Newfoundland beneath my feet. I felt a return to my soul rather than a surface adventure. I caught a glimpse of a former life. I recognized myself. What was happening? I couldn’t find the words to express it, although I tried. Yet the tears came, showed up for me. They would be the communicators, the translators, the creators over the next month. My tears revealed to me everything I needed to know or understand or say. I felt them protecting me, guiding me, reminding me.

Soon after, the legs began to swell, first the feet and ankles, calves, and into the thighs. I felt so heavy, weighted down, lethargic, concerned. She told me nothing was wrong with me physically; he gave me herbs to strengthen my kidneys. I propped my feet up and prayed like mad. And I cried.

“Say something” became the theme song, only God knows why. I was thinking about it being about the exes or the sick one or the entire city of Los Angeles, the place I was living when the entire ground got swept out from beneath my feet. I’ve had a love-hate relationship ever since, although love trumps fear any day of the week.

But looking back …what if that song was about me. For me. Me singing to me. Me, the wholeness of my soul voice, saying to my outside sick self to wake up and speak?

Or was it the other way around?

Or God? Was it God speaking to me?

October 30, 2019 From Journal Folder “I AM Author”