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December feels like a dimly lit torch in the cold night. The past 11 months of my life have felt particularly trying. If you are into numerology, 2023 is a 4 Year for me. A 4 Year is supposed to bring a sense of structure, practicality and stability into your life. And it does so with the tenacity of a bull. Christine DeLorey, a numerologist says this about the 4 Year:
“4 reacts to the strength of your Will, which is comprised of all your feelings, both pleasant and unpleasant. Denial of your feelings weakens and imprisons your Will which, by nature, needs to be free. The natural response of the human Will is that of complete acceptance of reality, along with whatever feelings reality triggers. The Will thrives on truth, even if the truth hurts. Those very sensations – the whole emotional range – are our natural responses to reality. Of course, you may want to keep your feelings to yourself if circumstances call for a show of steadiness and resolve, but the long-term success that the 4 Year offers is going to come through your ability to fully feel your feelings and gain the intelligence they contain.”
Keywords: management, limitation, effort, determination, work, organization, vision, priority, breakthrough.
The 4 Year urges us to get in touch with our Why. Our reason for being beyond any surface level accolade or desire. What do we value, who are we, what is our vision, how will we build it and what is the path to that dream that we can see in our mind’s eye? Think of the 4 pillars that uphold an important structure. Without just one of those in place, equilibrium becomes the overarching focus, because it must. You cannot see clearly beyond the building that crumbles on top of you.
December feels like the completion of a cycle, similarly to the energy of the Ten of Swords in Tarot. In the traditional Rider Waite Tarot Cards, the Ten of Swords depicts a person lying flat on their face with Ten Swords impaled into their back.
Here’s what Biddy Tarot, one of my favorite resources for learning about Tarot, has to say about the energy of the Ten of Swords:
“The Ten of Swords is about letting go and accepting your current circumstances. You no longer resist change but allow it to happen, even if it causes initial pain and hurt to you. You recognize that there must be a change to facilitate renewal, and you allow it to occur rather than fighting it. The good news is that the Ten of Swords marks the final ordeal – no more pain will come to you from that source. The hour is darkest before dawn, and you must experience the full impact of what has happened before you can move forward and start over. Is it going to be easy? No. But, will this ordeal last forever? No.”
To me, it signifies ultimate surrender. Here, you’ve reached a point of no return. The Ten of Swords is the ‘Okay, fine! Have it your way, Creature in the sky!’ It is a powerful place to stand. It requires faithful persistence despite what has hurt you. Ultimately, it gifts you something I like to call, unfuckablewith-ness. A towering level of detachment, neutrality and openness to reach this newfound level of unbothered-ness which must lead you to your next right step. One that is not clouded by victimhood or smallness but rather illuminated by a deep faith in what is.
This year has tested me in the themes of: Grief, Patience and Faith. The tail end of this year has maximized those learnings by throwing me into the pits of fire, to live or die. I bulldozed into something with high hopes, only to be kicked in the face by matter of fact existing way outside of my control. In this particular scenario, I will share with you about the realities I faced after following the sexy, young and free idea that is: quitting your job and setting off to a new place with no plan, just glitzy eyes.
Now, to preface this, it has worked for me before. I find myself to be a master at this kind of escape. I pride myself in it, even.
But this time was different. I moved to a new city without a home. I had been looking for a home since September and I arrived in October. And well. I must admit, when they are handing out no’s like candy, it starts to do something to your self esteem. It does something to your heart. It’s like smudging it with coal. You begin to think it's personal. You begin to question if someone like yourself is worthy of having a home.
In the meantime, I was staying at my boyfriend’s place.
‘Maybe we were a bit naive to think you would find a place so soon. I really didn’t think it would take this long,’ he said to me one day.
I was staying in a two bedroom apartment with three other humans, two of which eventually wanted me gone. Time was ticking and I had no leads. No bedroom door of my own. I was learning how to breathe again, in real time.
Have you ever shrunk yourself into the size of a pebble as to not disrupt another? Have you ever sewed your lips shut as to quiet the voice inside of you that wishes to speak?
I had to repeatedly rebuild and rekindle my inner fire to continue on, almost in secret as to not cause a ruckus by stoking the coals. I felt tiny. Taking up very little space and silencing myself to create more room for others. This does something to the spirit. I had to hold little Pau in my arms and remind her that she is wanted and worthy, all while pressing a gentle finger against her lips. Contradictory, indeed. Not conducive to the ultimate goal of belonging, after all.
I felt like I was existing inside of a pressure cooker. One that required me to meet with strangers (potential roommates) every other day in hopes that their space would A) meet my needs and B) that I would be accepted and liked by them enough in order to have a home. This wore on me. The performance, the soft smiles. The string of ghosts in my inbox followed by promises that I’m great ending with gentle let downs.
October turned into November and November quickly brought me to Vancouver, B.C, which was almost laughable. And my hope began to dwindle. I had to laugh, or else I’d cry. And I did. I kept myself upright and grounded in Vancouver with a morning routine that includes: morning pages, meditation and movement. I allowed structure and gratitude to be my pillars. One morning, I channeled a How to Go On method and drew it on a piece of paper to remind me where to place my focus every day.
November slipped by and I continued my search for a home-to-be from my Air BnB in Canada. Around Thanksgiving, after yet another seemingly solid opportunity fell through, I had to lend myself to the idea that I may have to let this dream go. I had to acknowledge that my stay in this temporary home would come to a close on December 11th. It was time to get realistic (ew) about the fact that nothing was moving in my favor. I began to take a hint from life. Softening myself into accepting that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
I arranged plan B’s, C’s, D’s and F’s such as: to take part in a work study program at a Buddhist center, cat sitting in Mount Shasta, to go home for the Holidays and to use it as yet another temporary landing pad, to work the winter season at my seasonal job in Northern California where I would most likely be shoveling snow for 8 hours a day, or, to alternatively just get in my car and drive into the abyss until I reach the silver lining.
I finally handed it over to the Creature in the sky. Alright dude, have it your way, I said. It was abundantly clear to me that most everything was out of my control. And I was okay with it. It was almost a relief. If I can’t have it my way, then there must be another way that is more my own than I can understand or know now. The only real say or choice that I had was in my response to the information being given to me. Tell me where you want me to go, tell me what you would have me do. I’ll do it. Just show me the way. I would say, to the Creature in the sky.
Two days later, on November 27th, the Gemini Full Moon, I received a message out of the blue.
“Still searching for housing? Or settled?” The text read.
It was from a friend who I had met the first week I had moved. They were a potential roommate turned loving source of connection in a city unknown to me. The only real constant in my wavy transition. They had been in touch with me along my search, sometimes to check in and other times to extend the invitation to an Ecstatic Dance party, potluck, meditation circle or community ceremony.
I told them I was very close to calling it quits. Some strange kind of hope lingering.
They replied telling me that a room had opened up in their home and invited me to come meet their other roommate.
Through this process, I have learned how to temper my excitement as a means for protection. Now, when anything seemingly exciting happens, I must look both ways for a sight unforeseen and glaringly contradictory to lay itself in the foreground of my belief that I can rest in some kind of certainty.
I drove to meet them the next day. We sat by the fire and drank Huckleberry tea. That same night, I received a resounding Yes.
I will be moving into a yellow house with two roommates on December 11th.
I am filled with a particular kind of steady gratitude at this time. Gratitude as a means to exhale in relief.
This year has invited me to face my fears head on. It has not been easy, swift or breezy. It has been rigid, scruff, dreadful, gray, noisy, foggy, egregious and at times downright Terrible.
This year has made me question and contemplate the following:
Why is anyone anywhere at any time, anyway? Circumstance? Opportunity? People? All of the above? What else?
At least in my experience, it’s not all that difficult to land someplace. I feel like I land places all of the time. Like a pillow being tossed from the top of the railing. It's what I like to call an optimistic flinging towards. But, what keeps us?
What are the necessary components of a place to call home aside from familiarity and convenience?
How do I know where I belong? How long do I give a place to show me it wants me too after I have flung myself towards it?
This one doesn’t have a neat ending.
That’s coming and I’ll be patient. My father says the only reward for patience is patience. At first that made me really angry. And then after a few moments, I thought to myself, thank god because as I’ve learned, this life requires patience.
Hopeful,
Pau Suárez Gomís
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You have brilliantly expressed + written the experience + flow of the past few months of taking up the COURAGE to go...this is the first step many never take. You are a fantastic person and writer, Pau, + I am excited to see what this next season has for you. This is hope. This is letting go (willing or not) + opening your heart + spirit to life's fullness, the good, the bad + the in-between. Reading this was a delight + and a life lesson for us all...TY.