If you read my last post, Still at the Window, you know I spent the seven nights before my birthday talking to my ancestors.
I, obviously, think a lot and love the ethers. I mean, where else are you gonna get answers?
So.
I sat on my super comfy, rarely used couch every night. I closed my eyes and got quiet. And I listened. To my own head battling for thoughts and old voices waging wars about the day. Until they all settled enough to hear the quiet.
And then I waited.
I asked to hear. Not what to do.
And then I waited.
Voices and thoughts tried competing, and I silenced them like swiping left on a dating app. Until all that was left were the words that showed up on the pages of my journal.
When I got stuck, I used a deck of artist oracle cards to prompt me. It helps. Tools for the road.
For the people who raised me and loved me, I asked:
How did I want you to show up?
How did you actually show up?
What did you come to teach me?
What can I learn from you now?
What is your advice for me now?
Part One: How You Showed Up
My Dad
He was a force to be reckoned with (where do you think I get it from?). Big in stature as he was in soul and creativity, at 6’4” with hair down to his ass and a Harley, ready to rock the world with whatever passion and pain showed up that day.
Difficult. Challenging. Hard to ignore. Dangerous because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and never held back his words. He was a singer and a musician. He wasn’t supposed to be quiet.
When I was little, I just wanted him to show up. When he didn’t, I got angry, and angrier, as the years went by. When I was climbing film ladders and life, I wanted him to show up and say, I’m f’ing proud of you.
I was working on a show in 2020, right before COVID. We hadn’t spoken for years, and he reconnected with me to tell me he was dying.