"She feels the night differently than I"

Today's post title was in a book talking about a Native American wise-woman. The full quote reads:

"She feels the night differently than I. Her eyes are finely tuned to the song of the wind, trained to hear any interruption in its melody. Her eyes carefully watch a nearby doe and her fawn, eating in the safety of darkness. She observes not for pleasure, but to use the doe's keener senses as an alarm."

Much could be written about all of the above, but today in particular it was the idea of feeling things differently than most folks that deeply resonated within.

Within 24-hours from Thursday to Friday night, I found myself feeling a wide assortment of things very deeply. Perhaps differently. Only in the last few years of my life have I come to understand a bit of the depths inside me, of how I feel things because it is definitely different.

Thursday evening started with the total enjoyment of helping my mother, along with my father and brothers, celebrate her 70th birthday. We laughed a lot, told lots of stories, remembered things, and laughed & talked some more. Conversation. Joy. Life.

Friday morning brought me the experience of purchasing tickets for my trip to L.A. next week for the Xena convention & the Lucy Lawless concert. It's something that back on November 30th was just a dream I had about doing something fun & now it's become a full-fledged, financially-committed, about-to-happen reality. Fun. Energy. Creation.

After making my ticket purchases, I checked my e-mail to find that someone I knew had been murdered a few days before Christmas in a house & in an area that I was very familliar with. And this was where my ability to "feel the night differently" than others kicked in.

My frame of reference for responding emotionally to a friend's murder was non-existent up until I checked my e-mail Friday morning. But since then, I've been developing and building one.

Murder. There are so many books, television shows, and movies covering the topic, but none of that ever prepares you for how it really feels to know someone who's been murdered. Murder is so personal. It leaves those left behind with so many emotions to process and tons of questions to resolve, but no guarantees that either will ever be complete.

My first response to the murder was one of breathing it all into my body very deeply. Similar to being sucker-punched in the stomach but doing it intentionally. Kind of like the prisoner in The Green Mile who could breathe in people's pain, illness, whatever.

This physical response was the first indication of perhaps feeling differently than others. I was more attentive to my process because I had no clue how to respond. I found myself breathing in the pain, the questions, the randomness, the emotions, the loss. All of it was there & I was taking it in because I didn't know how else to do it.

And in the doing of it, I discovered my pattern for stepping into pain. I breathe it all in. I take it inside. And it has been in these last 24-hours between Friday & Saturday nights that I've been paying attention to just exactly what I do with that pain. I'm not sure I even know how to write about it. How do you put words around an alchemical process?

What I do know is that my hypervigilance to this experience has made much about me and my life to this point clearer. And it reminds me of a quote that is very important to me:

“Yes, there is evil. Yes, there is pain. Breathe. Let the pain float. Let it be infused with my spirit. Make yourself permeable. Let the pain pass through you. Let the evil pass right through you. Let it fall away. Even if it is the pain and evil of all the world. It is an illusion. It is only real if you hold onto it. Let it pass. I am the spirit. I breathe on pain. It is transformed.”

What I don't know is how the above quote applies to the evil & pain of someone you know being murdered.

What I do know is that I will continue to pay attention and write about it when, or if, I can.