So I have this solar plexus that usually has a big black tar knot in it. Rarely in my life have I not had that knot, and the times it’s seemed to have melted off were times of extreme gladness — new relationships, summer vacations, purring warmly on the beach — of intimacy and of acceptance that has, of course, never lasted.

As I have grown into my understanding of this experience of being, I’ve intuited more and more that this solar plexus place holds a powerful connection for me, some sort of tether to a knowing field I can’t really explain.

For a long time, I’ve expected that to be my soul, or perhaps rather, where my connection with ‘source’ lives. Which is why, as I’ve healed and come to know that soul part of me, building it up and feeding it, determining and embodying the things that are important to me — compassion, teaching, healing, kindness — and as that soul of me has strengthened and come to a place of ease and of being finally seen, my solar plexus with its big black tar knot has grown to concern me.

That black tar ball space in my guts has periodically felt empty since I started my year alone. It’s a weird stretched out psychic ache feeling, which has been so utterly unsettling, once I’ve felt it, it usually only took a few moments before I tried to fill it with something. Like the collective grief of the world. Or the cancer in the person I was touching. Or the responsibility of someone else’s “Aha!” moment.

Now I am to the point where I can mostly catch myself before I draw things in, especially in person. I have been practicing letting that space be empty for the time being and it’s been more lonely than I can express. To get here, I have had to really work that little barf muscle, to get rid again and again and again of things that aren’t mine, random shit that doesn’t even fit in there just to have SOMEthing in that hungry place.

I’ve learned I have to insulate myself from people who invite me to hold their shit for them, people who deflect from their own inner work by watching me do mine. And at times, I’ve needed a lot of releasing help to let go of shit that doesn’t belong to me. It’s been an interesting balance of solitude and intense intimacy with the right people.

What we worked this weekend in our constellation healing circles is ancestry; a concept which I have historically had NO fucking relationship with. I have been, in my deepest knowing parts, an orphan alien loner, who truly has no one, belongs no where, and isn’t meant to ever stay in one place, isn’t meant to be accepted and loved, but instead, is meant to set something cosmic and transformative in motion, and then get the fuck out of the way — hopefully before what I just catalyzed barrels me the fuck over like a dump truck.

It’s been lonely and heart breaky and it’s really sucked to feel that way all my life, and is also the big reason I kept my attention on romance and intimacy rather than healing myself. I kept trying to prove myself wrong and I kept failing at it.

Now that I’ve stopped that cycle, and I pushed through the transition of learning to be for myself rather than for others, I am getting this deep sense of lineage emerging. A knowing sense of how I am the product of hundreds of thousands of years of human experience, and that some of that experience is wise and whole and healthy.

I’ve been tapping in to that well of knowledge periodically in meditations and constellations and visualizing — one example is visualizing a crowd or a long line of my ancestors behind me when I’m say, driving my car. Another is to sense into what it might feel like to already know how to do something I am learning how to do, like being patient and compassionate toward people who are challenging me and triggering my trauma patterns.

“The knowing field is sparking like static against my skin today. I am in the eye of my own storm, drawing electric up through my roots, piercing precision kintsugi out my hands. Aligning.
Level up.” — Facebook

This weekend I had the revelation that this connection with my ancestry, this sense of being unconditionally supported, is what belongs in my solar plexus space. I started imagining my ancestor energy filling it like a trickle into a bowl, but I wasn’t really grokking how I was gonna USE that.

I was expecting this post to be a bit different, to be returning to my monthly challenges of adopting a habit of some sort during Year of the Nee. The challenge for November was going to be practicing a daily ritual in some form which connected me to the wisdom of my ancestry, experimenting with what my trigger word or phrase or physical gesture or visualization might be to signify tapping into that solar plexus space, that bowl full of the sense of knowing and support I’m so recently becoming aware of.

Due to a scheduling fuck up, my half of a bodywork trade I was expecting a couple weeks ago happened today instead, which turned out to be basically perfect. While she touched my belly, the tar ball, which I hadn’t even been aware of, grumbled and groaned and then it fucking BURST, and tingly energy moved through my intestines and branched out eventually to my limbs.

As I felt into that completely new experience, I realized the wisdom of my ancestors isn’t a stationary bowl. It’s an unlimited FUCKING MORPHINE DRIP. All I have to do is imagine a squeeze of the bladder to release that shit whenever I need it, and through me it will flow, like ink in water.

The arc of evolving consciousness is long. We are moments breaking the patterns of centuries. I have needed all the help I can get, and still, it’s seemed I had never found it, and I despaired that I never would.

I find that notion highly questionable, now. I believe I may have perhaps finally found a faith of some sort. I believe in where I came from, those wise loving sources buried under so many centuries of violence, supremacy and hate. I believe in myself, and my ability to ultimately connect with that knowing.

Not sure I need much more to believe in, than that.