In many areas of my work across my life I am in the position of listening to someone’s story to either help them unravel it, make sense of it, document it or alchemize it.
It took me awhile before I realized that that was (pun intended) my Golden Thread. The concept of threading came through when I was sitting with clients who were ready to make more physical spaciousness in their body and understood the inherent connection between their story and their embodiment.
First, some humans have, in my perspective, some heftier stories than others. Second, it is not my right, job or interest to make meaning for someone about their story, but rather offer perspective and spaciousness. I have seen the power of spaciousness and that is what I seek to share.
For example, if someone was stuck on a bad break up, whether dating or marriage, I would eventually come around to say: “In the tapestry of our life, you cannot pull one thread. The whole thing would unravel.” And it would be a space for both us to acknowledge the arduousness and also the necessity to expand our perspective to let more of what the person wanted into their life. If we are only embittered, it is hard to have room for more of what we want, as our acidity frightens it away, our restriction prevents expansion.
“Everything in this world is connected to everything else. Anything we believe, think, do or say affects the world and the universe around us. We are all one. — Doberman Pinsher oracle card.
I don’t much differentiate anymore on the messenger, I am way more interested in the frequency finding me. If the message needs to find me on the tea bag, I take it.
Sometimes though, life does these outlandish things to show me how supportive our days and lives can be. Notice I did not say easy. Support and ease are not the same. We all have mountains to traverse, fortitude and perspective can make all the difference.
I want to tell you a story that for me is a living example of The Golden Thread. Let me know if you can relate below or share a bit of your own in the comments. What we put our attention on grows and I feel like a bunch of us are silently wanting to beautify our own gardens this year no matter what the outside world says.
Here’s my wandering tale, with a little background for orientation:
We know I am an avid dog lover. I see dogs as the purest emanation of loving kindness and adventurous companionship. I aspire to be more like them. I already run kinda like a dog: loyal and always ready for a hiking trail.
The week before my story begins, I took my pup, Ahonui to a different vet looking for an easy solution and also avoiding something I didn’t want to confront. I have never had to have a dog’s teeth cleaned. We go to an Internet searched vet (who will not be named), who not only says horrible things but in a frigid manner, handing me an astronomical estimate and walking away.
Not fun.
I call my original, beloved vet back. Pennridge Animal hospital is warm and friendly and 45 minutes away and I thought I was being silly having a vet so far with a toddler and more responsibilities to tend to; I needed to be more practical, but what I almost lost in the equation wasn’t worth it. Also, I kinda ran away from dog getting her teeth cleaned. I was scared about the anesthesia, the estimate, and there was also this illogical shame that we had even gotten into this situation. (I know, dogs need their teeth cleaned, I’m just giving you backstory to my subconscious story, that garden variety twine that had me all wrapped up). I called Pennridge and made a prompt appointment for Monday morning.
Before Monday was the weekend, and this particular weekend, was a full moon with a lunar eclipse and it was also the ʻAha Lomilomi Conference which was virtual this year. I have attended many years on the Big Island. (If this information is new to you, you can read more about lomilomi here). I have become a bit over-cooked with Zoom rooms, but this conference (as I had hoped) transcended the limits of technology and threaded through the ethers, connecting to each participant. One of the primary focuses of the conference is to spotlight the ike (wisdom) of kupuna (elders) in Hawaiian Culture and perpetuate the education of new practitioners through this sharing and reverence.
To that end, Kumu Brenda, whose Kumu was Nana Very, author of Change We Must (phenomenal book if you can find it) shared the medicine I needed to hear. She said (I will not use quotes because I am paraphrasing from what I remembered):
We are oʻhana (family). Do not let the despair of these times capture you. Do not fear. I am not afraid. I do pray for those that are worried, but let us together bring the light that the world needs.
It was not about the vet, it was about all of it. It was light shining on the layers of imposed and created tension. Her words and faith in those words was a balm. I love listening to Elders. I used to grill (literally) my grandparents, on where they went on dates, where they are their lunch, what they did with this and that.My grandmother, sitting at table at the Austrian Village on a Friday night with the polka music playing ask me, “Katie, do you really want to know all of this?”
“Yep,” Iʻd say without missing a beat. “So tell me about the sandwich machines…” and I would steer her on to more questions. Know where you come from, seek God in the details.
I find that in the words of our Elders are the seeds of our solutions. They want to help. It is the essence of being human. Your elders would love to share something with you that would lighten your load, I am convinced of it. They also know that there are some burdens that you must learn to carry.
So when this absolutely stunning, Hawaiian Kumu, in her long red dress, adorned with brilliant green lei, simply reminded us in the command of age that we need not be afraid, but utilize love and move toward the balancing of the light and the dark it sat with me.
So did the niggly doubt of: Oh, that is the world of Hawaii. That is not the world.
A few other tidbits came through in this bookending of doctorʻs appointments, and it really had me working my muscles to stand in full faith, or continue towards it. Her words were landing and illuminating at just the right moment.
I woke up Monday morning early. I cooked my son eggs and toast. I heated up his lunch and put in his thermos (lentil soup) with sliced apples and chia cookies. I filled my own warmed lunch. I had packed my computer and work the night before. I grabbed the extra meal I had made for a community family that has a newborn, and loaded that in the car. I grabbed my sons boots, his extra coat, my gloves, my dog, her leash and away we went into the morning.
I dropped him off at school with a big smooch and loaded the pup of my heart back into the car to wade through the anticipation (and the forty minute drive) to our trusted vet.
I was low on gas. I absentmindedly passed the gas station and thought I would grab the gas after the visit. I wanted to give my pup a few minutes to run the park before the visit to let go of her jitters that I was doing my best to not add on too. I was working the razor edge of truth: if I had said yes when our vet suggested it last year, Ahonuiʻs teeth would already be cleaned. This is probably a good time to add that in the year I hadn’t had her teeth cleaned, a mass had formed on her back leg. It was relatively harmless and yet since she was going under anesthesia we were also having that taken off (spoiler alert, this ended up greatly improving her quality of life, but I was too drenched in the constriction to even consider the boon that was coming our way).
With my gaslight on, I parked my car at the vet and reached for my purse.
It wasn’t there. It wasnʻt in the back, or under the seat, or any other prosperous place. I was forty five minutes from home with an almost empty tank. How had I made it this far in my car (and life) and I forgot my purse?
I walked in and told the office assistant immediately, telling her we were here and I understood if we need to reschedule.
“Oh, no!” she smiled. “Youʻre good. You have been with us a long time. If you were new,” she giggled. “Iʻd give you a hard time. Just call us later today for payment.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, hope your day gets easier.”
ʻThank you,” I heave a sigh of relief and throw out the idea of asking her for gas money.
The check-up went much better, too.
“Oh, yeah,” the sweetest veterinarian cheers. “Yes, this lovely lady does have some tartar and some gum recession and would definitely benefit from some cleaning soon.”
Her optimism was so infectious. The other vet had asked me to leave to examine Ahonuiʻs mouths even though I told her I would be happy to help and that she was really easy going. Dr. Beth had her hands on Ahonuiʻs mouth, lips pulled back, poking at gums while my girl sat right next to me.
She asked me what Ahonui meant.
I told her it was Hawaiian for patience with perseverance.
ʻThat is beautiful especially for such a beautiful lady,” she said tenderly. Then turned to me at the end of the check-up, “But I have to ask, do you sing her the Guns and Roses song?”
I hadnʻt until then. When the doctor serenaded Nui, we all joined in and we scheduled Nuiʻs teeth cleaning from such a different space.
I left. I didnʻt pay a cent because of human kindness and lighthearted trust.
I realized that my local credit union had a branch office nearby and I walked in with my sob story, my phone, car registration and toll bill to try and prove myself.
The woman behind the plexiglass was listening to me explain all that this morning entailed as I was trying to prove myself sane and trustworthy, she was growing more and more suspicious.
She hesitantly found my account and I could see she was uncertain of my sanity then asked, “Did you say you had a vet visit this morning?”
“Yes,” was all I got out before the tears of relief came. The banktellerʻs face registered the moment and she quietly slid a box of kleenex towards me.
“Say, no more. Hereʻs your money, have a better day.”
I sat down in a coffeeshop after I filled my tank. I ordered a decaf for me and a side of bacon for Nui, and this song came on as I wanted to capture this moment.
Can you see The Golden Thread running through? Would that cup of coffee be so full of trust and unexpected human kindness had I not experience the polarity, had I not learned to lean in full faith to what was coming my way anyway?
Who do you count on?
Your ancestors? Your life? The Universe? God? Source? How do you show it? How do you muster the strength to trust amid the chaos?
Iʻm choosing to work on my muscles for trusting that life loves me and people are good. Because that is what threaded through my day when I really needed it: the compassion, empathy and quiet whispering of this life’s reminder to turn towards and walk forth the good. A test to see if I would reach out for the Help that is waiting to be called in. Itʻs always there; it depends on how you see it.
There is always light and dark that is the growth of being alive, yet I will do my best to rise. As St. Germain says, “Whatever it takes, I tell you be willing!” Be willing to be one of the ones making space for the golden moments, extending the compassionate hand, and focusing on life’s goodness and seeing the goodness in the people around us— when it was my turn to lean on the kindness of strangers: there they were to catch me.
Will you join me?
What a year we could make of it.
Thanks for weaving in to The Golden Thread + please share what makes you smile.