Godmama Says…
a buncha stuff.

truckstop

Today was my first official session with Medicine Man.  Something, however, tried to keep me from making it there.  That something was my truck.

The old Chevy S-10 finally bit the dust.  Went out in quite a blaze of glory…well, maybe not glory, but there was definitely some kind of blaze.  At the very least it was a frightening amount of smoke and clanging of metal.  All the fuss started about 2 miles away from the wellness center where I was headed.  So much smoke and noise that people were blowing at me and gesturing that something was very wrong.  I leaned forward in my seat, as if that would get me closer to my goal  (also to see through the smoke) and I kept going.  I was so close, I refused to pull over until I was within reasonable walking distance.  Of course the weather chose this moment to go completely ugly as well.  Austin winter is a bipolar unpredictable bitch, and today was an obnoxious display of that.   I was going for acupuncture, so naturally I was wearing light loose fitting clothes.  Since it was supposed to just be a quick drive, I didn’t exactly bundle up for the ride.  I made it within a few blocks and dragged the dying smoke machine into the parking lot of an office supply store.  It continued to belch filthy stinky smoke into the air.  Standing back from it, it actually looked like it was on fire.  It horrified me that I had just been inside of that fuming, polluted mess.  (I almost looked under the hood, but a dream I had last night about a woman I know having her face burned off made me think twice about suddenly feeding windy air to whatever was going on in that broken engine.)

A check of the time showed I had to hurry to make my appointment, and I was determined.   I left Old Smokey behind, and started to walk.  Of course, it started to rain.

The session itself went fine, except that I was a bit too distracted by thoughts like “how the HELL am I going to get home?” and “how the HELL am I going to get a new car?” to be focused on cleansing breaths and healing light.   I lay on the table in the soft glow of a candle… my belly, feet, legs, and hands all stuck full of pins.  Native American chanting music played into one ear from one side of the room, while soft and low Hebrew prayer chanting drifted into my other ear from the other side of the room.  All of these whispered ethereal unintelligible prayers mixed with images of the storm clouds outside,  and thoughts of the growling smoking beast that carried me part of the way there and then died.  What was meant to be thoroughly relaxing was occasionally reminiscent in my mind’s eye as something from Rosemary’s Baby.

At the end of the session I walked out into the threatening wind,  and the rain started up again.  It didn’t just rain on me, it seemed to be raining at me.  The force of the wind turned ice cold raindrops into tiny weapons that stung and pierced my scrunched up face.  So much for relaxation.  I tried to get the truck to come back to life just long enough to get me home,  but with a terrifying and embarrassing series of  clangs and bangs and puffs of smoke it tolled its final death bell.  I pulled over into what I’m pretty sure was somebody’s yard,  parked next to a ‘No Trespassing’ sign, and cried like a baby.

It was a pain in the ass in every way, and the timing sucked, but that truck has been needing to die for quite a while.  I suppose it’s suitable, then, that my old rusted shell would fall away from me on my way to begin my cleansing and healing routine.  I get how it’s all a form of cleansing and purging.  The swirling stormclouds and driving cold rain were an unnecessary reinforcement of all the symbolism however.  Not appreciated at all during the 45 minute wait for a bus to show up.

Seems to me your vehicle is an extension of your self,  like a hermit crab’s shell.   My hermit crab shell was old and tired and barely making it from A to B.  It was used, worn out, and had no value.  It was noisy and sick and uncomfortable.  But it was cute.  It was interesting to look at on the outside.  That unhealthy version of myself has finally stopped running.  In a cloud of smoke and a riotous clamour of rattling engine parts,  it has finally broken down.   Now  I am without transport at all.  Beginning a journey with no way to get around?   Alrighty then.

Naked without my rusted old shell,  I’m ready and completely open for something that suits the next phase of my life.  Something that looks good internally first.  Something clean.  Something fully functional,  dependable, safe…. Something, dare I say, grown up?

Oh well.  So long StarTruck.   You served me well.  Sometimes.  Sort of.

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One Response to “truckstop”

  1. I enjoyed reading this. I had scene visuals. Didn’t enjoy that that happened to you, you had me laughing at the beginning of one sentence and saying, “aww” by the end of it in the same breath.

    I remember how excited you were when you finally got that truck and could get around. It was just a transition vehicle and got you to where you are now and I guess something else is inline to replace it whatever that may be….that 45 minute bus wait sucks balls though. That’s what I hate about sprawled out land and cities. Transportation blows. If we have to wait 15 minutes for a bus here we get ansy.

    I have about 12 environmental CDs I uploaded to rapidshare.com for a friend. I can give you the links if you would like them. Some sounds are frogs, wind chimes, rock water, wolves, humpback whale, thunderstorm, rainstorm, dolphins, forest twilight, rain forest, etc. Let me know. I love my environmental sounds.


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