Vishuddha – Throat Chakra – Sound, Creative identity, (self-expression)
This is the chakra located at the throat and is related to communication and creativity. When open, you are free to speak your mind, express yourself fluently, and feel as if you have a right to your voice. I’ve been hesitant to write about the 5th chakra because I’ve been in a funky place of self-doubt, insecurity, and writer’s block. The antithesis of a flowing 5th chakra. But then I realized, I was waiting until I had something “good” to write, instead of just sharing what is living in my heart and speaking my mind. That I can do.
This is the time of year I always, always begin my descent down into the underworld, to shed my layers and hang on Inanna’s meat hook. I feel like my insides are exposed and I get protective, isolated. Something about the holidays and my birthday approaching. And an internal wisdom to hibernate and go within that bumps up against our society’s demand that we Celebrate! with a capital ‘C’.
Yesterday was the Day of the Dead. The veils are thin at this time of year. I feel it. The clocks have turned back this morning, and while I write this, the sky is putting on a show for me; rose pink, lavender gray and pale orange behind inky trees.
Where does the time go? I spent Halloween night quietly, not a lot of trick-or-treaters on our street. I spoke to Andy, alone on Halloween just like me, in another state. We texted each other using emoji’s = Modern Love. We were walking down memory lane about past Halloweens with our kids. I was looking at old pictures of parties we used to have. I was feeling melancholy looking at the small fresh faces in all the photographs, dressed in their costumes. Pirate cheerleader, angel, ghost. “I know, those days are gone forever” texts my husband. “Thanks for cheering me up!” I text and include a gun emoji pointed at my head. (my sense of humor)
I had one tiny little girl who stared at me with wide eyes and, when prompted by her parents, whispered a hushed “twick or tweat”. My heart ached with the purity of that age – her family’s future spreading out before them in an amalgam of hopes and dreams. I’ve aged. I’ve become cynical. My heart is broken. This is the first Halloween ever that I haven’t spoken to my daughter. I can’t. She’s not here. She’s in a therapeutic boarding school. This is our life right now.
Gazing upon my trick-or-treater’s face, I felt like Scrooge looking down on Tiny Tim and felt my heart crack with her innocence. I ran upstairs and got my daughter’s fancy tea set all packed away in a wicker basket (I remember when I bought it at a fancy toy store in town that has since closed) and handed it to the girl’s mom. “Enjoy it, use it” I said. One more childhood token removed from the house.
It feels cliche for me to write about the “cycle of life” but it always comes up for me at this time of year: birth, death, dreams, heart-ache, babies, teenagers, the truly egregious wounds that family can and does inflict, Spring, Fall, candycorn, rotting pumpkins, plump cheek, wrinkles, baby, crone, dropouts, honor roll, fresh air, meds, the redemptive power of LOVE in family = it all swirls inside my brain and my heart and collects in an aching lump, in my throat. Glad I got it down in words today.