My heart palpitations have not gone completely. They are much improved now that I don’t drink caffeine, but they’re not gone. The other night I had a mild panic attack because of them. My skin is still itchy, though less so than it was. I am also still more tired in the evenings than usual, sleeping so deep that sometimes I wake up panicked. I also have evidence now of the heart rate abnormalities. I track my sleep and my heart rate spiked to 145bpm one night not long ago. I don’t remember it, but it happened.

I’ve decided not to visit a doctor about it. Why? Because, if this is what my mom has, they will prescribe me a medication that will need to be taken for the rest of my life. I don’t want to do that. I would rather just tolerate the palpitations. There is a surgery that can be done, but I’m not interested in that, either. Palpitations lead to an increased risk of stroke and heart attack. Bring it on! I’ve already been here longer than I would like and I am especially miserable now. 

There is little that remains of my spiritual experiences these days. Everything is mundane and boring. I’m back to the beginning, back to when life wasn’t magical. Back when there were no adventures into the unknown world of Spirit. The difference is now I know the magic and adventure exists but I cannot access it. 

I’ve decided if this is how the rest of my life will be, I want no part in it. If I can’t at least escape this world in the night via my dream explorations, if I am denied access to Spirit and all the wonderful mysterious of the Beyond, I don’t want to be here. Losing all of the above has been devastating. There is nothing in this mundane, boring, negative world that sparks interest in me. I just….exist.

As a 6/2 profile (Human Design), this is a difficult time in my life. Ra says that if the 6th line can’t navigate the last stage of their life, when they come “down from the roof ” and rejoin the world, then they often do not live beyond the age of 60. I’m fast approaching that third stage. This year starts the preparatory years leading up to age 50 and my Chiron return. 

When I read what Ra said about 6th lines I immediately thought, “I will be one of those who doesn’t make it”. This is because I have no interest in rejoining a world like this one. I’ve never actually been keen on this world. From my earliest years I’ve been asking – begging – to go Home. My focus has always been on “the end” from the beginning. I’m the kid in the backseat asking repeatedly, “Are we there yet?” 

And I can honestly say I don’t like most people. I am tired of pretending to like them, too. I’ve given up on trying to help. They don’t listen and they don’t want my help, so why bother? 

If my dreams are still any indicator of what is to come (unlikely but I can hope), then it appears I am preparing to exit this life sooner rather than later.

Dream: Clearing Out My Classroom (5/14/23)

I was a teacher and it was the last day of school. I wasn’t returning the next school year so had to clear out my classroom. The thing is, my classroom didn’t resemble a classroom inside but a house!

The first place I cleared out was the kitchen. I removed all the items from the shelves. As I was looking over my work and checking to make sure the drawers and shelves were empty, I noticed flowers growing from the window sill. I said something about leaving behind flowers. I could see purple ones blooming, their roots firmly embedded in the wood of the window. 

I found a box of baking soda and decided to leave it and sprinkle some on the shelves. I also left behind a small, rusted, heart shaped cake pan, setting it in the center of one of the shelves. 

Then I walked towards the living room and decided to grab things to pack away as I walked. There were family pictures lining the shelves. I grabbed each one and stacked them in my arms. There was also a massive mirror I took down and set on its size. I remember thinking it weighed much less than I thought it would. 

At the end of the dream I was in the hallway after shutting my now empty classroom/house. I looked around, noticing how empty and quiet it was. It appeared I was the only one left in the building. This is when I woke up. 

When I woke I felt very good, very peaceful and calm. It seemed like the dream was me contemplating ending a phase of life – or maybe ending life. The feeling I had in the dream was similar to how I’ve felt when I’ve left schools at the end of the school year knowing I wasn’t going to return. It always felt good knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with the BS of the job, the people, and the schedule. Such a relief!

The symbolism of the dream seems to point at an end to life. The classroom is my house, or soul-self in this lifetime. I go through and clear out everything. I leave behind baking soda, which is used to keep spaces smelling good by absorbing bad odors. This could be my attempt to cleanse the space. Then I leave behind a rusty old, heart-shaped cake pan. I obviously don’t think I need it anymore. The cake pan is likely what is left of my attempts to create love. I take down all the family pictures, placing them face down in a pile in my arms. I don’t linger and look at them wistfully. I just want them gone. I also remove a massive mirror. I never look at my reflection in it, I just take it down and lay it on the floor.

The feeling of relief at leaving the classroom in the end is what was more memorable. I felt so at peace with it. 

Dream: Not on the Volunteer List

The dream starts outside on city streets. I am both present and an observer. I see a couple of women approach another woman. There is a verbal confrontation. The women verbally threaten the other woman. I can feel the emotions of the threatened woman. She is shaken and tense, unsure and anxious. 

Then I am watching the previously threatened woman enter a classroom. A short, plump woman with blonde hair approaches her. She is the teacher. I can experience the emotions of the teacher, who seems to be the teacher. She senses that the woman who just entered has had a rough morning. She immediately soothes her and escorts her to a sofa and grabs a blanket. She tells the woman to rest and pulls the blanket around her for comfort. I can feel what the teacher feels. She is extremely concerned and she cries for the other woman. It feels like I’m the one crying.

The teacher is very pleasant and in high spirits. She enjoys her job and she emits a light which illuminates the entire space. It is clear this “class” provides more than just information.

The next student who enters requires a special device to perceive her environment that looks like a camcorder. The teacher greets her warmly. It appears the girl is special needs, specifically hearing impaired. 

Others enter. They are all ages and genders. Some are more talkative while others are subdued. There is a couple who enter who are very chatty. The woman is cutting out a picture using some curved shears. I am suddenly a participant and ask the woman about her shears. She hands them to me to try. I begin to cut and the woman’s partner becomes anxious, worried I will cut outside the lines. I sense his anxiety and decided to put down both the shears and the item I am cutting. His anxiety vanishes.

The teacher then calls to the class. She has a list and is talking about an upcoming event. She is asking for volunteers. One woman says she will bring bread but says, “The kind with gluten”. lol I look on the list and see the item “Bread” and there is no blank to write the gluten part but the woman’s name is there. There are other items on the list, which is very long. Some still have no name beside them. I remember thinking, “No point in putting my name on the list. I won’t be here.” There was finality in this thought.

Then there was discussion about the schedule. I only remember that the time class was done for the day would get the students to the bus by 4:55pm. I remember panicking and looking at my watch because I thought it was already well past that time. The time on my watch was a few minutes before 4pm.

Tears

At a later time I wake up crying but can’t really recall why. I only remember that I had been singing. I lingered in bed a while pondering my tears and the dreams of the night. 

I seldomly sing these days. Singing use to bring me such joy. I have so little joy left. Even thinking of singing feels pointless. If I was crying because of singing, it doesn’t surprise me. The tears were probably tears of relief, relief at finally feeling something positive.