Healer in the Hotseat: Excerpts

I want to share a couple related excerpts from the rough draft of "Healer in the Hotseat". Firstly, the book is undergoing huge transformations itself -- the working title will change, the focus will shift from burnout even though burnout brought me to the point of opening to Spirit on this topic, and Spirit brought me the information. But I thought perhaps you'd like to get an inside look at my writing style, and the history of the SURRENDERô to Passion concept. This is where it all began:

Chapter: Preface

[February 10, 2009]

I entered into the Middle World at the point of the pit of despair, in the incarnation of Rock Bottom. Above, far above, there is a faint light of distant hope of escape. The walls of the pit steep and ragged, I test the walls with my hands, get dirt under my nails, there is no way to climb from the pit without ripping my fingers to bloody stumps. But then the smell of rich loamy earth, like that of the degrading forest floor in early spring, wafts to my nose. "What is this?"

I kneel, and realize that in the pit of Rock Bottom I have a body. In this shamanic reality, where Rock Bottom is as real as anything, I am not simply despair as I thought I was every other time I was here. I am me, in all my unearthly spiritual power, experiencing Rock Bottom with all of my considerable faculties. I bend at my waist, yes the smell is coming from the floor of the pit. I reach down with two hands to scoop up and cup the rich loam, let it riffle through my fingers with bits of degrading twigs, worms, moisture, carbon. I wonder at its richness, itís READINESS to nurture life.

Inspired by the lovely feel, I scoop more of the loose nutritious earth around my knees, sweeping broad strokes to pile more around my ankles below me. Partially buried in this truly nurturing soil, I have all but forgotten that I am in Rock Bottom. "This is a place of birth," I decide. That spark of thought leaps from me and lands in the loam of the pit. I watch as the twigs and decomposing leaves catch fire, entirely unafraid. The fires surround and envelop me, consuming me in the cleansing richness of symbolic immolation, but I am not gone. I am on fire, and sense a transformation as the cleansing flames spark my spirit, spark my desire. "I want to be free, I want to fly," says that desire as it turns up the heat. "I want to lead, I want to share."

I discover I have wings of flame and elation overtakes me as I crane my long neck towards the opening of the pit. My legs bunch under me, my wings curl and cup the air, and with a bound and a thrust, I am on fire and flying out of the pit. Each thrust fans the flames in my heart, in my head, "I want to lead, I want to share," says each beat of my wings. My vision pulls back from the scene and I see my body slicing through the air, the body of a phoenix entirely aflame joyously flying through the air of a bright sunny forest, rising above the canopy, and as my vision pulls back and I watch in surprise there is a V formation of other phoenixes following me. Did they have their own pits, or were they born of the same fire? It doesnít matter.

"Iíve been through too much in my life to be going through this again," says the marauding negative voice that sometimes dominates my thoughts. "Does it ever get easy?"

But it IS easy. I just watch the thoughts and let them go. It is what is. Iím a burnoutaholic, driving myself from project to project, obsession to obsession, and collapsing into a pile of ashes. I am Phoenix, I am Ember, I am ashes reborn. Over and over, I give absolutely everything I have collapse totally spent in some Rock Bottom only to find that my spirit endures, rekindles, finds new passion, transforms into burning desire and Iím Phoenix in flight again.

"Come, follow me," says my spirit. A flight of Phoenixes, burning bright, finally ready to face this cycle and find a way around it. "Donít fight it. Come follow me."

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