The Great I Am
I Am the Savior
A month or two ago, the Omaha area had the worst power outage in Nebraska history. My power was out for 17 hours, which was a drop in the bucket compared to what some people here experienced. My devices weren’t charged when it happened — I’d used up what power they had in the first eight hours, so the laptop, iPad, phone, and watch were almost all out of juice, meaning I’d have no way to communicate with the outside world.
I have one “friend” here in Nebraska — a coworker with whom I’ve gone out to dinner once and who checked in on my cat while I visited the kids and grandkids in June. She’s asked me for money when her daughter’s husband chose weed over food for their daughter (I’m not gonna judge; I’ve been there), and I willingly gave more than what was asked without asking for payback. We weren’t besties by any means, but I felt certain we’d have each other’s backs in a time of need. I called her during that power outage to ask if I could charge my devices at her house (she was one of the few who didn’t lose power)— and she said no.
Now this could branch out in a dozen different ways, but let me say this: She told me no because she thinks I’m bougie and would judge her lifestyle. She used my injured leg as an excuse, telling me she was concerned I wouldn’t make it up the three flights of stairs. I could have.
That hurt my feelings on so many levels. I’m not bougie, but I do like to surround myself with nice things that I work hard for. I work at the same place she does, although I also spend a fair amount of time earning a second income as a freelance writer. I’m clean (excessively so with OCD). And it wasn’t like I was asking to come over for a cup of coffee and a game of cards. I was in an emergency with no power, and she told me to take an Uber to Subway. They have outlets at the tables.
The very next day, I pulled out the credit card to buy $400 worth of things I couldn’t afford but would never again be caught without — a solar-powered charging station, a solar-powered light that lasts up to 200 hours without a charge, and a hot plate so I can plug it into the charging station to heat food.
This experience taught me that at this phase in my life, when it comes to local situations, I am literally, totally, completely, utterly alone and must look out for myself because no one else is going to.
And now, that sweet lesson in literal and spiritual context: I have the power.
One of the reasons I grew up to be an adult with mental “challenges” — aside from the genetic gift of bipolar disorder — is that I never felt safe as a child. I was born into survival mode as my mentally ill mother resented the children she kept birthing because we stole from her potential to live her dreams. Now, I love my mom; I really do, so don’t think for a minute that I’m trash-talking her. I love her, but I don’t respect her. She was physically, emotionally, and spiritually abusive. She let her boyfriends do things to us that children should never have to endure, adding PTSD to what would become a list of mental conditions.
Because of the fear-based survival mode I was in, coupled with abandonment issues from my father leaving my mother ten days after I was born and never looking back, I confused sex with love and love for safety. I had my first child at 16, and his father bailed. I got married at 16 to someone who wasn’t my son’s father, and continued that pattern of having children, getting married, and getting divorced, repeating several of the mistakes my mother made.
I kept looking for someone, somewhere, who would make me feel protected and safe. It took me three children, five divorces, my children moving away, and a natural disaster to wake me up to the truth that no one is coming to rescue me.
I have to do that for myself.
I have to be my own savior.
In May, I lost myself to depression. I sulked. I cried. I failed to sleep. I ate too much or not at all. I didn’t bother changing clothes. I wrote from a deep, dark state. The writing was good. It was really good, but so macabre.
I went to visit my family in June, which was a blessing and a curse. It eased the pain of missing them, it inspired me to continue to find a way to move to be near them, but at the same time, I had to come back “home” to a city where I know no one and would be back in that world of alone-ness.
My birthday came in August. It was the first birthday in 52 years that I was alone. Part of me wanted to potato up on the couch and soak the cushions with a salty stream of self-pittying tears. Part of me wanted to yell “fuck you” to the Universe and succumb to the deepest of depressions.
But then, I decided — DECIDED — that that’s not how I wanted to feel. And I did things that terrified me. I realized, “Who better to celebrate me than me?” This is choice.
I took an Uber into the neighboring city to buy myself a pair of shoes and take myself out to dinner. It was an amazing experience, and one that changed my emotional outlook.
From May through September, I lived in an emotional state of being, having temper tantrums because life isn’t fair. But then my thought process shifted from emotional to rational and logical with a sprinkle of spiritual and I began to see the world from a different perspective — one in which I wasn’t the victim.
Yesterday I wrote of divinity — how each one of us are the embodiment of Christ. I believe that God is not an external creature — an old man with a long beard on a throne stomping his staff on the floor in condemnation as he sends his children to an infinite inferno for not being subservient and opressed with the “free will” he supposedly gave them. Instead, I see God as the ultimate consciousness who chose to divide itself exponentially for the sake of experiencing life — and himself (herself, itself) from as many different perspectives as possible. And if that’s true, then it means that God, or life, is not punishing me. I’m punishing myself.
I wrote about a thought becoming an emotion, an emotion becoming an energy, the energy becoming a vibration, the vibration becoming a frequency, and the frequency becoming a magnet that draws more of that back to ourselves tenfold. If you vibrate at a frequency of happiness, the universe echoes that back. If you live in a state of fear, the universe echoes back things for you to be afraid of. If you exist in a reality infused with sadness, the universe gives you more reasons to be sad. It’s not “punishment.” Nor is it “reward.” It gives back to you what you give to it.
I believe that heaven and hell are states of mind, not external locations. When you’re happy, you’re in heaven. When you’re sad, you’re in hell. Internal.
Rather than praying to the idealistic image of an all-powerful entity in the sky to save my soul, I’m calling on myself to step up and do what needs done to save myself — to pull myself out of emotionally-driven self-pity and CREATE the life I want.
I started this writing talking about being alone — about there only ever being me to look out for me, but the truth is, I am never alone. None of us are.
I carry within me divinity, a connection to the all-that-is, that reminds me that I am a powerful being infused with magic, the power to produce miracles in my own life. When it comes to my life and my reality, I am the creator.
I am the All That Is.
I am the great I Am.
