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How do you be a lightworker and live in the real world?

I get there’s an immediate debate here. What’s real anyway? But I’m not going there. I hate that existential shit. Freaks me out. Only because I know in the depths of my being it’s all true. And real. Or unreal. Or whatever.

This is not about that, although feel free to debate it all you like. I was gong to call this post “How do you be a lightworker and a normal person?” until I realised that there is no one I’d call normal by definition. It’s just masquerading anyway. As something we think looks normal. By some definition. Made by someone. One time. There are just some of us who are more willing to get caught out (or perhaps we got caught out and couldn’t hide anymore, and even if we wanted to, we couldn’t). If you hate all of this, that’s OK. Please just stop here. It’s all going to be more of the same.

The more I learn, the more I grow, the more people I work (walk) with and the more that times goes on the more I am clear that this is a spiritual journey, and I am a lightworker. In past lives (I know, I’m sorry about having to talk about that too – I was also more comfortable before I knew this. But comfortable was not helping, when I have a job to do) I was persecuted for knowing stuff about stuff, for being a witch and for having a message I needed to tell. Times are changing though, so even if my fear of talking about this comes up at the kitchen bench with during our weekend hang with some friends, over olives and soda water ( I can’t even drink alcohol these days – not because of any rules just because I don’t want to because it doesn’t bring me any joy anymore) and I know for real no one is going to burn me on an effigy – sometimes I just can not say what I need to.

Here’s what happened. On the weekend I had to complete the last module for the Gap Year Intensive. The module is called Closing the Gap and it starts like this:

In the end, the Gap is just the hole inside – that needs to heal so you can become whole and (w)holy.

And then I wrote about 8 more pages of that, bringing together all the work we’ve done over the last 3 months into something that is precious and will help them on their way. I channel some (most) of that writing. It comes, I write it, it comes together and it’s done. There’s a message in there and it’s creating massive change in the lives of the people who do the work. Inside their insides. And some (most) of it is nothing to do with me. I am just the messenger.

I do so many things that get in the way of the writing. Writing requires me to be quiet and alone (oh God forbid an extreme extrovert like me would have to be still and quiet and alone for long periods of time). Quiet and alone and connected. In the space. Present with the writing at hand. Whatever that may be.

One of my favourite ways of getting in the way of the writing is masquerading as a suburban mum and housewife. I say favourite because I do it often, not because it always brings me great joy. It does though bring me more joy than alcohol these days, which is hilarious. As I write this I know there is a load of washing that needs to be hung out. I know this because I put it on before I went to a women’s business breakfast this morning – where it was about networking, good food and the inspirational speaker (also by the way telling stories of doing her (light) work whilst living in the real world. She might not even call her work light work, but the way she made us laugh (and cry) and the stories about her Dad and her message of empathy and making things work, no matter what are messages of light). I digress. The washing.

The washing is there. I do at least one load per day, two if there are enough lights and darks. I like to keep on top of it, because in a house of 7 people there is a fuck-tonne of washing. As a side note, my guy is also quite capable of washing and often puts on a load and hangs washing out, and folds it with me in the evening (our latest favourite show is about a family whose Mum is a zombie and the are trying to live a normal suburban life even though she has to eat humans). I’m kind of glad I get to be a light worker and not a zombie, although I get either of those things can make people feel really scared and uncomfortable. Anyway, washing. Regardless of the help and support I actually think that the washing is my responsibility. My job. My role. I have set this up nicely – so the kids always come to me with requests for lost school uniforms, favourite knickers and socks that don’t have seams. Even when I’m being my least gracious about this role, it’s still going on. Before I started writing I made a coffee, and told myself I’d hang out the washing before I started so it can dry in time for taking off later today and folding tonight with the other 3 loads of washing sitting near the TV. We can fold in front of the zombie show once the kids are bed. I think the fact that it’s a horror comedy makes me feel risqué?

Today I didn’t hang out the washing. I came to write.

This post has been swirling in brain since the weekend (see above, as I obviously digressed again) when I walked out after writing Gap Year Module 6 and tried to be a “normal” person with our friends. Straight up we got talking about what I’d be doing, and then I went to say more. About my conundrum. About how I walk out of there (the space with the words) into real life and I DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE. And that’s not their fault, it just is. But as I started to talk about it fear engulfed me, around the throat and I could not tell them. I don’t want them to think they are too “normal” for me (they are not, they are both magnificent in their own ways but I would never say that to their faces so we’ll just pretend I am not writing this in a public forum). I don’t want to tell them that my fear is nothing to do with being judged in the present, but comes from before when I was persecuted for talking about things that made people uncomfortable. I don’t want to tell them that the more the journey unfolds the more is asked of me. And the more that is asked of me, the more I must step into that and perhaps that will be too much for some people. I’m not always sure who but the moving away from people has always held me in places far longer than I needed to stay (and this is not literal moving although I have reached a point where I want to stay here forever and I know that means we’ll have to move at some stage, even if only for short bursts of time. Just so I don’t get stuck. With the washing).

I know this will resonate with you if you are masquerading as someone you are not. I am a great housewife and mum. You should see me make 5 school lunches in production line straight after school when their lunch boxes have just been emptied from the day. I can do this though because someone (someone beautiful, a lightworker who works with food) cooks all of our evening weekday meals. All of them. So I can be a lightworker longer in the day. Except sometimes I’m not. I’m flailing around trying to be all real-life, and keep up with the washing (by the way, as another side-note to all the side-notes, the children all have at least 3 FULL school uniforms each which means I only have to wash every 3 days if all else fails. Not the point really. Except when I’m not writing).

If you’re masquerading, no matter how good you are at the thing you are doing, if it’s not the thing you’re supposed to be doing you’ll feel unfulfilled. Empty. Like you have a Gap. A hole. An empty space. A lonely space. That can only be filled by the quiet stillness of being alone and connecting to whatever your source of light is (God, the Universe, spirit, nature, energy, whatevs).

And you’ll have to make time for that.

Which can feel really confronting because then who will do all the things you’ve been doing so well (at home, in your job, in life)? Well here’s the kicker. In the end if you do this, you will. You will keep doing those things, but better than before. Because you’ll be guided. Full of light. Directing your energy in a way that works. I’m a way better housewife and mum when I tell them crazy stories about my day and vacuum listening to inspirational audio books and hang out washing in the dark looking at the stars. I’m much better than being caught in the constant battle of trying to hold up the façade that my life is somehow about something other than what it’s really about. I know you know what that is. Deep in your yearning soul. I know you know.

So here’s how you do it.

Be a light-worker all the time.

A shiny spreader of all that is you. The real world needs that. We really, really do.

 

 

Fleur

Author Fleur

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