{"id":44098,"date":"2023-07-28T17:53:36","date_gmt":"2023-07-28T21:53:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/?p=44098"},"modified":"2026-05-23T23:57:33","modified_gmt":"2026-05-24T03:57:33","slug":"the-force-of-july","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/the-force-of-july\/","title":{"rendered":"The Force of July"},"content":{"rendered":"
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28<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

JULY 2023<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

Writing
Healing
Aging
Death<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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The Force of July<\/h1>

by Rachelle Rogers<\/a><\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div>\n\n

My goal has been to post on this blog twice a month, but for the last few months, this hasn\u2019t been going so well. In May and June I only posted once, and not until the next to the last day of each month. And now, in July, I find myself in the same dilemma.<\/p>\n

In part this happens when personal challenges \u2014 physical, emotional, mental\/spiritual \u2014 come up with certain intensity, the consequences (and potential gifts, I tell myself) on a path of self-discovery. They inevitably lead to deeper insight and healing, but it can be a mess along the way, much beating of pillows, many heart-clearing tears.<\/p>\n

Yet the deeper issue is that my intent for this blog is to present a glimpse of my authentic life,<\/em> which means my authentic self, the highs and the lows, to write solely and soully from that truth.<\/p>\n

So, what\u2019s been going on with me lately? Everything. It feels like all my challenges have come up in my face, and body, this month.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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Since last December, when I turned 76, I thought a lot about my mother\u2019s death at 76. I knew uncomfortable feelings could surface when one reaches the age a parent was when they died. All year I was aware that this July 4th would be the 27th anniversary of my mother\u2019s death. Because of this, she was in my thoughts a lot at the beginning of the month. I wished I was able to talk with her, now, after we have both grown so much in heart and spirit. I came across a poem I had written about the last time I saw her.<\/p>\n

When I saw my mother last<\/strong><\/p>\n

her hair a new-grown inch of slate
and silver breathing on her wig-free head,
we said she looked like Yoda. She laughed
and hummed off-key, watered orchids,
pinched a withered leaf, stroked
a spray of fern.<\/p>\n

Later, she worked on basket gardens
for the guests (I can't imagine celebrating
one man for fifty years), nesting ivy, bright
caladium ears, whispering pothos \u2014
all rooted in love, nourished with hope
she herself had lost.<\/p>\n

I carried mine home, 800 miles in my arms,
placed it where the sun would gently light
its feathered leaves. And month by month
I watched it die with her.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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I\u2019ve been thinking a lot about death lately, although I\u2019ve pretty much made peace with the fact of it, and that it may not at all be what we\u2019ve been taught it is. Part of this for me comes from the profound wisdom I\u2019ve received over many decades in conversations with non-physical beings, some of whom I\u2019ve affectionately called \u201cThe Dead Guys,\u201d teachers, guides, angelics, even extraterrestrials \u201cchanneled\u201d through several \u201csoul sisters\u201d who have had that gift.<\/p>\n

At this point I\u2019m more afraid of living, of really living, than of dying. Since resurrecting my life and my writing back in February after a three year Dark Night of the Soul <\/em>(see Being Happy For No Reason<\/a>), <\/em>I continue on my journey to discover who I am now, and what I want from here forward. It\u2019s not been easy, especially at this\u00a0 stage of my being, and it can be very tiring.<\/p>\n

Moving through time, what I call aging, has also been on my mind lately. Time itself is whizzing by so fast that something new and unexpected and challenging seems to manifest inside and outside of my body almost daily. I\u2019m not kidding. It has been very unsettling as well as frightening. I\u2019m doing my best to accept whatever is happening, to love all of me, brown spots, red dots, old bones and all, but I haven\u2019t been doing so well with that either. I remind myself that 76 isn\u2019t even really that old these days, and that I\u2019d never want to go back to being younger in terms of the wisdom I\u2019ve gleaned. But part of me isn\u2019t listening.<\/p>\n

And one of my major projects has been sorting through and cleaning out old clutter in order to make room for the new, organizing closets, drawers, hard copy files, and computer files, including my writing documents over the decades. This month, I\u2019ve started sorting through poems, unfinished novels, endless story revisions, saved emails, and other forgotten mental meanderings, all of which have instigated many emotional re-memberings.<\/p>\n

One of the first things I came across in my doc files was a novel I\u2019d called Ariel and Ethan<\/em> barely begun in 2008, about the dissolution of my last intimate relationship in 2003. I\u2019d totally forgotten about it, the writing not the relationship\u2026well, maybe both. The story is narrated from the larger perspective, by what might be thought of as Ariel\u2019s Soul Self <\/em>or maybe Guardian Angel. <\/em>The novel begins at the end of the story.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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Chapter 1: How It Ended<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/em>Love is not a random occurrence. It is choreographed before a human breath is ever taken. Things are decided upon, discussed, arranged. Agreements are made between souls who will touch each other's lives in the deepest ways. And then, when the time is right, they will find, despite obstacles or circumstance, that their hearts are inexplicably drawn together.
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 This is what happened to Ariel and Ethan. Yet, after eight months, Ethan became mesmerized by the tongue of fear, convinced to turn a deaf ear to the deepest yearnings of his own soul. (In the world of duality there is always free will.) And when a love that seems destined to flower is plucked before it has fully bloomed, the whole universe grieves.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

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As I re-read these first few paragraphs, I totally lost it. Tears came in a torrent of feelings. How, in my deepest heart, I had been more distraught about the way<\/em> the relationship ended, than that<\/em> it had ended \u2014 abruptly, through an email, right before plans to be together through the summer, with the only explanation being a feeling of fear that he said needed to be paid attention to. In many ways, I did feel that the relationship was \u201cmeant to be,\u201d although I hadn\u2019t been sure it was meant to be forever. It wouldn\u2019t have been so devastating if it had ended differently, although we were eventually able to talk and heal and even visit a few times.<\/p>\n

Anyway, reading the few chapters I had written, which included some of the amazing emails between us (he was a man of words), and all the notes I\u2019d made at the end about things to include, tugged at my heart. He was my last physical partner for this lifetime, although I had a later six-year inter-dimensional relationship, which I wrote about in my memoir Rare Atmosphere: An Extraordinary Inter-dimensional Affair of the Heart<\/em><\/a>. Since that resolved itself in 2012, my choice has been to continue on my own. Intimate relationships in this life, both physical and non-physical, often spanned dimensions and have been emotionally complicated.<\/p>\n

For many reasons I won\u2019t go into here, it was time for me to go on alone, to live what I believe my Soul Self originally intended for this lifetime \u2014 to find out who I am separate from old patterns of self-destructive liaisons. And I relish living alone, not having to share my time, my small space, my Talenti Coffee Chocolate Chip Gelato, or my bed with anyone. I understand why I\u2019ve chosen this more solitary, and for me comfortable life, and yet I have moments of deep loneliness.<\/p>\n

For eleven years I had my beautiful Ragdoll cat Michou, who I had to re-home after I moved into my current place in August of 2019. I begged my landlord to let me keep him in my new no pets allowed home. I had to promise that if Michou passed, I would not get another kitty.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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It turned out, however, that the new place was difficult for both of us to adjust to, Michou prowling and unhappy, getting stuck in high places from which he couldn\u2019t get down, banging cabinet doors, keeping me up all night. I had become exhausted, and a few months later, with much anguish and endless grieving, I felt it was best to re-home him. His new kitty daddy was wonderful, and Michou didn\u2019t even fuss much, which made me even more upset, but I felt all would be well. Within a year, however, I found out that Michou had passed peacefully, as if he just decided it was time to go. I was destroyed.<\/p>\n

For these last years, the memory of him has been heart-wrenching, and I found it difficult to even look at pictures of him. But in the force of July, I wanted to bring him back into my life and I set up my favorite photo of him as a desktop background picture on my computers. Now I look at him all the time, still teary-eyed, but for me, he's the fastest route back into my heart.<\/p>\n

As these words appear upon the page, I\u2019m actually beginning to feel better, as if part of the heaviness is beginning to lift. Maybe that happens as I find the courage to share my humanity.<\/p>\n

Oh, and as I was skimming through poetry, I found a few poems I think were written by Spankie, my lower self. Remember her? I offer one here.<\/p>\n

Aftermath<\/strong><\/p>\n

Love is
Carlos Saura stomping
on your gut
Muddy Waters fingering
your heart
Albert Einstein firing
your brain.\u00a0<\/p>\n

With artless grace, he flings
himself across the futon of your life
sporting peridot and fuschia, sucking
pomegranate, trailing
peelings and patchouli in his wake.<\/p>\n

He makes a mess.<\/p>\n

And when he's had his day and ravished
every cell and made you speak
his name, he leaves
you spare and spent and oddly
grateful that he came.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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← <\/span>Reconnection<\/span><\/a><\/span>Buying A Car: The Good, The Bad, and The Bizarre<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n