Wandering In The Fog Of Transformation


Using mindfulness to extract the essence of transformation from the ordinary moments of life

Once again, I am in transformation.   Not your run of the mill “I had a new insight into life” energizing transformation, but a slow deep transformation that feels more like quicksand, and I am knee-deep.  It’s a Saturn in the twelfth house, can’t seem to remember who I am transformation.  Like a persistent fog, it hangs around me day in, day out.  Having had Mars retrograde in my first house leaving me feeling like all forward motion has stopped, I wonder at times if I am actually the one going retrograde, making a slow backspin through my life…

Even with my 20+ years of personal process work, I don’t believe I’ve experienced anything that quite matches this phase, the phase I’ve dubbed the “Hurry up and Wait Transformation,” because if nothing else, it has had a drastic effect on my perception of time, hijacking me from my usual detail-oriented, checklist-carrying pace, where thoughts were clear and processes had a beginning and an end.  For months now, I’ve been moving as if in slow motion, doing so much, yet accomplishing nothing.  Time moves like molasses with a viscous heaviness that makes the simple act of completing a thought seem like an accomplishment, and the ability to finish something I’ve started a small miracle.

To be clear, this is not depression, or grief, it’s just change, plan and simple. Change that comes in its own time, and on its own terms, and throws my best organization and to do lists to the waste bin.   As a transformation junkie, I feel confident in my ability to move through even the most emotionally challenging situations with relative ease and a good dose of self-awareness, having been through the bootcamps of:  Losing a best friend to cancer;  Marital betrayal and divorce;  Uprooting my family and moving across country; A sudden health emergency that almost took my life;  Leaving a steady paycheck to leap from the cliffs of the unknown into self-employment in an obscure field; Dealing with the depression and addictions of loved ones who I am powerless to help; and, raising post-divorce teenagers as a single mother, to name a few, yet I am struggling to work through this one, perhaps because there are no clear emotions to work with.

On my best days in this new and seemingly endless phase, I get small glimpses of who I once was, split-second snapshots of moments I’ve lived replete with emotion and an almost tactile realism.  Then they are gone, just like that.  There is no apparent order or thread that weaves between them.   In one moment I’m at an amusement park, age 11, in the next I’m watching my two young children on the swings at a playground in Brazil, in another I am in college, hanging out with friends, and in yet another, sitting at old my office on a day like any other.  They come quickly, and catch me by surprise.  If they have anything in common, it’s that they are all moments of nothing special.  Moments of life, in its fullness and most ordinary. For a split second I am transported back in time, simultaneously aware of how I looked, how I felt, and how I perceived myself and the world around me.  In short, how I was, and who I was in one moment, one of an infinite number of elusive moments in life.

One of my favorite sayings from Mindfulness Meditation practice is to be fully present in the moment, aware of the moment, and, that each moment is it’s own moment.  Think about that for a moment.  How do we measure a moment? It can only be measured through awareness, though consciousness, and of course, as soon as we are aware of it, as soon as our mind tries to wrap itself around this point in time, we realize that the moment has passed.   

Like moments that cannot be captured, these fleeting memories move quickly from the field of pure conscious awareness into the grasping mind and are lost, slipping away like water through my fingers.  Yet not before awakening in me, even if only for a second, the most incredible experience of being transported back to a me that I have forgotten the essence of, a me whose thoughts, desires, and emotions were once so intense, and now feel so distant, so not me.

I can see that life is pushing me to release the past, release who I thought I was, and allow for the emergence of a deeper part of myself that has been waiting for this time, because of course, everything happens in it’s proper time.

Thankfully, I have learned to be patient.  So I will fight the urge to flip to the last page of the book, to know the end already and be done with the agonizing slowness of a story with no story, that meanders and wanders through a foggy landscape of past and present intermingling, with no apparent plot or direction.  Sometimes these are the novels that leave the biggest impressions.  The ones that pull us wholly into another place, leaving us disoriented, unsure of where we’ve been and what direction we’re going, until we look back after reading and realize that even though we can’t say exactly why or how, we know that something in us has been touched, has opened, and has shifted, and that we will never again be the same.

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Paige Apgar is an Energy Healing practitioner, Transformational Life Coach and Meditation instructor and who has been practicing meditation for 23 years and working in the field of personal transformation since 2009.  You can find her online at www.soulslightenergyhealing.com.