On the morning of January 28, 2019, I woke up the same woman I was the day before. By the time I went to bed that night, I would never connect to her in the same way because of a journey I was about to take, leaving part of my brain behind.
If the brain is where our human identity lives, it makes sense that my life-long quest for self-acceptance and self-love would be tied up within it. Literally “taking my brain out-of-the-way” was the only thing left to do in my journey out of Flatland and into the More-ness of Life.
But I have gotten a little ahead of myself, so let’s rewind back to the very beginning. On that day, I was working and felt like I was about to pass out. My blood pressure was rising and falling oddly. I felt dizzier and dizzier with each passing minute. An array of weird and scary symptoms began to ensue. Some overlooked medical results left me lying flat on my back for almost five months, completely debilitated, while my body battled damage, unbeknownst to me, that would test my endurance and my very understanding of life.
This is a story of consciousness coming to consciousness. It may appear to be my story, but truly in the end this is our story. This is the story of me and the story of us, of consciousness coming to consciousness.
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