Hanta Yo is a Lakota Sioux term that means “clear the way.” It indicates the intention of drawing on the Great Spirit to clear the way while you do your part with faith.
According to a book I am reading written by a master acupuncturist, when physical pain is relieved, underlying emotional pain often rises to the top, and takes its place.
My physical pain was in my neck and shoulders. Neuromuscular therapy eliminated a lot, but the therapist told me there was more stress to be addressed. I can feel it. Am I stressed? Yes. My house has been on the market for two years. I’ve had three offers that did not go to settlement. Strangers are still roaming through my rooms and peering into my closets. It’s a pain in the neck.
And then, there was my heart, beating through my ear. I saw an ENT physician, who identified the throbbing as a blockage in the Eustachian tube. He has prescribed a nasal spray. Was my heart trying to speak to me? Was it whispering in my ear?
The center beam under my house has come up in two home inspections. According to the inspectors, it should be bolted to two parallel joists and they need to be reinforced. And I’ve been resisting it. Early on, Bill and I decided to deal with it (it was like that when we moved in) by installing steel beams and later, I installed new joists all over. The house is, without a doubt, structurally sound. But the home inspectors see it and note it. It freaked the second buyer out. It’s like a sore thumb. Or a pain in the neck. In the last few months, I’ve grudgingly made some needed repairs – I replaced two windows, took care of a plumbing problem, and re-painted the deck and the porch. But I have stubbornly refused to have my house jacked up again (my granite counter top cracked last time) to fix that *###** beam. Not to mention the money.
Yesterday, I had it fixed. I surrendered. And as the acupuncturist predicted, when I took care of the physical pain in the house and in myself, the emotional pain surfaced.
It came upon me as I was walking the river road. (For those of you who have read my book, there is a river road here, too.) It came upon me because I realized that this house was mine and Bill’s. This is where we sat on so many precious mornings at the kitchen table, talking about everything in the world. It’s where we celebrated Christmas, birthdays, Mother’s Days, Father’s Days. It’s where we watched the fireworks on our river on the Fourth of July. It’s where we fed our children, our grandchildren, and our friends. It’s where we laughed. And cried. On those last few days before he took to his bed, Bill would sit on the back porch and look at the trees and the garden I had made as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. And I was glad, because I had created it for him. And finally, on that day in August six years ago, Bill passed into spirit here. In his bed, in his home. In our home. In our house.
Tears blinded me as I made my way back. My house would not sell as long as I would not let it go. Perhaps I am letting it go now. Finally. Perhaps I am drawing on the Great Spirit to clear the way while I do my part with faith.
Helen Delaney’s book, The Messenger: The Improbable Story of a Grieving Mother and a Spirit Guide, is available on Amazon. You may find it by clicking on the link below.