There’s a lot to say
There’s a lot to unpack. There’s a fear of the unknown. Of being too dirty to not hear the truth clearly, if that even makes any sense at all. To speaking the wrong thing, though what I always share is true and real and right in the moment. I have my doubts and I have moments of immense clarity, of knowing what feels true and right and aligned, of knowing what it’s like to know and to have a fellow soul know and to be one in the same in that. It feels like going back into myself, it feels like being conscious, it feels like being aware, yet too it feels like heartache and it feels like pain and it feels like opening myself up to those who do not wish to have me. So have I been steering my ship to the wrong seas? Have I been portaging across terrain that is not fit for me? Things get cloudy and mucked up. Things get full of pus and snot and grime and I held back held back held back to try and have it all be clear. Yet instead I caved in. For I just wanted to be right, I wanted things to all be fine.
I walked through the forest, heart open and raw and exposed. As if the space underneath my flesh was one with the air. It felt so exposed. The trees were there to support me and I felt it in full, yet also they looked twisted and mangled and maimed. I held back on doing my work, the things I know I needed because I pronounced the present moment to be the one in full that needed me. Nothing else mattered. Except for this breath, this song, this moment, this movement, and underneath all the layers, lay the truth, raw and exposed and bare.
Could anyone meet me here? Would I want them to? I so desperately did, for the one who knows it bare and raw like I do. Though what I practiced is to find peace, to be patience and to feel the utter and upmost fulfillment in my time, here or there, alone or apart. Yet, still, I reached out. I reached out from an aching heart and wanting to be held. I talked to my parents on the phone and I felt like I feel into their lives. Of enchiladas and ozempic. Of choosing what we deserve yet it not being entirely and fully what the soul needs to thrive. I thought maybe to starve it out would bring the fulfillment, for from a space of such nothingness, comes forth a message of complete clarity. A yearning for something to fill what has drained itself empty. I filled my face with sugar and watched as my cheeks puffed up. I breathed and I reached and I sat still in the nothingness, I allowed the tarot cards to decide my fate.
I looked out the windows and watched as you all rolled by, now my head covered and shielded under a veil. Would I ever get to stop, would I ever get to be the one creating and building my own life? Or would it always be in the hands of others who wished to watch me go into their homes and to sit by their fires and to speak to their grandparents. Would we ever find completion? I asked my heart who had been laid out bleeding, and told her that it’s safe to come home. That no one is here to hurt us anymore.
I notice how the energy in my body has risen up and out of my bones, it has gone into my hands and my head. Maybe I will shovel it off to the next person, a sigh of defeat within, though when I walked through the woods, after feeling the raw air that brings life to all of me, I remembered. The fire within me lit up again. It brought prayers of empowerment, it brought blessings with each footfall. It brought something so near and dear and close to the truth: the declaration that I am a being that will stand and rise and be the one that cuts down everything that steps in the way between you and your soul. I suppose this is what it was all for. The revelation within myself, the understanding and the knowing, yet now comes forth the practice, and the putting the effort in. To remain in the center of it all. A hurricane, a tsunami, some sort of eye.
It’s out of my hands I know this though, and all there seems to be for me to do is sit and just be. Just be in the present, and allow each moment to follow the next to the next to the next. It feels like being my sister, it feels like living in the lives of my parents. It feels like putting the best I can in and seeing what comes forth. “There’s many people that you’ll love, especially with such pretty blue eyes like yours” I was told after sharing the depths of my deepest prayer. The one that proclaims a life that is so truly and entirely felt it seems to layer itself over this reality. Yet one what also feels so entirely unsure and unrealistic based on every shred and scrap of evidence that I have around, each person that surrounds me, each word, except for the ones that know the wisdom of the heart, who know why we keep coming back time and time and time again even as it breaks and even as it aches and wails and mourns. There’s a reason I’ve been holding out, there surly has to be.
For what else Is it for otherwise?
