DEATH TO WAYS OF BEING
It is images of death that I need to surround myself with. The pain and the agony of death. The pain and the agony of life. Death to live. Live to die. The viciousness of this cycle. The cruelty inherent in this necessity. To die to a way of life so that a new life can begin. And the clinging with bleeding nails to the old way. It is too painful to let go and nearly as painful to hold on. It is too painful to hold on and nearly as painful to let go.
Only the bravest of souls. The most daring. The most courageous can fight this battle. And with luck, with cunning, with perseverance, this battle can be won.
There ultimately must come a trust to pursue, and to be victorious, this fight. The trust is a trust in myself. In my intuition. In my knowing. In my not knowing. Trusting that I can quiet my self so that my soul can be heard. Trusting that all the answers I need are within me. And those answers that do not come forth? Trusting that they do not need to be answered. Or that they have, in fact, been answered but I am currently too blind, too caught up, too stubborn, too scared, to recognize them.
This death of aa’s and my relationship is agonizing. Even with the knowing that we will be in each other’s lives for a long time to come… does not help. The pull to hang on to the familiar is horrendously strong. It is the ocean’s rip current. And I am being ripped apart. Ripped open. The desire for the old and the desire for the new has me torn asunder. I am still in a deep descent. I have not yet reached bottom. I don’t know if I ever will. Just as I don’t know if I’ll ever reach top. Just shades and levels between the two extremes are all that exist. And now I am in the darkness.
I have much letting go to do. Letting go to allow that which wants to emerge, to emerge. To give space in my life. My life is not too full. I am clinging, with bloody nails, to that fullness.
As I write this, I wonder what my life is too full with? And the words that hit me in the gut is FEAR. My life is too full with fear. Fear of the unknown? Fear of letting go of my grasp to the old. Fear of loneliness? Fear of the pain of death. Fear of the pain of birth. I am afraid. I am a little girl who is afraid. And she is hiding in the shadows, not wanting to be seen or noticed or found. I tremble. I crouch down getting as small as possible hoping against all hopes not to get hurt. And I hurt. So my fears are realized. And I know not what to do to make the hurting stop. I try and try and still it continues. I am just a little girl who is afraid. I am a little girl who doesn’t know how to get help. Who allows her fears to stop her from getting help.
And so I surround myself with my weapons. My armor, my nonchalance, my façade of bravery. When sometimes. What? Sometimes these things don’t work? Is it really just sometimes? What, then is the alternative? To lay bare my soul? Is that really safe to do? I think only is it safe with very few… and yet, paradoxically, it is necessary to put my words out to the world. To let these voices be seen and heard. Only by inviting them out of the dark closets, by letting them know that they are welcome aspects of myself, can a relationship begin to be established. First acceptance, then relationship. Relationship with Self. And only through relationship with Self can I truly be in relationship with All.
I, therefore, put my words out to the universe. To allow them to be. I put my self out to the world. To allow my self to be.
For all to see. For all to witness. For those who will, to learn.