Sunday, November 14, 2010

I am.

“Sometimes Truth doesn’t come in a pretty package. it usually comes in a brown paper bag, with an oil stain on the back.” C. Sandoval

Today I found out more hurts, as if it was capable of finding out further truths to pick at and destroy this scab I have been trying to build.

I want to move on so as not to remain hurt, but not nec move on without love from X. Did I ever have it?, I wonder. I felt he might have loved me. Perhaps he grew disquiet at the panic of seeing what unconditional love looked like and what a sweet, caring, evolved woman in his arms looked like. Perhaps he did not know what to do with me. Too much for him? Perhaps I am.

I know that I never want to feel like I am “not _______ enough” of anything ever again. and every day, almost without fail, I have told myself and retold and sold to me, and mine, that I am “_____ enough” of anything.

Out of this pain, processing and relevation, came
an affirmation for myself:

"Let me be TOO MUCH of a good thing for the foolhardy who do not know how to value, and celebrate and love and cherish a good thing, a treasure as me. Let me be TOO MUCH, for I know in my heart as wide as the ocean, as fertile and fecund as Mother Earth/Sky and in my spirit, which can dance like the wind or cast fires against sadnesses and hurts which such Ire so to banish them from treading the fragility of fleeting Happiness! I know in all these realms that make me ME, that I am always and will be ENOUGH."

Of those who have wittingly (or otherwise) hurt me, I say without reproach..'They' may not have been ready for such splendour, class, beauty and love to come at once, in one package, and so potently. Too perhaps They may be those who see most clearly in hindsight, given time and perspective after (regretfully) discarding your author. Perhaps then they may note, “Ah, I guess indeed, she DID shine!” Sadder still is that in waiting to see retrospectively and only then recognizing light and love and beauty, they will have missed the actual ME. The Me who sat with them remaining present in all manner as best I could, happily giving them my gifts of time and of love. I have given many such gifts, and felt very pained when these precious gifts were no longer bestowed upon me. I know that I must walk and seek out those who also Shine and who come (waiting on baited breath no less !) to bestow a true, and unbridled Love, for a shiny thing as me. Let Like attract Like, and merrily!

and a Thanks:
Thank you Goddess, for giving me the gifts of insight, of sensitivity, of perseverance, of patience, of stubborness, of humour, of curiosity about the world, people and of myself, of gentleness (for therein lies my Power), of playfulness, of wonder, of light. Without these gifts I would remain a sad little sack seated on the dank floor of a kitchen eternally hurt and confounded by the spokes and wheels which come jabbing back with passing time.

I thank you for such gifts bestowed upon me. Let me shine my light brightly and for myself first and foremost! Let others who are compelled by it, follow and learn to Shine for themselves; let those whom I do not touch nor compel, pass me by, gently, without a stir, but perhaps with a small reflection to carry them onward. Let my heart, spirit, mind, body et al remain safe and strong and pure as I peacefully, without apology nor regret...let them be. (Oh Heart, do you have it in you? Such laborous tasks must you do yet, to muster true empathy!)

and of course, a little humour:
Wisdom strains from such painful processes. And I am wise enough yet, so please keep me!

Thursday, November 04, 2010

how come wisdom is acquired through such a painful process?

blessed are the fools who live life hardy and carefree...also conscience-free, heartless. blessed are they who think not of the toll of parking on your heart only to back their car in, and take it several turns and enough opportunity to scratch up all others around you, only to change their mind, and proceeding to relocate and pull out. fuck you very much. now who will pay for the dent you made? surely my Life insurance is the only one who is fit to cover such a tax. there are no deductables in Life, you pay for the whole damn thing all by yourself, no matter who's fault it was. your little car, once so shiny and polished will never look the same. she may drive a bit weary too, growling gutterally with a low moan as she turns a corner when she sees another that looks like you.

takers, voyeurs, conquistadors, fence-sitters, peddlers of falsehoods, 'tourists' in this trip called my Life...away with ye!

The Collector
Collecting little pebbles in Life which bring in a little light, and the ones which come bearing darknesses; their weight leadeding as they line the pockets. There are more pebbles on one side than the other...as the carrier gets weary. When she is less so, this weight becomes feathers, no longer burdening, no longer burning, boring holes in her back, nor commanding an unsteady gait. Her pockets are full just the same, yet trudging onward, she is undeterred by hills. The Collector holds a secret arsenal...her eyes remain ahead watching for the flash of suns, small shiny guides, small pebbles of light, like beacons for the heart.


non-communication as a coping tactic never works. it is the coward's choice. go back to the drawing board. muster up some courage, a smidge of respect for yourself and for the other, and come back another day.