I’ve been afraid to write to you.
Afraid that the words that will come out will be harsh. Afraid that my tongue will get ahead of my heart and you will be stung by the whiplash of an existence that is still so dichotomic it can’t decide which appendage of bodily function is to be used next.
I have been afraid of the voices. The ones that you know will come. The ones that are inevitable. The ones that are an attempt to show the caring, but are too often rocks of stumbling should’s that are placed on my path.
I have been afraid to speak out in the open, the journey into my own deep dark. The journey into doubt, the journey into embracing the unknown with the fragility required to stay peeled and just…stay.
I have been afraid to speak of the hurt, the confusion of a religious culture that speaks out both sides of their mouth and too often is against the voice that burns true in my own self.
I have been afraid of the branding.
The You must be ——
You are ——
You are not—–
When truly, even when said in the deepest rooted love, these are phrases no one else has a right to speak over me.
I may appear to be any of those things. But I alone am the discoverer of my soul. The adventuring feet that keep walking into the fog. I alone am the flag bearer, the ship and the shore. I am the namer of my BE-ing.
I give myself permission to not wear your fear.
I give myself permission to not live in your what ifs.
I give myself permission to reach into the unseen, and stay in the dark.
So I scream it into cotton pillows. I burn wicks to see their flame pressing into the dark. I whisper “yes” to the wanting. I follow her into the trees. I climb their reaching branches and admit that I don’t have enough arms to spread my grasp.
I do not want to die in the wilderness. So I must learn how to live as the wild things. The cave dwellers, the dirt diggers, the crag nesters. I must learn to find water on borrowed roots, to drink from brown pools and trust my instincts and my ability to adapt.
I am learning a slow and bloody dance.
My journey in, is not kind, it is not gentle. It is agonizingly halting.
if this descending has brought me to the knowledge of ANY thing-
It is that I matter.
I MUST matter.
My life depends on it.
So I stumble and scrape forward. Each day learning to listen to the thrum of my deep soul.
I’m beginning to hear it…
I am an adventure worth living. I am soul worth knowing. I am a Being who has permission to just Be.
You are too.