The Shell

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It was never yours to take from me

Yet I gave it all away

Every last morsel of what was mine

And when resentment sets in and the anger beats with my heart, pulsing flush across my face

Know that it is not you I blame

You could only take what I offered

You stole nothing

But I yearn to have it back

To give you something else instead

Something of myself that you have not had before

But I realize you want the gifts I already gave

And do not appreciate me trying to snatch them back in the dark of night

Or negotiate a trade during the heat of anger

I know these gifts are your only security

But see

Those gifts I gave you

Left me without a shell of protection

I had to create another

But not willing to make the same mistake twice, I keep this one to myself

So I don’t allow you entrance

I can not bring myself to give up the little parts of me that I have found along the way

I add those to the discarded parts that you’ve rejected and hide them away for later

I began to rebuild under this new shell

But as I grow, this new home is suffocating, and irritation is the unfortunate consequence

I place that burden unfairly on you, I know

But I also know that if I break this shell

If I retain what is my whole

If I do not give up anything that causes you discomfort

You will not recognize me anymore

And you will not love what hides under this shell

The space

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That space that occupies time that you did not notice existed

That waits for no one and takes mercy upon none

The place where dreams are too distant to trust, and reality is too painful to believe

Where hopes lie with no real belief in their potential

Words are spoken that need to be for peace, not that must

Where truth is held hostage, and concession is given a voice

Where a pure love is a wish upon a star, and the draining energy of the environment crushes it deeper into stone

Where it becomes impossible to tell what love is supposed to look like anymore

Everything that once made sense no longer does

Every piece of knowledge is subject to inquisition, and there is no trust upon what once was truth

Can love exist as something so different to two separate souls?

Where is the point of cooperation, where the two begin to resemble one another?

What does it mean if they continue along parallel paths, never touching?

What if convergence happens?  Will they mold into one seamless and beautiful stream?

Or crash?

Or repel to opposite ends of the universe?

This is the space

Where nothing seems possible, and it is easier to ignore its presence

Until it catches those very souls off guard and forces time to slow down while they see what they have created

And they close their eyes and wait for the moment to pass

Faith

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Faith is a funny thing.  Not the religious faith, no…I have no intention of going there.  I mean faith that everything will work out, that everything goes just as it is supposed to.  Faith that everything that happens to me is because I invited it into my life.  I needed it for my journey.  I asked for it to happen in some way that does not clearly align with what I think I want in my conscious world, but I undoubtedly still requested it come to me and allow for my growth.

So I must then accept it, embrace it, learn from it, let it be to me what it is meant to be.   If I invited it, especially if it is particularly challenging, then I must absolutely figure out what it is that it was supposed to teach me.  If nothing else, even if I am unable to solve all of the mysteries of the experience, at the very least, I owe it my attention.  I need to ask the questions, seek the answers, feel what the moment brings, experience it thoroughly.  It was gifted to me based on my own desires, so what right do I have to toss it aside as a burden and a punishment?  I asked for it, so I must breath with it until it becomes as much a part of me as my own heart.

That is how we grow.  By trusting that everything will work out in the way that best supports our growth and that we have a choice as to how we show up to meet our challenges.  When harsh winters interfere with the trees’ beautiful plans of splendor, they do not shrivel up and die from cold defeat, but they trust in spring.  They trust in growth and strength that each bitter winter brings.  And in return, they are blessed with more stunning beauty and more grandeur with each passing year.

A Visit From Disappointment

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I received a visit from disappointment today

Unannounced, unwanted, uninvited

No call to see if I was up for company or in the mood to entertain

Just nails scratching my door demanding I show up and accept the awkward gift of his surprise visit

Creeping in through the space I made when I cracked the door to see who was so obnoxiously announcing their presence

Slipping in under the chain lock, not needing much space to force entry into my previously comfort zone

Smirking as the pressure mounted and I couldn’t find the breath that connects me to my truth

Laughing as the wave of anger drowned my confidence and took the ground from under my feet

Whispering in my ear as I swam as quickly as I could to escape; proof that I was no match for his pace

Tiring quickly, the need to stop overwhelming

So I drop, and I wait for the wave to pass, for my breath to return

I wait

Choices

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When I just release – for the love of peace and all things tranquil and serene.

On those occasions when I remember that I am fine where I am.

That my place is right here at this very moment in time, the hands of the world clock placed me here.

When I stop plowing through my world.

Destination in mind, peripheral vision a complete blur.

Missing every scene in my life, as it’s distorted lines fly by me to merge with my past.

Maybe it takes too much work to be here

To stop, to look, to calm the mind of what needs to be done, what deadline looms

So I plow and run and shove and reach, spending each moment involved in something, anything that will sufficiently waste my time, typically a way in which I later look at with regret

Always yearning to feel like I accomplished something, burning for the precious feeling of contentment, of completeness, if I just do one more senseless act I will be whole…

Yet how many accomplishments must come and go. My target always set on my next accomplishment before I have reached the last.

It is not now, nor has it ever been, simply seeking an accomplishment. No, it never has been.

See the vision in my head – the dream – is to reach the destination. To sit with a warm cup of tea and cozy blanket, big socks and a fuzzy sweatshirt.

Soak it all in, the goal reached, the pride, the love, the gratitude to the universe for allowing me to always do more than I think I am capable of.

But there is no rest upon a creaky porch swing, wondering where the free birds roam and what they have seen. No time spent beneath the tree as it whispers it’s stories of harsh winters passed and it’s perfect view of rebirths.

No, because I just keep running on to the next, afraid to stop

Fearful of what I will miss, what I should be, what I should do

So I neglect what I am missing, what I am, and what I am here to do.

And in reaching these goals, I find, I stop reaching for the bigger ones. The ones that will make me feel fulfillment, and I fill my time with senseless, useless pursuits of false happiness.

So today, as I run and rush and hustle, I will do so aware that if I must fly by the beauty this moment provides, it had better be for good. No wasting time with the unimportant, no…it must serve my soul. It must touch my heart, it must call to me like my wolf pack screaming in need in the heat of the night leaving me no choice but to answer.

If it does not, I will be aware. And if I do not listen to my call, whether it be for quiet contemplation or saving the world, I will do so fully aware that I am choosing nonsense above my soul.

Every moment is a choice. Even when we do not like to admit it.

Broken Heart

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The waves of life instantly fall to darkness.

The waters treacherous.

The only question is whether to watch as the waves pound the deck,

Threatening with every drip the imminent sinking that it intends to deliver.

Promising destruction and devastation.

Testing to see if you have the guts to watch or will cower and run for cover.

Either way, the result will be the same.

It’s just how you will go down.

Still fighting and hoping,

Or crying, scrunched up in a ball, water rising inch by inch up a shaking, terrified body.

Watch every wave.

If it is going to sink you, you watch it, and you make it watch you.

Do not fall easily to the ground and cover your wounded face so it can throw blows to your back.

Watch it. Let it see your pain. Let it see your tears.

Allow your tears to warm it’s cold blows to your heart.

No. If you are going down, have your eyes wide open.

And even if you know you have limited time, spend it preparing your survival.

Just in case.

Just in case the sun fights back,

Jamming its way through the darkness, calming the waves.

Just in case.

Just in case the waves remember how much they truly loved carrying you.

How much they would miss the taste of your tears.

Just in case.

Just in case you still want to float along the open sea.

Just in case you find you desperately want to plant your feet back on solid ground.

Just in case you find you have a choice.

When you think you might be broken

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When you think you might be broken. A million unreachable paths laid out before you. None of them make a bit of sense. None of them offer comfort. Nothing familiar appears at the entrance to any of them. So you spin out of control, trying to decide. You turn and turn until your world turns into a dizzy mess before your eyes. You have no direction. You can not stop, but you have no idea how to start. So you spin and spin and hope with all your heart that someone will just come rescue you, and tell you that you can stop…they will guide you. You are fine. You don’t have to be scared. You will be led.

 

But no one is coming for you. In fact, you will be leading this expedition. There will be people depending on you. And you are not prepared to guide. No, you ae not even prepared to stop and chose a path. None look promising, ominous clouds covering everything in sight. You are not ready to guide this exploration to better days, and you have no way.

 

You…I. I. I will leave my heart there in the swirling mess of chaos I leave behind. I will pick a road, any road, the one ahead when my eyes clear up and my vision returns. Any old road. And I will travel it. Carrying the load I must, dragging behind me what remains of my world, and just walk. Slowly. Quickly. It really doesn’t matter, so long as I go where I fear. So long as I drag my feet forward when my knees want to buckle. So long as I know that there is only one chance I have at survival – trust. Trust that everything is what it was meant to be. Trust that I am where I am meant to be. Trust that this is my path…even if it feels foreign.

Give Me a Bit

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I can not save the world today. I can not save you. I may not be able save me. I can not be all I am, because I am too determined to deny parts of me. Therefore you will not be tolerated. Can not be tolerated. Your cute little quirks will wander around under my skin, digging painful little caves that no amount of scratching or digging at can erase, because my own are still eating away at my flesh from the inside out. I can not provide you with perfect love, cloaking you in the warmth of my deep affection for you. I can not because I have prepared for myself a steel wool head wrap and covered my body in barbed wire fencing. So you will not be well served to approach my door with hope and a smile. You will likely be burned by the anger you find on the door knob. If you are so brave as to enter, you will be greeted with impatience instead of acceptance, annoyance instead of compassion. For this I apologize. It is not you. It is me I am angry with. So if I retreat into my own world, trust I am not there to dig into my sorrows but to try to love them. I am not trying to push you away but to push into myself deeper. There is room for everyone at my home deep within, so I will be headed there right away. Give me a bit to arrive and get comfortable and set a place for you. There, you will be welcome to join me, to show up as you are. I will have no expectations for you, no anger with you, no fear of what you may do to me. I will love you in your entirety. Here is not the place for coffee and conversation. Here is dirty and the air is too thick for comfortable breathing. So give me just a bit to prepare. To be still. To go home. And I will call you when I am ready to receive you. When I am prepared to give of myself the way you deserve for me to show up for you. As I am. In love with me. In love with you.

Confessions of a Dreaming Control Freak…

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A dreamer.  Childlike, wondrous, pretending in my head to be whatever suits my fancy kind of dreamer.  Outright scary, juicy dreams kind of dreamer.  My desires creating a beautiful painting harnessing every detail of my hearts desire.  Far away, high atop a dragon guarded castle, locked away in a prison.  I know where it is.  I can feel it’s precise location.  I know what it looks like.  I know every brush stroke.  I know every shade and every reflection of light.  I can see that painting without ever laying my eyes on it.  I know it so well, and my fingers shake at the very thought of holding it.  

When a control freak is a dreamer…frustration becomes an annoying unwanted house guest.  It uses the last bit of soap, does not flush the toilet, and puts empty cereal cartons back in the cupboard.  I know I can ask or demand my pesky guest leave, but if I request it vacate the premises, I know it will take my control with it.  Those two are thick as thieves, loyal only to each other, and while I always am left feeling like a third wheel when they are around, they still woo me with the most beautiful love stories.  What I can be with them, what they can offer me, what I would be without them.  So I cave under their pressure every time.  As I watch control, carrying his suitcase towards the door, I reach out and grab hold.  I beg, oh how I beg for him to stay, to allow me one more chance to make it work.  This time we can learn to love together.  This time we can be perfect.  “We have made it this far,” I cry.  And every time he drops his bag, allowing frustration to dump the contents back upon my floor for me to scoop up.  I take my fluffy blanket and sweater from the pile of baggage, swing it over me, and relax in the comfort of knowing that I am running the show.  I know frustration and control are holding hands beneath the covers, smirking at my gullibility, and appreciating they once again bought a little more time living for free under my roof.  I close my eyes and imagine my beautiful painting, in all of it’s grandeur, and I envision the path.  As long as control and frustration are in my presence, I know the path is unclear.  I can go no farther.  I can not dare tread down an unknown path, no I must KNOW the path before hand.  I must have perfect clarity.  They will not allow me to travel into fog.  Even though I watch, in my mind, the fog calling me, one outstretched finger beckoning me, challenging me to move, to trust, to go. 

When a soul seeker is a control freak…there is nothing to do but fight for release.  To break free at all costs, sacrificing everything to pursue that which is a deeper calling.  To demand to be heard, to scream and scratch the walls that bind.  To walk away bruised, battered, and barely breathing, but so alive…so incredibly alive!  To war on the side of angels and guides, preaching the word of the Universe, arguing on the side of humanity.  To crawl through the buried guck, the everything that has been collected as excuses for the need to control.  So I struggle to untangle my limbs from the web of lies I have fed my damaged ego for so many years.  To cut the cords that keep my feet held to the earth, and allow myself to fly into possibility again.  To let my soul carry me towards my dream.  To trust my soul when it says, “Let go of more”, and drop more balls of old weighted damage that I used to associate with who I was before I knew any better, allowing us to speed up, to fly easier, to glide gracefully through the wind.

When a dreamer is a soul seeker…the desire to reach the goal and the desire to go deeper can both battle and love. Like a couple who’s children have left home, trying to dedicate all of their time to each other and to themselves.  Relearning what balance feels like.  Learning when it is more important to share love or self love.  When action is necessary, when rest is the only solution.  So I dedicate my life to finding a way to trust fully.  To answer the pull to move forward, to do, to achieve.  To join my soul in rest when it requests, to know it knows more than my head what I need and when I need it.  To trust.

When a soul seeker is a dreamer…I work to trust, let go, and envision the dream in all it’s beautiful detail.

Moment of Love

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Where the earth meets the eternal home

Where my prayer meets its answer

Where my dark meets its light

That is where I reside

Yet I frequently miss it

Passing it by for something far less magnificent

Ignoring it for nonsense that creates a future that differs from my hopes

So this moment

I will sit in the feeling of my intention

I intend to be love

And this moment

And this moment

And every moment that I can set my intention I will

I will release my prayers

My love

My hopes

My needs

And I intent to go into more moments with conscious intention

And so this moment –  I am love.

And this moment

And this moment