I’ve read an entry in Courage to Change for January 26 quite a few times over the past few days and it will come as no surprise, but the words…”having had a spiritual awakening”, keep repeating over and over as if looped inside my brain. It’s the end result of working these steps. Breaking down these words and defining them for myself also began a sorting within my internal records, hand-in-hand with the concept of spiritual awakenings. To me, a spiritual awakening, a god shot and an aha moment all fall within the same realm, like small miracles. A realm full of possibilities, understanding and empowerment. Small steps of validation that I’m on the right path and that my work is in fact leading me to something greater. These awakenings vary in size, from small perceptions of clarity to life altering, major gift opening realizations. There is no limit to the amount of self-discovery that occurs within this program. It has taken me to depths I’ve never dared to dive into or maybe even thought of. Watching last week’s moon transitioning from darkness to crescent also reminds me of life’s cyclical nature. Always an opportunity to discover in the darkness of my soul and then begin again…to grow with new ideas into fullness. As is often shared, the metaphor of our layers of onion being peeled back and off, is clear in my mind’s eye. Today, I feel a tough layer beginning its first attempt at dislodging from a place of childhood, with growth so deep and strong at its base, like a Band-Aid’s glue affixed over a wound, all a precursor to the pain that will no doubt come before it has fully shed. It’s a jagged pill to swallow and yet, one that must be thoroughly investigated, thanked, forgiven and finally released. All the while a fresh green shoot, full of new ideas, considers its sprouting and will continue to grow with a new sense and identity. The release cannot happen without trial and error, without deep consideration and I must fully embrace the dark side of me. For me, the ultimate big picture is one where the entire human race desires to evolve in ways this program offers. To have various types of spiritual awakenings that will allow changes to old limiting stories. Fostering an idea that our stories can be re-written. To become non-judgmental, to not need to compare, to accept everyone just as they are. And personally, to not incessantly need to prove to others that I am worthy. The words “having had” remind me of “coming to” or literally from Step 2, came to…came to believe. For me, that’s where it all begins...I must believe that change can occur for the better and return me to sanity. I feel I’m constantly “coming to” and ultimately led to continuing towards the…having had. I’m reminded this work is messy, this life can be messy and this work is a courageous step in uncovering all that is divine within.
I'm still reeling a little, but it's gentle today. I want to project a healthy entitlement, the divine right. And a good sense of self worth. I choose for my relationships, all my relationships to not be those of torture. Find the sweetness in each one. Beautiful friendships to be in gratitude for. And, I am so grateful. Maybe I don't know how to be in a relationship without pushing...pulling. Or maybe it's my skewed view of identification with value through that avenue. Today, in this, I am forced to be real and see who I am showing up as. Is she a faker, will she become fickle...? Will I run? Being validated in some ways and not in others...why not just accept the validation given. Why need more? Why is it not enough? I sometimes use sarcasm as a way to gain validation, little digs here and there ushering a response needed. I see I don't want to be that girl ether, the girl looking for validation for everything and then even wanting more.
Sometimes, there is future talking, rambling, funny short day dreams...meant to be actualized or not...? Maybe there is gift is the impermanence of the day dream it self. What ever it is, the set up is alluring. It's a rush. Watching as the connections change my energy, ignite something inside, where my breath becomes short, my eyes fill with deepness...trying to tame it leads to frustration. The pull is too strong to fight. I surrender it again and again, offering myself to her and ask her for her guidance and clarity. I am in trust that all is exactly as it should be. The pathway is shown, the ground beneath strong and expansive, the way is lit......
I can have it...what ever that may be~
#surrender #havingness #relationships #healthyentitlement #divineright #gratitude
she's been revealed
she was hidden
layers upon layers
all the while growing, expanding
her brilliance startled me
i had forgotten
I find it interesting that no matter how many times i have felt heart break, it’s all different. Yes, the core pain is similar, yet the affects vary it seems. Well, for today at least that’s how it feels. Today, the heart break for the millionth time feels more hurtful than ever before or as much as the very first time. The very first time someone showed me their shadow side and the pain and lack of control they suffered from. I guess I feel like because we’re older, more mature, we should be able to express ourselves, to feel vulnerable enough with another to communicate. And yet, this is not so. I see a shadow of insecurities and posturing that can only lead to manipulation at the most cunning level. Although I see and can justify all the reasoning behind these actions, I never see it ahead of time. If only….If only I saw the red flags for what they truly are, or maybe they were red and with manipulation appeared as the green lights I saw so clearly. The unmistakable determination and motivation to move forward. Was it just all an illusion. Once again, I’m left to my own devices, which lead to me feeling as though I’m a lunatic nut job. You would think…and yet, my heart is open to do it again and again and again. Knowing full well that the pain I feel today, the disappointment, the deceit, the entangling, could possible occur again. I question my motives, do I attract this person in need to rescue or am I that person and they are merely a mirror to show myself to me. It would be sad if that were the truth. And when I call out to the mother for answers, why doesn't she answer me more directly. I want to find my own truth and yet her assistance is a necessity if I am to come out from behind my own shadow. None of my questions I really expect answers for and yet, here I am, wanting them. This need to have my feelings validated, to want someone to be as vulnerable to me as I feel I have been to them. Is there someone out there who will match me, challenge me, mirror me, the real me? Where does one go for that? Is there a store with an incredibly long line, one where you take a number and wait. I can see all those like me, waiting, in chairs, leaning up against the wall, sitting cross legged…waiting. How long will we all wait? What’s the answer? Where’s the key? Is it me? I ask to be changed in to one who believes all is exactly as it should be and yet, it’s uncomfortable as all get out. Am I really meant to be uncomfortable? Oh yes, out of the flames rises the Phoenix. Why must this Phoenix be in the flames to begin with, this all powerful amazingly courageous bird, why…? Why can’t it just fly and soar and coast it’s way through the clouds and gentle breezes? Why the struggles, the trials, the tribulations, the pain, the agony. Oh, this poor heart of mine. It so longs to be fulfilled, to be embraced, to be held in the most gentle of hands with the purest of intentions. It feels as though it is only the divine that could fulfill what I desire, that could possible quench this everlasting thirst. I offer her my broken parts and my whole parts and ask…beg…devote…lament…my self and all my stuff for her to fuse together and help me to create something whole. Not without challenges, just with direction and a sense of wholeness, to walk more upright, to speak without questioning myself, to move with grace and determination, to be all that I am divinely meant to be. To be one with her…I surrender fully, whole heartedly, with all I have, broken pieces and all.
photo from: http://christopherk.deviantart.com/art/Wilting-Wings-107197414
As I began to drift to sleep last night I journeyed to an earlier time in my life. It was Summer Intensives at the ballet studio. I was, 6 or 7…maybe 8. I don’t remember getting out of the car each day and yet I have a vague sense I opened the door and wandered alone into the courtyard and then the studio. The smells, sounds, feelings engulfed and filled me, last night and then…so long ago. Wood stained with sweat, resin crunching under feet, visions of inverted sit-ups from the stage floor and the soft graceful grunts from aspiring ballerinas mixed with almost silent giggles and eyes communicating back and forth with no actually words being spoken. The chair purposefully placed at the door for viewing parents. The cane perched in the far corner to the door…leading down. I can see the laminate flooring as I walk towards the dressing room where the wooden door would swing open and closed in the softest way and the quiet tap of the metal hook that fit in a latch for privacy, something I would only gaze up at for many a year. The privacy curtain, barely used and the day light filtered in through a frosted window. The floor seemed covered in an array of ballet bags and shoes, ribbons and the smell of leather and suede and satin and the faint hint of blood. Peroxide, Alcohol, Isopropyl of course, Jean Nate. Oh the Jean Nate, mixed with more sweat and cotton. Pink, lots of the palest pink color you’ve ever seen. Scarfs, leg warmers…short ones and long ones. Bobby pins, hair pins, hair ties, scarves, chiffon. Smiles, tears, a sound I would hear a little later in life pokes in from the future with a faint sound of guitar strumming and low volume singing from the teenager who swept through for a time. And now we begin, stretching on the same sweat stained floor, bar exercises, giant mirrors, no place to hide, releve…up, down. Pirouette’s, grand jete’s…me watching in awe. Ronds de Jambe, turning, turning, turning, more smiling mixed with a few tears quickly wiped away before they were seen. Stern eyes watching…always watching, a faint hint of a smile behind and yet not openly shared…in an effort to remain focused. Hands clapped, this class was over. Lunch time now, I was alone…did I have a lunch packed for me, memory doesn't serve. Ah, there she was, she spritzed herself with Jean Nate, wrapped her scarf around her beautiful ballerina neck and then herself inside a jacket, hiding her lovely collar bones. I could trace those bones even today. She took my hand in hers, no recollection if this outing was planned for me by another or by her or if she just saw the lost little one inside me. She led me out the door and down the street. She put me on her shoulders…for fun or because her legs were longer and it was quicker, although I don’t remember feeling we were in a rush. Up, what looks like, a short flight of stairs to an apartment, where an older woman sat knitting. I was recently reminded of her title…Granny. I was fed and looked after with a quiet love and sense of belonging that my inner child hadn't yet understood. And then, hand in hand, we would walk or skip back to the studio. Did this happen every day that summer or is it one strong memory of a day that is so clear. This week or day or segment was the Flamenco class of our Summer Intensive at the ballet studio. I don’t think I was old enough to participate, however I do remember it as the first and last time I touched castañetas and saw character shoes in action. Today, I relive these all-encompassing visions and wonder if my memories are real or if it was different and in what way. I google her name and wonder where she landed and if her collar bones are the same and her soft smile just as sweet. I believe it is. All of this feels right, it looks clear enough to me today, just as it did last night before I drifted off.
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