Sunday, April 23, 2017

On the nature of lines

Solid concrete under your feet, you know you have stepped out of the train onto the platform. Hard tension is coiled in your gut and your throat is constricted by words never spoken. Muscles contract, heels and toes obey an unconscious demand to move forward. And so you do.
Your dread tells you who you will see and how you will feel about it. Eyes meet, yours and hers, blue and brown. In the split second before they do, you recognize the tug of it all – the betrayal, the hurt, the sadness, the anger, the disappointment, the bewilderment, and the wild storm of resentment you’ve been living in for years.
If you were a cartoonist, you would draw the two of you across that expanse of busy train station traffic, love and loss and greetings and goodbyes swirling around you both. There would be a long fishing line between you, a sharp and bloody fish hook nested in each, nowhere to go but to further wounding. Every attempt to pull away, to resist, to free yourself just yields more flesh to the hook. It would be a darkly satirical cartoon.
But in the moment that follows, when your eyes actually meet, you feel the hook in your hand. You’re holding it out in front of you. Love, miracle, magic and truth have somehow brought you here to this place where the hook is out and is literally in your hands. You feel that miraculous, magical, truthful love in you and around you as you simply let the hook go.
And just as quickly as the meeting of a glance, everything has changed. There are no hooks – one could not exist without the other. There is no storm, your skies are blue. The long list of painful feelings is like a grocery list you made months ago, you could guess what was on it but you don’t really remember. 

Body and soul seek balance and harmony and while you were not looking with your eyes, they got you where you needed to be. They brought you to a crossroads and eyes wide open, you made the brave choice. You chose to let go. And so you healed. It was your deepest soul voice calling out to be free. You listened. And so you healed.


Free and clear and overflowing with gratitude and love, you spend another second trying to map out how you got here. How this could have happened when those feelings were so strong, when the hurt was as much a part of you as any vital organ. You see the map in a flash, steps you were talking all along that brought you gently, lovingly back home. Every time you were kind to yourself, every time you sought support, every time you examined an outdated belief, every time you chose love instead of fear, every time you closed your eyes and gifted your mind with silence, every time you opened your heart to your intuition, and every time you nourished the seed of hope was a step leading you to this perfect moment. A timeless moment in which you know in a way you have never known before that healing is available to you. Always.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Where you stand

Grace at your left.  Mercy at your right.  Guard rails for dangerous times.

You've been silent by choice, resting.  All of you curled and coiled, nested in the safest, darkest place.

Harsh blows smoothed only by time and distance repeat themselves without permission.  A call from home to remember.  The forged metal in you feels the strike of each one.  A call to arms.

You rise, feeling her weave up your spine as you do so.  Do you know what she is here to do, the serpent at your feet?  Is your world ready for what she brings now that she is awake?

You've seen this woman before, this woman who accepts the snake that cycles through her.  I'm sure you have. Although it's not certain you've noticed her.

She cares deeply and absolutely doesn't care. All at once. And it's not even a contradiction. She makes it look like the most nature thing in the world.  She carries both annihilation and possibility and makes them look weightless.

Be afraid when you see her.  But not fearful.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Ruby at your feet

Rugged and dark, timeless walls of stone carved by waters long gone whisper around the fire.  Words of power are spoken here, murmured in low tones that tighten the air with blackened threads.  The weaving has begun.

Initiation.

And there you are, how long have you been there standing in that river bed?  Waist high in the mud, what kind of a river has only mud and no water?

What you seek is there, you can feel it at your feet.  You stand, you struggle, your arms will not leave your side.  They are useless to you here, bound by shackles made of iron forged by the relentless hammer of longing and the blistering fire of pain.

Betray yourself or betray what is yours alone to do?

Surrender.

And with that your toes dig into the mud, dark loving earth giving you the welcome you did not know you wanted.

Arms still bound, any obvious power you might have has long left.  So what is left?  Feet in the mud, you dig, you feel, you find.  The stone meets you half-way, you will always believe that.  It nestles into you just as you curl around it.  Who knows if you're strong but you've always been flexible and so your foot rises above the mud and your hand finds what your heart has always been looking for.

The ruby is yours forever now, shaped for its seeker.  Transformation of liquids and stone by pressure and heat.  It will not break.  It is not in its nature.