angelbirdflies

IN PASSING by Lisel Mueller How swiftly the strained honey of afternoon light flows into darkness and the closed bud shrugs off its special mystery in order to break into blossom: as if what exists, exists so that it can be lost and become precious.

This is me.   Since my dad threw me into the sea.  When he told me why he'd never have come to protect me from my step father's abuse.   I never had a harder fall.   I have been bouncing along the depths, rattling bones and grasping ... or running and hiding and hoping for the tenderness that might bring me back to life.   Have you read Clarissa Pinkola Estes' chapter on Skeleton woman?   She is persephone.   She is love's underbelly and necessity. This is totally a part of my story...  And still my own bones scare the living crap out of me.  Rattling and running, seeking safe harbor in my heart.

Some days,  you just have to forget  about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter.  To break.  To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat  in the loss of the life  you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life.  And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath.  The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...