Skip to main content

perhaps

What do we do when the person we imagined ourselves to be doesn't really match the person we are.
Well first things first...pine, pine, pine.
I often see myself as this very creative mama and imagine that somehow the artist will take over the course of my life, illumining the shadows with her palette of colors and directing the drama with an eccentric flair toward wide horizons. I find myself all too often agonizing over the unfulfilled details, the unfinished canvas.
And then...the ludicrousness of the situation dawns and I look around and see that there is a beautiful life right in front of me, not nearly as glamorous or outwardly affirming, but beautiful still.
The distinct awareness dawns, "THIS is my life" and I can choose to continue a subtle war of resistance or can open to it, become curious and inhabit the unique experience that is mine.
It is hilarious really.
We continue to resist our own beauty on the pretense that it isn't enough, and thus we block the experience of life living life.
An exercise in futility.
Perhaps we can throw the whole ball of bullshit to the wind, stand naked and unabashed before the mirror of our own longing and say, with the gusto of belief, "I AM ENOUGH".
"I AM ENOUGH."

Comments

Traci said…
So lovely, Angelina....so well said. Bravo to YOU!
Angelina Lloyd said…
thank you my dear...it is a sentiment shared by many of us.

Popular posts from this blog

FORGET ABOUT ‘HEALING’

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...

a story recently shared by a friend

 Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment. When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help. Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you." Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered. Sadness was close by so Love asked, "Sadness, let me go with you." "Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself...

He is no longer here

Another day has begun.  I have lit my candles and incense.  Sat in silence. Worked up a sweat at the gym.  Eaten breakfast.  Straightened house.  Answered mail and dropped my man off at the airport. It is eight in the morning and the world stirs with wakefulness.  The sun climbs in the sky.  The birds sing.  The squirrels chip and chur in tree branches.  A dog barks.  And I look with dull eyes at the long day ahead, contemplating a single phrase, "My father is dead." What strange words. My father is dead. The man has been leaving for as long as I can remember and yet his death robs the wind from my lungs.  My chest throbs and throat tightens.  He isn't coming back. My mom and dad had slipped out of one another's lives before I'd barely begun mine.  Two weekends a month my brothers and I stood on a saggy porch, bags packed, eager for our hero to arrive in his old blue Ford to pick us up.  We vibrated with hope...