|photo ©akka b.|
On the heel of hell, I had the epiphany one might expect to have - on the heel of hell... tip toeing around who I really am, has been backfiring. It's that simple.
I was crying like a poet last week. With all the passion, fury, longing, aching, loving, searching that a poet is made of - that we all are made of. Pounding down the door of my heart for answers to the flood of emotion and simultaneous stagnation I've been grappling with. Calling out to for understanding of my conundrum, all while sliding deeper into the mess pouring forth from my own impish behavior... The louder I call, the deeper I fall. WAIT! IT'S MY OWN IMPISH BEHAVIOR! That's the answer! I've been wading in 'the answer' this whole time. Ugh.
Simple, but subtle - but "subtle" is not that simple when your mind is caught in the muck. The outline I've created for myself artistically is correct and leaps and bounds from where I was a few years ago. I've been making art, and words, and public speaking, and producing events, and engaging socially, and trying new things, but without a full commitment to who I am. It's like I have one finger pressed firmly on the 'off' button, while the other finger is holding fast to the one that turns it all 'on.'
Being half ones own greatness is pure hell. You would think it might suffice in a pinch. But a pinch doesn't last very long. Being half of what and who you are meant to be - keeps you always living at the half-way point. Half-way here, half-way there - stuck in the middle. Sort of good, sort of bad, - mostly mediocre. Everything is partially working, partially broken, but. not. going. anywhere.
Fear is my go-to vice, when standing on the precipice of my full power. What would happen if I were fully empowered - If I gave myself permission to thrive? Is it so scary? Is it worse than being at the halfway point?
There is living in me, a mystic, a healer, a lover, a child, a mother - a poet. All the elements of my sweet insides depend on one another. If I deny one part of me, the other is thrown off balance and I suffer and you know what? Those around me suffer too.
Standing on the precipice is so - 1999.
Now is the time, to 'let it' work.
And let the "work" - be sacred.
'Let it be wild, let it be weeds, let it be - sacred weeds.'