Waking up

Two days ago, I fell asleep echoing into slumber, "I am going to stop avoiding myself". I made a decision. I am going to give myself the permission to continue on my path once more. It is too tiring attempting to go against the grain of my energy. To resist one's own nature is to deny one's existence.

Yesterday it was as if the sun peeked out and directed its rays straight on me. I felt warm again. I felt embraceable again. Without missing a beat, the men who once inhabited my world fell right back into it, marched back into my life. They called after me. They sent me lures, pulling me back toward them. They gave me that sunshine all over again. Time has a way of being. Just being. And as such, it does no right, and commits no foul. We linger through it, hoping to accept that same massive harmony, hoping that in some way by living in it, we can absorb a tiny bit of that self-acceptance and thereby understand how to exist, by just being.

I have halted the inertia of what draws out my personal beauty. I have laid a hand in order to guide my path, toward some unknown goal that I believed to be right. I had dressed my face with side-blinders, in order to achieve a type of success that I thought would lead me in a righteous direction. I kept my head bent, eyes focused on the road just ahead of my toes, unaware that in the process of my own discipline, I had spun around, and was merely pivoting around my heels.

I thrive on creativity. I am nourished by it. I am not whole without it. Creativity and passion are one and the same. And what comes with that passion, from that passion, behind that passion, is a force undeniably rooted in my sexual energy. By avoiding that solid connection to the earth, I had successfully severed my bloodline. Hopelessly following someone else's path, I had lost the path I was carving. This is not me.

Today, an accidental happening occurred. Unwittingly, I dialed an old friend's number. Wrong number. Yet, in reality, how very right it was to have heard his voice on the line. He, and all his bountiful, wondrous poetry of love. I sometimes believe he is my guiding star. That momentary collapse of our energy-bodies was something of a miracle. When we were in the same room together, it was as though the force of our passions was too much for a room to handle, forcing the walls to buck and quake. As though when we shared breath, what came out was pure white light. Together, we <i>multiplied</i> existence. This friend was a man who elicited the greatest out of me. In his eyes I could see vast proportions of potential. His potential. My potential. The world's potential. In our shared electricity, I understood beauty.

These, and others, are the types of signals I had forgotten how to receive. In my furious attempt at holding on to something precious, I had squeezed the beauty out of it. I held onto it so hard that when I opened my hand to see it, it had transformed into something other than what I had remembered. I forgot to let it be. And I realize this is how I must be. The squeezing has begun to make me sick. And I must let life be. I can not attempt to hold on to something I can not own. That something that I can not own... is my husband's acceptance of who I am.

I can feel my heart beginning to warm again.