Finding the Beloved as the Wheel Turns, with Some Resistance, into Fall #LettingGo #healing

IMG_0314.jpg

The air is thick with the dying breath of summer. It is holding on before its final surrender. For several weeks, it seemed as though fall had arrived early. Heralding its victory over the fiery season by banishing the heat in mid August. Today, though, it has made a retreat. Or has it asked summer for one final chance to play the game, knowing that it will soon be declared the victor, once again?

This inevitable dance of the elements cycles with the ever-turning wheel of life. Our bodies spin with the seasons, and we can resist or we can give way to the spiral journey. I am not sure I could live comfortably without the outer world mirroring the inner. My body is used to the seasons. I was birthed in the element of earth, but water is where I find home. Winter always calls me back to the inner, but before it does, I must heed the gifts of the seasons that come before it.

Summer’s abundance can overwhelm those that are comfortable in stillness, yet it can also spur us into action. The embers of stagnation are stirred back to life as new growth moves its tendrils into the light. The kinetic energy is fired up and things get done. This summer, I passed the days carting teenagers around, teaching a couple of yoga classes, and working on our home and gardens. I made eleven photo albums. Memories of every family trip we’ve taken outside of New Hampshire are now nestled into the shelves in our living room. I also painted. And sanded. Ten doorframes and six doors that were once stained a deep brown are now brightly donning one layer of primer and two of paint. There is a palpable shift in the energy of our home. And in me. Darkness has moved out of the comfort of shadows.

My birthday arrives in the final weeks of summer, at the time when school starts up again and there is the return of routine. I don’t actually like my birthday. It’s not the getting older that draws reluctance and melancholy, but rather the memory of rejection. Each year, at this time, I am reminded of my yearning to be beloved.

I felt the pull of fall early this year, around the same time its breath of victory filled the air outside. Before my birthday, I dreamt of levitation. The weightless freedom of no gravity. I lifted my body with ease off the ground, and brought others up with me. One by one, I felt their weight before I urged its release. “See,” I told them, “how easy it is to let go.” Earths, by nature, care for others more than their selves.

When my birthday came and went, I realized I had not let go fully of the weight that would be free.  I recalled the frog from the same dream, and how it had clung to my skirt like a parasite. Transformation is often sticky. We must remove the glue from the habits that hold us down before we can lift those wings into a new realm of living. We must understand that only we can choose the release. That we must die to the old to give way to freedom.

The pictures I have from my birthday don’t reflect the day after. The mourning that came after the heavy weight had settled back in. They don’t reflect the struggle with rage and grief as the old pattern tore free in a messy release.

We like to see the beauty of fall, forgetting it is also ugly. Summer’s flames burn the leaves into brilliance before they curl into brittle shades of brown. The last of the ripened fruit that is not consumed for nourishment and more growth, turns mottled and moldy as it slowly decays back into the ground.

The return to Earth to be re-birthed requires a decay. The transformation of what once was must give way to what will be. The seed that comes forth from the decayed body of the fruit does not see the light that it reaches for. It simply trusts that it is there. It knows that one day, as it is feeding and growing, it will break through the darkness to feel it.

Yesterday, I had a woman I barely know over for tea. During our conversation, she told me that when she looked at me she could see the beauty of the work I have done to heal. So I told her about my birthday. Not to refute her, but to show her that I am not done yet. That perhaps I never will be, at least in this life. This is, after all, why each of us are here. To walk the wheel in the spiral inward, back to the light that we are. We might walk it in spurts. We might linger long in the shadows, but the wheel, like the seasons, will keep urging us to turn into the return.

My new friend also told me she could tell that I loved myself, a reflection of this inner work.  It is not easy, always, to be our own beloved. To truly love the dark and the light. It is, though, necessary. We can search endlessly for our ideal of the beloved outside of us, and to hope to be beloved by another, but the one true, complete beloved, must always come from within.

Onward #writephoto

p1460213-2
Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Talk to me about silence

I can’t hear your words

A mind closed by fear shuts

the ears and averts the eyes

while the voice calling out

to be heard

becomes a child

waiting to be seen

[Futility]

Last night, I must have been

traveling backwards

on this road we share

Fear holding constriction

the voice buried between

your mountains

[trapped]

I’ve decided to take a new turn

to the place called “Onward”

It lies just beyond those hills

where the air is open and free

And the sun spreads her fingers wide

to trace the valley of shadows

back into the light

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt challenge. If you’d like to participate, please click here

#writephoto

Recoding the Cells: A Healing Meditation in Poetry Form #notbroken

A healing meditation for all who may also feel the call to rewrite their stories:

 

IMG_9935.jpg

Oh, my child, you are never broken

The light of you is whole, complete in itself

The darkness of the other who has desired to break you

is a denial of your light, but it is not you

Do not give way yourself to be broken into fragments

Gather the shards, and realize that when you heal the wounds

all that remains is the golden soul

Whole and complete in and of itself

So I wish to tell you a different story

A story about a soul whose origin has no origin

because she always was and always will be

She is life eternal

as all souls are

but she desired to live in the body of a human being

to learn the process of becoming

over and over again, in different forms

She named herself, and so she was

 the Light of Self as the Whole

She was never not whole

She was never shattered light

Trace her origins back to your birth

and reform a new story

See her whole and golden

So vast that there is no separation

between where she begins and where she ends

Take this story with you

back into the womb

Recognize the cord

is not a tie to the true self

Allow her to realize that any rejection and loathing

she feels is not a reflection of her light

It is not hers to own

or to take into her being as truth

Allow her to expand her light beyond

this place called rejection and lack

Allow her to turn the loathing into love

See it coursing through the cord

bringing to her the fullness of its nourishment

Allow her to leave the womb

and birth herself into the world of wonderment

Where all things are possible

and no codings of false truths exist

to take her away from her core of Truth

that she is love and forever will be

Allow her to feel this and realize this

as she discovers the temporary state of separation

through the physical body

while knowing the soul

is never separated from the whole

Allow her light to vibrate

in that wave of continuity with source

and forever ride it as a part of the whole

The Imprint of Fear

The pain I was trying to release was jagged and sharp. Imagine light trapped behind clouds for 40 years. Imagine the imprint of a hand on a face that wasn’t mine. A memory only a young, open child can create and trap, even though she didn’t see the hand. Ah, but that tangled cord that binds a child to her mother’s womb is hard to break, and some of us walk the path of our mother’s darkness for years before we free our own light.

IMG_2694

We carry our mothers’ wounds like armor. We carry them with the fierce loyalty of guarded love, until we realize that the burden is not ours to harbor. I thought I had let the memory go. I no longer felt the quickening of heart when I thought about my parents’ rage clashing into lightening. I no longer felt the paralysis of fear when I recalled my impulse to save her.

But, the imprint of the memory still lingered, embedded so deeply inside the right side of my head, I grappled physical pain as I worked to release it. With the the memory, my young mind had also sheltered darkness, and the notion that any expression of my inner light/truth would result in pain and harm.

I was born into a legacy of silencing, my fears fed with her stories of abuses and incest. There was no surprise that I had trapped my earliest memory and almost made it my soul’s truth, a shadow that would hover for decades over my light.

The letting go is almost as painful as the holding on.

Why do we fear light? Why do we doubt the power of love? We live in a world of abundance, yet we trap ourselves in our fears, even when they are not ours. We turn to war and conflict more easily than we turn to love. Thus we fight  to keep our fears alive, instead of letting them go, even though our souls crave light. We long for it not only in ourselves, but in others. We crave union, we crave harmony and balance, but chaos is allowed to reign. Fear is a shadow that blinds our inner truths, but we may choose whether to walk the path of its darkness.