I shall suffer gladly

time only seems to make it harder.

here I thought (but I knew better inside) that time would let me forget about you. it would smooth out the harsh points, the peaks and the valleys, it would keep the emotional rollercoaster at bay, seeing it from so far away that I couldn't ever get on the ride. alas; I watched it getting closer and closer until the seat was under me and I was taken away to those unsettled places in myself that long for your company. I realize more and more the truth of your absence, that it is true indeed that you will not return... not never, but indeed for a very long time, until I have finally turned the page and replaced your quirks with those of others, tucked away the memory of your smile pointing up on each side or the way it feels when you come and hug me with one arm as I putter in the kitchen. this writing is keeping you even more alive than I'd like, but I can't help myself this morning. 

because doesn't longing feel amazing? isn't it why we bask in memory, in fondness of another? the memories are sometimes even sweeter than reality. reality, the truth, was that we didn't know each other yet, that we treaded lightly, that we knew we weren't going to go the distance so we had our fun and left it at that. even if there were big feelings under it all, we knew they wouldn't be allowed access once you moved further and further beyond the point of no return.

and I knew that it would all happen this way.

I knew time would make it harder. I knew I would eventually long for more. I knew the struggle would be real, it would be deep, and it would teach me more about myself. that's why I said yes to the suffering (I mean, I'm not suffering, I'm not in pain, but you know what I'm talking about: the emotional heaviness, the mental gymnastics, the stolen presence that comes from nostalgia). now I work on trusting that it was all perfect, that knowing you briefly leaves me with positive perspectives, and I work on being present in my environment with these people I love and that love me. I say thank you to the past, thank you for showing up when you could, and I welcome the newness that lies ahead. it won't be with you, and I will get to see why soon enough. for now, I shall suffer gladly.

remember to make and create just for yourself, not for the audience. remember to take time in the day to be with yourself, with no one else, and impress yourself! you can do hard things that merit no reward. the reward is the process itself. colour, doodle, sing, move, touch, see, imagine. stare at fire, for hours. draw something vulnerable, don't release it. treasure that you've done it, not that others have witnessed it.

three writings instead of drawing because drawing this feeling is scary

revealing the truth

I'm afraid of sharing my experience
my vulnerable, truest experience

for fear that you might think it 

too much

because

you're supposed to be free

unencumbered by another

you're supposed to be calling the shots

having fun on your own terms

I'm afraid of sharing my experience

my intense, larger-than-life loving experience

for fear that you might think it

too real

because

you're supposed to love everyone

freedom to roam, to play, to engage

you're supposed to commit to none

not commit to just one, certainly not

this one

--

but how?

and if I say I love you

and I want you to be here

then you might say "yes, I love

but to love you here limits me."

so what do I do

if I do not want to limit you

but I do want you, here?

how do I live without you

but with you here, inside?

how do I love you out there,

while you love everyone

and everything, like you loved here?

this love you love is what I love to love

and if you didn't love like this

there'd be no love like it

for me to fall in love with.

--

together, then alone

you came here and you filled the space, you filled it with facts, with observation, laughter and fun, with questions and answers and music, entranced me with your ease, your steadiness, your swagger from one place to the other; from the couch to the table, from the table to the kitchen counter. you made toast (extra butter), you danced in the middle of the space, made the high ceiling seem low (and to think your brothers are taller), turning on the bright lights for a daytime glow. you taught me the ceremony of tea and the ceremony of much more than tea, you saw me and questioned me - in a good way, in a way where I could see myself - and you understood or you didn't, which all made me feel myself the way I want to be felt. you brought that big energy, that secure vibe, that safety, all the while I doubted your gaze was for me. everything you touched now holds your glow, an electric current, and I touch it without you here and receive a jolt of electricity, almost but not quite as electric as I did when I touched your arm, your cheek, your foot, your collarbone. what am I to do with this absence, this quality you've left behind, the ghost of you? how do I continue to hold it inside, bring it with me everywhere I go and keep you alive instead of shoot you dead, because it might be easier to pretend you didn't exist than exist and aren't present? you shared yourself with me, here, in this house, for a window of time ... and now I sit, alone, here, in this house, looking through the window at the apple tree, visioning the matching orange sweater, the long curls that made you look child-like as you plucked and juggled. I sigh, in disbelief, that you were here at all, but in belief of everything that's right in the world: true pleasure, true excitement, true heart pounding in my chest for the love of who you are and the gratitude to have had you here at all.

the usual suspects: letting go, being enough

LETTING GO 

never felt so important.

it's been about letting go for years. the spiritual mantra: let go.

release it, be free! find freedom in holding on to nothing!

but it is all thoughts and feelings until more is discovered, until we've let go just enough that we get to see just how much we're still holding onto.

we we we - me me me. I'm sick. I'm sick of being so tight, so cold, so dry, so resistant, so heavy, so thick, so burdened, so untrusting, so fearful. the future will be; whatever it brings is a mystery to all. I cannot live my life based on a fear of the future, because all I have is today. and what brings me the most joy? I want to share my life! I want to share what I have with other people. I want experiences with friends, with lovers, I want to make and build and create and float. I want to be of service, I want to expand, I want to hold others in their difficult moments and their beautiful moments. I want knowledge, wisdom, I want to have what I need in hard times, I want to regret nothing, I want to sit still knowing that I've done my work and that I haven't forgotten anything. I want to take action where it's important. I want to declutter, and use money wisely, where it matters for an unpredictable future. 

I keep thinking that I have to be more, do more, earn more, take care of more, to be enough, not to burden others, not to take up too much space. but what if I am enough, as I am? what if I can let go of this belief that I need more to be more? 

I AM ENOUGH

AS I AM

I AM LOVE

AS I AM

sacred body

SCARCITY MIND SET

scarcity body

scared body

scarred body

... sacred body

the body, holding so much, all hidden away underneath the skin. holding all of us together, all of our past hopes and fears and dreams and unfortunate experiences. it is trying to show us where the pain is so that we can let it go and heal - yet we misinterpret and blame it as the root cause of our suffering.