Sometimes a story is just that.
Sometimes a story becomes like a vine, choking the very life out of you until you have to make a choice. The vine or your actual life.
Sometimes, actual life is really hard to look at. And adding a little sugar definitely makes the medicine go down. But too much sugar and your sweet little song and dance becomes the cage that restricts all movement.
And then sometimes, growth peeks it’s little silvery head out of nowhere and gently nudges (read forces) you to step in a different direction. And not just a little to the left. It suggests you pick a different galaxy to hang out in.
Sometimes, we need to remember where our stories end. And our life begins.
Sometime people use story to keep themselves in check. They align themselves with a certain way of being, and dedicate themselves to the pursuit of that path. And if that makes them happy and allows them a creative spirit…then that vine seems to have learned a co-creative pattern of existence. It must be one of those advanced beings.
But recently, I woke up from a story I put in place probably close to 40 years ago. Or maybe it was one of those other lives I’ve lived that tangled inter-dimensionally with this life and left some baggage on my doorstep I had been tripping over for years.
How ever I got it…I woke up as if from a dream to see a story. And then my life. And then the story. And then my life. And i had this one opportunity to step out from behind the castle and see I was standing in the sun. A pasture actually. No house around. No one around. Just me and the connection with the Earth. Just me and my breath. Just me. Wide open.
If I changed my gaze I could see the story I just stepped out of in all it’s fine details. Mapped and plotted and twisted and turned like that vine that chokes the life out of whatever it’s wrapped around.
But I blinked and saw this space outside of the story. Free of clutter. Free of expectation. Free of judgement. And I did something crazy.
I took a step.
From where I was standing in this new reality, it seemed so easy. It was if I could reach out and be connected with everything around me.
But when I changed my gaze to the story I left, I saw such chaos. Destruction. Hurt. Sadness. Loneliness. And I felt it too. Tugging at the very core of me.
I had to struggle to turn my gaze back to my new space of openness. Feeling the connection with everything new there.
Forcing myself to let go of what I know in my bones no longer serves me. And I took another step.
The other story was calling me, trying to usher me back into the castle. To close the doors and pretend someone else’s song was mine. It felt me leaving, un-twine-ing.
The other story started cleaning and clearing, trying to make itself more like the dream I had been craving…but I knew it was as subtle as smoke. I knew it was illusory. I knew if I came back it would drain me.
Every morning I wake up and breathe. I ask myself if all parts of me are present and accounted for. I search my mind for defectors. There have been some. I sit them down and remind them of that feeling of connection. That feeling of possibility that arises from reality. I wrap my arms around them and let them know that I am here. That I’m not leaving again. That I will watch with constant vigilance to make sure that breath is easy. That laughter fills our soul. That song plays in our ears. That sunshine penetrates with a healing vibration. That connection is honest. That the future is unknowable.
She cries when I remind her that.
The fear almost has an odor to it.
She digs into the memory of the vine and pulls out images of thoughts and feelings and I hold her closer.
I let it pass in the most organic way.
Teaching her with patience how community becomes a blanket for the soul.
A warm home.
A safe haven.
I can’t say all the defectors are fully on board with this new plan. But I am willing to hold space for the full union of my thoughts. I am willing to believe that I can be unburdened from the past. That I can be made whole in myself. That I explode in fullness in the present. And I most of all believe that it’s going to be ok.
It’s hard work exploring all these rooms in my castle. It’s hard work when I have spent a life time making plans and dreams. It’s hard work when I see those same plans and dreams were built over corrosion to mask the truth. That I wasn’t ready to deal with that brokenness…but I’m finding out that now I am. I’m discovering I’m worth it. And that may be the best gift I’ve ever received.
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