I am grateful for my limitations.
I have long been fascinated by the idea of ‘transcending my limitations’.
I have long been fascinated by the idea of ‘transcending my limitations’.
The things that hurt me. The things that box me in. The things that prevent me from being, experiencing, discovering, becoming all that [I am and] can be, and embracing all that is on offer in this glorious, fragile, abundant thread we call Life.
My shadows, if you like.
Or — framed differently — my humanity.
I have also long been fascinated by trauma; a synonym, if you like, for the above. Or perhaps the above is a synonym for it; for we all have, carry, live with trauma, and we are all traumatised — at some level, such is life.
It hurts. It’s messy. As we are, too.
And yet, still, we make Meaning and Beauty and Poetry out of it. And in doing so, we are able to do, be, become so much more than the sum of our own individual and collective parts — sometimes disparate, sometimes hollow, often whimsical — and in the process, perhaps more than we ever thought we could, too. We transcend simply by embracing; to love more fully and deeply and freely by releasing our hold on the grip that says, I don’t want to let go. A candle in the wind. A sense of an ending. Free-write on the highway. This dog will have its day. Onwards.
Onward.
And back to the point. There was one, I promise. I haven’t lost my mind, just found my soul — and it is beautiful. And it is, you are, we are too. And the body keeps the score because it grounds us in the literal, the physical, the present, and the known. Its hurts are necessary because without them we would soar too close to the sun. We would lose ourselves. We would forget who we are and what we have been through and what we hold dear. We would never come home.
Yet home is where the heart is — not a place but a feeling. A feeling that words alone cannot do justice to. I say it because I feel it. I feel it and I experience it. And I am so grateful for it, for all that is.
Today, yesterday, these past few days — myself and my dear, beautiful, tired body were in pain. And so, we are resting. I am taking stock, taking care, and letting be. It feels good to take care of me. It feels grounding. Tentative, wholesome, wholehearted. The very embodiment of surrender.
Fuck this. Fuck everything that I, you, we know and have known. Fuck all that we have been told. We accept the love that we think we deserve.
And so, I tend to myself; for I too am tender.
I am young and joyful and joy-filled and confused and deranged and overwhelmed.
I am alone in a pandemic. Madness is relative. (Look at your family!)
Look up, look down, look around — and within.
I am all I need.
A Spotify playlist. Everywhere, effervescent.
Love, love, love — effortless.
And breathe.
#inthetrencheswithyou