Faith. Yes, faith is not a fuzzy, warm concept. It’s not as though, Oh if I have faith, all will be easy. No. Faith is scary in a sense. It means giving up the illusion of control. The illusion of safety. It’s embracing the concept of “no hope”–not in a destructive, downtrodden way, but No Hope because, hope implies something is amiss. Something is needed, To Come. But when we realize that what is to come is an illusion as well, then we have no hope that things will get better, they already are. And no duality exists anymore. Duality breaks through to what is–perfection.
It’s a conscious effort for me to remind myself to look up, be in my body, in the moment and see, or remember, this exact moment is perfection.
Where is the control then? It’s an itch I want to scratch so constantly that it’s hard to let it go and be still. It’s like I keep returning to this lesson and probably will for the rest of my time on earth.
So how can we work with emotions? I keep asking myself that. If I have no hope, if I have complete faith, then what about when I get angry or sad or nostalgic or anxious? I keep reminding myself that those too are perfect emotions and to just let them be.
Last night, a trigger again. Someone I know is pregnant. She’s due around the same time I would be due. After hearing this I burst into tears and then rode a wave of anger and resentment and deep sadness, all emotions flailing and swelling and dropping fast and quickly. I let it out. I yelled, I debated, I wept. I fell into the arms of M. and heard him crying. Saw his own pain. Then saw him comforting me. All the while I thought, This is beautiful, too. This is perfection. This is exactly how I’m supposed to be feeling and it is not wrong or in need of being quelled.
And I found it even more a blessing to see someone else’s response and pain process and the love they showed so kindly to me and I in return to them.
What I’m learning most from this experience is that having faith (or trying to practice true peace through believing all is how it should be) does not mean in any way disregarding the questioning, doubting process. That’s organically a part of faith, just like roots are a part of the grass. You can’t cut it out. Or stuff it down.
I said to M., But I was weak! I didn’t trust that what was happening was meant to be and now I’m angry at myself and others for influencing me. Mostly at myself for letting them influence me. My whole life I’ve thought, Oh I’m in tune. I believe, truly, that everything arises and is meant to be. SO WHY DID I GO AGAINST THAT? I was weak.
Michael said, No, this experience was meant to happen this way to teach you more about yourself and the process. It is helping you along your path to True Faith, so have faith now that everything, even past events, were meant to be.
That floored me. But I’m glad. I’m glad I railed against it. And still do. It’s like working on a railroad, or a pipeline. I envision the end, but why the pain of laying each nail, or each rod of pipe? Why the sweat? Just do. Just be. Just live.
I haven’t written in a while. I’m reading. I’m learning to feel and live and not just write. I love you and your words and want to serve others, too. Writing is a piece of that, you’re right. But just a small fraction. An important, but small, fraction.
This New Thing? This new unearthing of what I like to think a totally different architype? She’s more mature. She’s often scared. It’s light and warm but sometimes a fire that is deep and needs to be cooled in the canyon. She’s more distant. It’s like she desires to go to the cave and birth. Or die? Or become new. She’s more a poet than a poet. She loves nature and craves it more and more. Water, too. And she is not afraid to love but is more remote because it begins in the health of herself before it can burn for others. She loves October. She misses her friends. She takes care of the little girl inside her more and more but sometimes wishes she could bury her, too. Like I said, she’s scared. But STRONG. It is her fear and the fear in others that she takes in, transforms and grows sunflowers which follow the sun and keeps moving without fail. She opens and opens until she is on the brink of losing herself, which is good but also why she wants so badly nature and retreat. I think she’s always been there inside of me, but the younger girl has been in front of her, leading her. And of course she has let her. Because she’s wise and knows it is valuable. I look forward to the day they walk hand in hand together, not divided. I look forward to giving more to the world once they can be more in accord with each other. Then she can give and not be depleted, rather, overflowing.
That, too, though will come in its own time. My worst quality is restlessness, so I’m trying to watch how it moves and see how it can serve me instead of throw me off tiny cliffs each day. It is an untapped energy, maybe?
I admit that I want so badly to publish my book so I can maybe teach and write and whatever else illusions I harbor about what that means. I want I want I want. Which is beautiful, too.
I miss you. Thank you for writing. I will come see you when I can.
Also, I want to add.
The hardest part for me is depression phase. It’s not manic. I’m used to manic. Manic gets things done. Depression stares off into space. Has to work harder to do work at work. Does not write. Hates it. Cries. Wallows. Is somewhat self obsessed and hates that, too.
I’m too judgmental and hard on myself. Why? Because I believe the lies told to me (branded on me, by myself and others) all my life that I am crazy. That I am weak. And selfish. These are bedtime stories I still believe.