Today I have on my metaphorical explorer hat – you know, kind of Indiana Jones style. Like an archeological dig. Only this time the dig is inside my dusty heart. So I’m suddenly finding inspiration everywhere, you know like “when the student is ready the teacher will come” kind of shit. It’s what finally got me to put on the hat.
It’s dark down here, but my eyes are adjusting, and let’s face it, there are treasures down here that no one gets to see, least of all me. Gifts that are mined with our other senses, if we’re willing to stay a while and grope around clumsily, looking–and feeling–pretty foolish.
I have a love/hate affair with my pain, and sometimes it is the biggest thing that gets in the way of my Creative Revolution. But life waxes and wanes, like the blue moon we all started under last night. There is a time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to breathe, and a pause between breaths. Even this heart of mine–and yours–has its own built-in rest cycle. With every forceful contraction comes a time for rest and a reset before the next beat. We are wired this way on purpose. But in our stubbornness and insecurity we rush from one beat to the next, and I wonder sometimes if we allowed for the rests if our hearts would beat more efficiently, with less stress, a longer life span, less disease in our vessels from overwork.
If I’m honest I think I have spent a lot of time self-sabotaging my life and relationships because I need to feel and when I feel I write, and when I write I feel alive. And I would rather feel alive than happy.
If ever I was going to “hold a truth as self-evident” it would be that. I don’t think I’m ready to declare my independence from the things that have held me back these last few years. They are still working beauty and magic in me in the rests between the beats.
And for now, I guess I’m ok with that.