Vulnerability is like drowning, but finding out you can breathe, albeit in a different way. And although some people find this out, it still can be a discomfort to not resurface and not go back again to the kind of air and pressure they were used to all along.
But vulnerability is really submerging all of you, and letting all the masks and layered insulation you’ve had in place slowly loosen and release under water, being carried away because it’s no longer needed.
You don’t experience yourself clearly when all the mirrors you’ve placed around yourself only reflects the small of yourself that you were comfortable being uncomfortable with.
Tenderly living is like the sun’s shine. How it continuously radiates but can never peak back inside at it’s own core to define it. It just lives from it. Breathes from it. Always in touch with it.
And what feels like fire to your lungs at first later becomes what you know is necessary. Because it forces you to stay in between each moment instead of trying to conquer each moment, with swords and armor and vigilance that only tires you out at the end and beginning of each day.
Learn to be submerged. Learn to breathe inconspicuously. Learn to love and be loved in a different way.
It’s hard to put all of your self as you are in this moment out there without the muddling of visions of past selves popping in and out, isn’t it ?
There are times , maybe even plenty , where you are enjoying your progress and your strengths and your seeming lack of fragmentation. Then something or someone from your past comes back around to test you , literally on a soul level.
You always wish and hope that the same patterns won’t be played around. That you won’t revert back totally. But maybe that’s just it … we kind of are scared of lack of perfection. We don’t want to admit that every moment will still be imperfect and we get stuck in an all or nothing frame of view.
Continue reading the middle road
born with a dancer’s delicateness,
you thin ankles and birdlike feet
were always too ready
to just fly away.
as if you could not let the divinity
in you permeate your whole body,
to reach down to the soles
of your feet, to be stood in.
there will always be those who
are too afraid of the ones who
generate too much electricity.
but this is not something to keep
to yourself, and it is not something
that can be easily stolen out
from underneath you.
the safe haven you preciously maintain
to travel back and forth to and from
needs to be the wings, excavated,
that flees you not from yourself
or your experience,
but from this nest you’ve found yourself in.
after all, your true fear
is that you really just might be able to.