Sometimes I find myself in a closed room sipping on sugar cubes of my past. I keep taking from the same bowl, these perfect little fresh six sided sweets.
I feel the sides, I take the angles and I let dissolve and I let absorb.
Like with too much of anything, my insides will begin to cringe and unfold their exasperation and disapproval.
Every once in awhile, I step inside this place where I roll in the mud of my past. I let myself feel awful for my decisions. I pull in blame and frustration and I coat the whole room in these colours. I am angry and I am determined. I can’t do anything but eat the sweets that turn so sour, to crawl into cave where all I do is feel bad and wonder how I could have messed up so terribly.
Deep down I know. I truly do know. I had to do my past the way that I did so that I could reach where I have. I do align myself with motivation and self awareness, help and understanding, yet these spaces of time come to me strong every so often. I don’t remember ever really pushing them away, but at least now I know that I have the ability to climb out. That in another day or four, I’ll be positive and upbeat again.
I’ll soak in my sweet sweet truth of my life; everything from my perspective to the actual. I’ll make myself sick with consumption of my frustration and feeling of stuck.
When I’m done doing that, I’ll lay in sun and let myself soak that. I’ll let myself be sick on content and the ever always, ebb and flow of life.
And when we have the choice to leave on a bad note or a better one-and we always have that choice- we know which one to choose. Not always the easiest, but always the best. When you leave, leave with as much love in place as possible.
Kids will gravitate towards the parent that doesn’t overreact.
If I broke a dish, I would most always go to my Mom to tell her instead of my Dad.
If I crashed the four wheeler into a tree, I would hope my Dad wouldn’t see it and pretend it didn’t happen. The sneaking around and lying became a way just because I was too afraid to admit the truth to someone that would yell at me and make me feel awful for whatever happened. Things that were just accidents. As a child the answer was easy. I didn’t need to put myself through something bad when I could just avoid it by not revealing.
I make mistakes okay. My son knows if he spills a box of nuts on the ground, he doesn’t need to hide it from me. He tells me when he’s ripped his pants or broke his remote control car. When he gets older, I’ll want him to feel he can come to me with problems or issues that maybe I won’t be too happy about, but I won’t flare up and put up walls where embrace and compassion are all he needs.
Your beliefs come concrete on clouds with no closed current to open your mind. I get where your beliefs come from. I really do.But coming from Italy doesn’t mean you know how to make a gourmet pizza and coming from France doesn’t mean your taste buds enjoy wine. And just because you grew up in a country that gave you classes and instructions on learning how to spell, doesn’t mean you spell well.
So just because your beliefs came from some actual occurrence or event in your life, or from people telling you that is the way that it is, doesn’t mean they are untouchable or unchangeable. That they are even real, true or connected to anything but your inability to see it any other way.
You can believe in changing what you believe.
The world spun me backwards, that afternoon in the shade.
It whittled it’s way into my grass bones and slowed down everything.
Until I felt life and things, sliding away from me.
I didn’t want that. I really didn’t.
And that’s when the speed disoriented me; like a feather in a hurricane.
I dug into my pockets in a calm frantic for a feeling and I pulled it out and
held it close to my confused heart.
I just felt it and felt it and felt it and accepted that I was and
I was letting that feeling be and realized it meant I was dealing and when I dealt
that’s then the world launched forward.
And I was ever always, going to be okay.
As long as I let myself feel what I was,
I was always ever, going to be okay.
Your total spots leap into my skin where parties happen all the time. Never knew how many disco red there could be until I let myself look in the mirror. On and off you could have the lights blow up your circuit board in the spare bedroom closet. Like the fireworks that exist the most when it’s dark. where nothing matters except what makes the dark.
Because light always does. And that’s how we exchange between the two .
You’re my hero for breaking through what i was trying to make light of all this time.
I got stronger, more foundational, more sure of what I was becoming.
I was still afraid,still cautious and still unsure of what it meant for a certain piece of my life.
I didn’t know if I could fix this old part with me, if old could survive with new.
If I could integrate,mend gently and beautifully – and not forcefully, recklessly or irresponsibly
I knew that I didn’t want to let the piece go- I’d spent time cultivating it too
I also knew I wasn’t okay with jeopardizing the being I’ve become.
So I needed to follow through on this admittance:
that if the certain piece of my life couldn’t accept or even to try and understand what I’ve become and am becoming,
I had to let it go .