"Soft music at night, pulling us into slumber, singing us to sleep." ~ Tyler Knott Gregson
"Music is the space between the notes." ~ Claude Debussy
The space between. The stillness. Why is it that sometimes this is the most uncomfortable place to be? The space where there is nothing to actually do. Why is sitting the hardest? What is it about stillness, that is so terrifying? Why is the surrender to life, the choice I must choose to make each day? The choice. Love or fear. Moment by moment. trust.
We know what to do when there’s something to be done. Our socially constructed and imposed beliefs that we will never be good enough. Unless. More. Consumerism seeps from our veins and in the world of illusion we’ve bought what they’re selling. all. of. it. We know how to struggle. we were born to struggle, right alongside Lady Liberty, for the American Dream we’ve all been promised.
What is Love? My mind is running away with me.
Why is that we only talk about the good parts, the highlight reels of our lives and act as though that’s what’s really happening? Look around you, the world is riddled with pain. Do we care? We should.
It's curious. We want to be known and yet we hide the depths of our soul, our realness, for fear it's unsightly. We run full speed in the opposite direction when faced with something real. Honest. Challenging.
"Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness." ~ Maya Angelou
I seek refuge in the peace of the stillness of my own soul because I know what’s there. I’ve reached the edge of my own darkness and stumbled in. The dichotomy. The power of being alone and knowing yourself but also knowing you can never truly know yourself without another. It is. In the mirroring between souls that we uncover the dark spots, the spots we so convincingly hide even from ourselves. Human relationship are the most challenging venture and they are also the most rewarding. The fine line between finding yourself in another while refraining from synchronously losing yourself at the same time. Balance. Yin. Yang. It is not accident that this is what people spend their lives mastering, it is a practice I am certain I will spend my life attempting to understand.
The ego is a crazy person that lives in my head. Insidious. Compelling. Brilliant. Completely and utterly insane.
It is because if it’s insidious nature that I require the space. The stillness. The sitting. It’s only when I give myself space that I am able to properly observe the madness that is in full operation just beneath my well composed exterior.
I need time. Silence. Reflection. Patience.
"...The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep." ~ Robert Frost
I have no idea what it is that I’m doing and I rarely ever have. The only semblance of difference now is I used to put much more of an effort towards convincing myself. I take my life step by step, moment by moment, and I fail daily in my practice to refrain from attaching to what I find enjoyable and pushing away what I find uncomfortable. But. I’m still trying.
Writing helps. It offers me a medium. It supplies a mirror. A way for me to connect in the solitude of my own soul, a fractal glimpse at the whole of life within my own skin. Flesh. Bone. Blood. When truthful, reflected back to me on paper, in ink. Silver. Gold. Stardust.
When you have the courage to be patient. Tell me about the stillness. What does she softly whisper to you?
Wolf Prayer Spirit of the wolf You who wanders in the wild lands You who stalks in silent shadows You who runs and leaps Between the moss covered trees Lend me your primal strength And the wisdom of your glowing eyes Teach me to relentlessly track my desires And to stand in defense of those I love Show me the hidden paths and the moonlit fields Fierce spirit Walk with me in my solitude Howl with me in my joy Guard me as I move through this world ~ Unknown
Sometimes she brings me to my knees. She rips up the carpets of the floors I’ve spent my life sweeping things under. She unearths that pit in my stomach that I sometimes forget. Like a wolf, she stands tall in the darkest woods of my soul on the blackest of nights.
She waits for me by the well. It’s cold. I can see the wisps of clouds leave my lips, suspended in the air for a moment before vanishing. The only signs of life. This softly dissipating condensation from my shallow breathing. The night is still. By the well, she waits.
I know what she asks of me. She awaits the hero’s journey. The slaying of the dragons of my soul. You would think it would get easier and maybe in a way it does. I’d like to ask you a question. What if you’ve spent your life feeding the dragons that fill your lungs with smoke from the inside out? I’m asking for a friend. What if you wonder if you’ll miss the choking, what if you’re terrified of the burning that will inevitably accompany your first deep breath? Stop it. I told you. Like I said. I’m asking for a friend.
Somehow the scariest parts of life are the decisions that I have the beautiful freedom to make. I crave my freedom and yet when it offers itself to me I am shaken, petrified.
Freedom. Responsibility. Mistakes.
Nobody else to blame. Ugly truth. I have to step off my high horse, stumble from my soap box. The fall to the floor triggering all the places where shame still hides in my gentle frame. On my knees, once again, I am weeping.
Humbled. Curious. Grateful.
You see, this is my fear. When completely free, what then?
The unknown is terrifying, the choosing it is worse. I’m good at reacting. Throw me into something that overwhelms me, don’t give me a choice, capsize me into the violent waters and I promise you I will fight to survive. Survive. But. What if you want to do something more than survive? I’m curious. What then?
Wait. Did I say I? My mistake. Like I said, I’m asking for a friend.
"Abandon hope all ye who enter here." ~ Dante Alighieri
The wolf. She waits for me. I must ask myself what I treasure more, my freedom or my dragons. You can develop a love for the things that make you sick. I think there’s a term for it. Oh. Yeah. Wait. Addiction.
My willingness. I pray for my willingness. I often don’t have the courage, I often lack the strength, the grit. I pray for the willingness to be moved, knowing all too well, that if I can (God allowing) become willing, the whole universe will conspire to move me.
The wolf. She is my willingness. She has come for me. Once again. She always comes for me. It’s then I am met with another decision. I have called. She is here. Do I have the courage to answer, the grace to be led through the fogs that are clouding my vision, the confidence to walk on completely blind?
I sit with her. My wolf. I tell her my fears. I share with her my heartbreak.
She offers me her fur, clenched in my fists.
She does not speak. Yet, she asks. as if her thoughts echo in the whispers from the moon, I hear her. Gentle. Fierce. Echoes.
How much do you trust the dark path where destiny leads?
I close my human eyes. Her fur clenched in my fists. When I have the courage to let go. The willingness to be guided. My wolf of Destiny. She leads me.